“What about diet?”
“All the plain food you want, at any time you really want it, provided you eat slowly and chew thoroughly.”
“A la Fletcher?”
“Horace Fletcher is one of those fine fanatics whose extravagances correct the average man’s stolid stupidities. I’ve seen his fad made ridiculous, but never harmful. Try it out.”
“And you won’t tell me when to come back?”
“When you need to, I said. The moment the temptation to break over the rules becomes too strong, come. And—eh—by the way—eh—don’t worry about your mirror for a while.” Temporarily content with this, the new patient went away with new hope. Wiping his brow, the doctor strolled into the sitting-room where he found the family awaiting him with obvious but repressed curiosity.
“It isn’t ethical, I suppose,” said Mr. Clyde, “to discuss a patient’s case with outsiders?”
“You’re not outsiders. And she’s not my patient, in the ordinary sense, since I’m giving my services free. Moreover, I need all the help I can get.”
“What can I do?” asked Mrs. Clyde promptly. “Drop in at her house from time to time, and cheer her up. I don’t want her to depend upon me exclusively. She has depended altogether too much on doctors in the past.”
Mr. Clyde chuckled. “Did she tell you that the European medical faculty had chased her around to every spa on the Continent? Neurasthenic dyspepsia, they called it.”