“But look at the examples which can be cited,” Armstrong continued, undisturbed. “Zola produced nothing of importance after he adopted the simple life, and Swinburne’s poetry lost all its fire as soon as he ‘reformed.’”
“Can you prove in either case that the question of nutrition or digestion entered into the matter at all?”
“Oh, it may have been a coincidence, of course; but many other cases might be added.”
Uncle Peabody was silent for a moment. “Let me give you a simple problem,” he said, at length. “Helen tells me that you have an automobile now on its way to Florence?”
Armstrong assented.
“When it arrives I presume you will engage a chauffeur?”
“What has an automobile to do with nutrition, Mr. Cartwright?” demanded Mary Sinclair. “Surely an automobile has no digestion.”
“My application is near at hand. When you engage that chauffeur I presume you will insist that he knows the mechanism of the machine, understands the application of the motive power and other details which enter into safe and successful handling of the car?”
“Naturally,” replied Jack. “I am not introducing my machine here for the purpose either of murder or suicide.”
“Exactly. That is just what I wanted you to say. Now, every human stomach is an engine which requires at least as intelligent handling as that of an automobile. Upon its successful working depends the mechanical action of the body. We may disregard the additional dependence of the brain. Petroleum in the automobile is replaced by what we call food in the human engine. Too much of either, unintelligently applied, produces the same unfortunate result. Now I ask you, John Armstrong, would you engage as chauffeur for your automobile a man who knew no more about the mechanism of its engine, or how to feed and handle it properly, than you yourself know about your own body engine?”