I confess to a little shakiness when I knocked at Dr. Benjamin's office
door. "Come in!" exclaimed Dr. B. F. in tones that sounded ominous and
sepulchral. And I went in.
I don't believe the chambers of the Inquisition ever presented a more
alarming array of implements for extracting a confession, than our young
Doctor's office did of instruments to make nature tell what was the
matter with a poor body.
There were Ophthalmoscopes and Rhinoscopes and Otoscopes and
Laryngoscopes and Stethoscopes; and Thermometers and Spirometers and
Dynamometers and Sphygmometers and Pleximeters; and Probes and Probangs
and all sorts of frightful inquisitive exploring contrivances; and scales
to weigh you in, and tests and balances and pumps and electro-magnets and
magneto-electric machines; in short, apparatus for doing everything but
turn you inside out.
Dr. Benjamin set me down before his one window and began looking at me
with such a superhuman air of sagacity, that I felt like one of those
open-breasted clocks which make no secret of their inside arrangements,
and almost thought he could see through me as one sees through a shrimp
or a jelly-fish. First he looked at the place inculpated, which had a
sort of greenish-brown color, with his naked eyes, with much corrugation
of forehead and fearful concentration of attention; then through a
pocket-glass which he carried.
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