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An Interesting Ghost
by
“But how,” I asked, “are you going to prevent people from dying of old age?”
“Of course they will die of old age; but there is no such thing as old age under one hundred and fifty years; what you call old age is not old age at all. There are two kinds of old age or senility. Old age, properly speaking, results from a distinct modification of the nervous tissues and a hardening of the arteries–the former caused by unnatural conditions, nervous strain and dissipation, and the latter from over-feeding and drinking. The trouble with the ordinary man is that he absorbs great quantities of nitrogenous foods instead of making his diet one of nuts, fruit, milk, etc. In comparatively young men of the present age there is often a decided modification of the nervous tissues with symptoms resembling those in neurasthenia. In such cases galvanic treatment will restore the centres to their normal condition. You will, therefore, I think, admit that with proper diet and possibly the aid of a galvanic battery a man may live,–barring possible death by violence,–say, two hundred years.”
“You mean,” I said, “when we have learned to combat the various disease germs by pitting against them their natural enemies.”
“Exactly, of course,” answered the shade; “but it seems to me that we have talked long enough; I am becoming very dry, so let us repair to the Waldorf and have a cocktail.”
“How is it possible,” I asked, “that you can take a cocktail, there being nothing tangible about you?”
“Of course,” answered the ghost, “it is impossible for me to actually drink a cocktail. I can, however, float over the bar and inhale the pleasing odors arising from the various concoctions served to the guests, and in my ethereal condition I enjoy the odors and am affected by them as much as if I were really drinking the liquid.”
We floated from the house and down town, until we reached the brilliantly lighted Waldorf Hotel. There were many people in the bar-room, and the medical shade and myself, floating about over the different tables, inhaled with decided enjoyment the delicate aroma of the various mixed drinks so dear to the present generation.
To my annoyance my shade companion soon began to sing–he was evidently affected by the odors which had passed through him. His manner became familiar, and I had great difficulty in keeping him from kicking the glasses off the tables. At last I succeeded in getting him out of the room, and it was time, for as we floated into the street he began shouting in a most uproarious manner, and I was afraid that we should be arrested for disturbing the peace.
“Be quiet, I beg of you,” I pleaded; “see that policeman on the opposite side of the street? We shall surely get into trouble if you make such a noise.”
“Policeman?” hiccoughed the shade, “What the devil do I care for a policeman? Watch me go over and punch him in the stomach.”
In spite of all I could do to prevent him he started straight for the officer, who was standing all unconscious on the corner, watching a pretty girl who was looking into one of the brilliantly lighted store windows. Now was my time to rid myself of this most undesirable companion, and I wished myself in my own room.
Instantly I found myself floating about over my bed, and there was my body sleeping as peacefully as ever. I was somewhat tired, but I remembered our contract to write down the result of our experiences, and immediately sat down to do it. After I had written it I read it over carefully to see if I had overlooked anything, and then wished myself in bed and asleep. The next thing I knew it was broad daylight. There, on my writing-table, were the pages of manuscript which I had written. They were real enough, whether the rest was a dream or not.