FullReads

PHILOSOPHER.–Whose taste?

F.–Why, that of people of culture.

PH.–Do any of these people chance to have a taste for intoxication, tobacco, hard hats, false hair, the nude ballet, and over-feeding?

F.–Possibly; but in intellectual matters you must confess their taste is correct.

PH.–Why must I?

F.–They say so themselves.

* * * * *

PHILOSOPHER.–I have been thinking why a dolt is called a donkey.

FOOL.–I had thought philosophy concerned itself with a less personal class of questions; but why is it?

PH.–The essential quality of a dolt is stupidity.

F.–Mine ears are drunken!

PH.–The essential quality of an ass is asininity.

F.–Divine philosophy!

PH.–As commonly employed, “stupidity” and “asininity” are convertible terms.

F.–That I, unworthy, should have lived to see this day!

* * * * *

II.

FOOL.–If I were a doctor–

DOCTOR.–I should endeavour to be a fool.

F.–You would fail; folly is not easily achieved.

D.–True; man is overworked.

F.–Let him take a pill.

D.–If he like. I would not.

F.–You are too frank: take a fool’s advice.

D.–Thank thee for the nastier prescription.

* * * * *

FOOL.–I have a friend who–

DOCTOR.–Stands in great need of my assistance. Absence of excitement, gentle restraint, a hard bed, simple diet–that will straighten him out.

F.–I’ll give thee sixpence to let me touch the hem of thy garment!

D.–What of your friend?

F.–He is a gentleman.

D.–Then he is dead!

F.–Just so: he is “straightened out”–he took your prescription.

D.–All but the “simple diet.”

F.–He is himself the diet.

D.–How simple!

* * * * *

FOOL.–Believe you a man retains his intellect after decapitation?

DOCTOR.–It is possible that he acquires it?

F.–Much good it does him.

D.–Why not–as compensation? He is at some disadvantage in other respects.

F.–For example?

D.–He is in a false position.

* * * * *

FOOL.–What is the most satisfactory disease?

DOCTOR.–Paralysis of the thoracic duct.

F.–I am not familiar with it.

D.–It does not encourage familiarity. Paralysis of the thoracic duct enables the patient to accept as many invitations to dinner as he can secure, without danger of spoiling his appetite.

F.–But how long does his appetite last?

D.–That depends. Always a trifle longer than he does.

F.–The portion that survives him–?

D.–Goes to swell the Mighty Gastric Passion which lurks darkly Outside, yawning to swallow up material creation!

F.–Pitch it a biscuit.

* * * * *

FOOL.–You attend a patient. He gets well. Good! How do you tell whether his recovery is because of your treatment or in spite of it?

DOCTOR.–I never do tell.

F.–I mean how do you know?

D.–I take the opinion of a person interested in the question: I ask a fool.

F.–How does the patient know?

D.–The fool asks me.

F.–Amiable instructor! How shall I reward thee?

D.–Eat a cucumber cut up in shilling claret.

* * * * *

DOCTOR.–The relation between a patient and his disease is the same as that which obtains between the two wooden weather-prophets of a Dutch clock. When the disease goes off, the patient goes on; when the disease goes on, the patient goes off.

FOOL.–A pauper conceit. Their relations, then, are not of the most cordial character.

D.–One’s relations–except the poorer sort–seldom are.

F.–My tympanum is smitten with pleasant peltings of wisdom! I ‘ll lay you ten to one you cannot tell me the present condition of your last patient.