n the spot," anything but to leave me free to return to my mad
disease, the worst mania of all--the mania for work.

My good physician stripped me, pommelled me, stethoscoped me, made me
say "99" when he had squeezed all the breath out of me (why "99"? Why
not "98" or "4"?--he was testing internal rebellion), flashed a
reflector under my eyes, seized a drumstick and hammered me under my
knee-joints, sat upon me literally and figuratively, and told me to give
up all food, drink, pleasure, and work for two months, which I did. My
balance at the bankers' and my balance on the scales were both reduced
considerably. I lost a good many pounds in weight and money.

* * * * *

[Illustration]

My friends all assured me that I looked well, but I never felt so ill in
all my life. If I was not ill, I ought to be. I tried to work, but broke
down. I was idle in the mornings, in the evenings, and in the middle of
the day as well, and it was a duty I owed to my doctor to collapse. So
one day I forced myself into his consulting-room before a hundred
patients waiting their turn, labelled "Well again." I pushed him into
his chair, pommelled him 99 times, flashed my cane under his eyes,
seized the poker and hammered him under his knee-joints, and told him I
would get him six months' hard labour if he did not pronounce me
sound,--he did.

"You only want a tonic now, my dear fellow--a sea-trip!"

"A _Teutonic_," I replied _Majestic_ally. "The very thing--sails
to-morrow--a new berth--I'll be born again under a White Star--_au
revoir_!"

"Your prescription!" he called after me. "Take it, and if you value your
life act up to it to the letter."

It contained two words and no hieroglyphics. Those two words were--"No
Work!"

How I acted up to it the following pages will show.

* * * * *

[Illustration: AN ATLANTIC "GREYHOUND."]

In strong contrast to the crowd and bustle at leaving in the afternoon
is the quietude late in the evening. Many promenade up and down the
beautiful deck under the electrically-lighted roof, and gaze upon the
lights of many craft flitting to and fro in the gentle breeze like
will-o'-the-wisps, postponing retiring, as they are not yet accustomed
to the vibration of the Atlantic greyhound, which trembles underneath
them as if, like the real greyhound in full cry after a hare, it is
literally straining every muscle to beat the record from the Old Wo