_Astounded._

Just like it?

LITTLEFIELD.

Well, pretty much. Happened in Chicago when I was an interne at St.
Luke's.

BEELER.

Then it's not--there's nothing--peculiar about it?

LITTLEFIELD.

Yes, sir-ree! Mighty peculiar!

BEELER.

I mean nothing, as you might say, outside nature?

LITTLEFIELD.

O, bless you, you can't get outside nature nowadays!

_Moves his hands in a wide circle._

Tight as a drum, no air-holes.--Devilish queer, though--pardon me, Mr.
Culpepper--really amazing, the power of the mind over the body.

CULPEPPER.

Would you be good enough to let us hear some of your professional
experiences?

LITTLEFIELD.

_Lights a cigarette, as he leans on the edge of the table._

Don't have to go to professional medicine for cases. They're lying
around loose. Why, when I was at Ann Arbor--in a fraternity
initiation--we bared a chap's shoulders, showed him a white-hot poker,
blindfolded him, told him to stand steady, and--touched him with a
piece of ice. A piece of ice, I tell you! What happened? Damned if
it--pardon me, Mr. Culpepper--blessed if it didn't _burn_ him--carries
the scars to this day. Then there was that case in Denver. Ever hear
about that? A young girl, nervous patient. Nails driven through the
palms of her hands,--tenpenny nails,--under the hypnotic suggestion
that she wasn't being hurt. Didn't leave a cicatrice as big as a bee
sting! Fact!

BEELER.

You think my wife's case is like these?

LITTLEFIELD.

Precisely; with religious excitement to help out.

_He points outside._

They're getting ready for Kingdom-come over it, out yonder, dear Dr.
Culpepper.

BEELER.

They're worked up enough, if that's all that's needed.

LITTLEFIELD.

Worked up! Elijah in a chariot of fire, distributing cure-alls as he
mounts to glory. They've got their ascension robes on, especially the
niggers.

CULPEPPER.

_With severity._

I take it you are the late Dr. Martin's successor.

LITTLEFIELD.

I have the honor.

CULPEPPER.

Old Dr. Martin would never have taken a flippant tone in such a crisis.

LITTLEFIELD.

Flippant? By no means! A little light-headed. My profession is
attacked. At its very roots, sir.--

_With relish._

As far as that goes, I'm afraid yours is, too.

CULPEPPER.

_To Beeler, ignoring the gibe._

Am I to understand that you countenance these proceedings?

BEELER.

_Pointing to the invalid chair._

If your