a cot at the north end, and
glancing at the chart on the table I saw the patient was seriously ill.

"Moribund," said a voice.

"I'm afraid so," I answered. I turned and saw an elderly gentleman,
dressed in the costume of the last century, floating beside me.

"Sad, is it not? People still die, I see, in spite of the wonderful
advance in the science of medicine since my day."

"Were you a doctor when alive?" I asked.

"Well, I was called one, and received the regular license to kill or
cure. I regret to say that I have since learned that I killed a great
many more than I cured. The trouble is, after you are dead your patients
know this as well as you do and say unkind things; even to-night I
received word from a former patient of mine, and a ghost who ought to
know better, to the effect that he intended to hunt me up and punch my
head. I treated him for renal colic and he died of appendicitis."

"What sort of a death certificate did you give?" I asked.

"Heart disease, and let me tell you that was a great deal nearer to it
than some of you chaps get nowadays."

"You are not complimentary," I said coldly.

"Perhaps not; but if you think my criticisms harsh and uncalled for,
let us get down to cold facts. Did it ever occur to you how very few
people live to be even one hundred and twenty-five years old? You surely
will admit that there is no reason why a man should not live to that
age, barring accidents. We know that in Bible times there were lots of
old fellows who passed their three hundredth birthday, and a chap named
Methuselah claimed to be nine hundred and ninety-nine years old."

"Nine hundred and sixty-nine, was it not?" I asked.

"Perhaps you are right, but sixty-nine or ninety-nine, I am inclined to
be a little sceptical about that record myself; there is one thing in
its favor, however, and that is, that he made it an even nine hundred
and ninety-nine, and not one thousand. Of course, you know there are
plenty of people living to-day who are over one hundred years old, and
some who have reached the very satisfactory age of one hundred and
twenty-five; most of them, however, live in Bulgaria, Mexico, or some
out-of-the-way place, and are so poor that they have to live
abstemiously."

"Then you consider the secret of longevity to be a matter of diet?" said
I.

"Partly that, and partly proper care of the nervous system; but come
downstairs, and let us have a cigarette; I am dying for a smoke."

W