in-faced doctor who was attending to me said, "How's the man of many
wounds this morning?" I asked: "Why is it my leg is dead?" He said:
"We're only waiting for the wounds to heal until we test it." And sure
enough a day or two later I was put in the electric chair for
"reactions." When the current was put onto my right leg I howled and
twisted, but with twice the current on my left leg nothing happened, as
I felt nothing. Some days later a great nerve specialist operated on
me and when I came back to this workaday world from the land of fancy,
whither the ether had borne me, I was informed that a portion of nerve
had been grafted in my leg and that in about three months I might be
able to use it.

At this time I had no idea from whom the portion of nerve came. I did
not like to inquire, for I was afraid that if I met its previous owner
I might be prejudiced against it. Every portion of one's body is so
closely related to the rest that I was afraid if his face did not suit
my fancy I might subconsciously come to resemble him. But whenever I
met one-legged men in the corridors or concert-hall I would try to pick
out the one I would most like to receive such an intimate gift from.
Some of these had a refined, delicate appearance, and I immediately
feared that I would grow tenderfooted, while others looked like
pugilists and I immediately imagined my foot was becoming calloused and
might become longer than the other.

So purposely I remained in ignorance of the religion and nationality of
my new nerve. Once for a whole day I sweat blood lest it might be a
German, and then I plucked up courage to ask if there were any Germans
in the hospital, and when I learned that there were not I slept like a
child for many hours. On Saturdays I felt it might be a Jew or a
Seventh-Day Adventist, but then it did not work on other days either,
so I thought it must be I. W. W., "I Won't Work" as they are called in
Australia. Then one day I was sure it was from one of the same
religion as myself, for that leg was perspiring alone, and in the
outback country in Australia, where the temperature reaches one hundred
and twenty degrees in the shade, the Presbyterian Church is sometimes
called "Perspiration." At any rate, I read in a paper that in one town
the three churches were Anglican, Roman Catholic, and Perspiration. As
to nationality it might be Scotch, as I had to be "_verra cautious_" in
moving it, or English, being so "_sen