nt of the heart" and various other
things. He was over fifty, very much concerned about himself, his
family, his business, his friends; anxious to obtain the benefits of
this celebrated course of which he had heard so much. Walking or running
near me on his first day, he took occasion to make inquiries in regard
to Culhane, the life here, and later on confidences as to his own
condition. It appeared that his chief trouble was his heart, a kind of
phantom disturbance which made him fear that he was about to drop dead
and which came and went, leaving him uncertain as to whether he had it
or not. On entering he had confided to Culhane the mysteries of his
case, and the latter had examined him, pronouncing him ("Rather
roughly," as he explained to me), quite fit to do "all the silly work he
would have to do here."

Nevertheless while we were out on the short block his heart was hurting
him. At the same time it had been made rather clear to him that if he
wished to stay here he would have to fulfill all the obligations
imposed. After a mile or two or three of quick walking and jogging he
was saying to me, "You know, I'm not really sure that I can do this.
It's very severe, more so than I thought. My heart is not doing very
well. It feels very fluttery."

"But," I said, "if he told you you could stand it, you can, I'm sure.
It's not very likely he'd say you could if you couldn't. He examined
you, didn't he? I don't believe he'd deliberately put a strain on any
one who couldn't stand it."

"Yes," he admitted doubtfully, "that's true perhaps."

Still he continued to complain and complain and to grow more and more
worried, until finally he slowed up and was lost in the background.

Reaching the gymnasium at the proper time I bathed and dressed myself
quickly and waited on the balcony over the bathroom to see what would
happen in this case. As a rule Culhane stood in or near the door at this
time, having just returned from some route or "block" himself, to see
how the others were faring. And he was there when the iron manufacturer
came limping up, fifteen minutes late, one hand over his heart, the
other to his mouth, and exclaiming as he drew near, "I do believe, Mr.
Culhane, that I can't stand this. I'm afraid there is something the
matter with my heart. It's fluttering so."

"To hell with your heart! Didn't I tell you there was nothing the matter
with it? Get into the bath!"

The troubled manufacturer, overawed or reass