Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1897-12-16

THE GOLDEN DAY; and Miscellaneous Poems.
By VIM g. Dumas. Philadelphia: The Levy
type Go.
THREW PHYSIC TO THE DOGS.
How a COnsumptive Got Well in Spite
of the Doctors.
From the Chicago T1mesHerald.
Product Of Boston's oeauteous Back Bay,
Ralph Waldo Thompson made up his mind
to die. He was only twenty-five years old,
but was sick of doctors, some of whom
had a cure for consumption and some had
net. The fierce east wind of the Massa-
Chusetts coast had bitten into his lungs.
Very little of them was left. He was six
feet high and broad in proportion. At
Harvard he had been stroke of the second
beat on the river, main backstop of the
second nine and substitute on the Uni
versity eleven. There must have been
something inherently weak in him, how
ever. Three years after leaving college he
was a doomed man. He was an orphan,
with plenty of money. and the doctors sent
him south. He went to Florida, which he
found too damp. Then he went to Denver,
which Re found too high. In New Mexico
he could get nothing to eat. All this time
he was consuming GOD liver Oil by the gal
Ion and coughing his soul out. 1t seemed
villainous thing to him that man of his
physique should die like a rat. Human
science was a very little thing, after all,
he thought, when 1t could not handle a
microbe whose life and habits were SO we'll
known. Finally. in desperation, he decided
to try the table lands of western Texas.
He bade his few friends goodbye ana
bearded the train for San Antonio.
He reached the quaint, haR-Mexican
city after an exhaustlng ride of nearly
5000 miles, more dead than alive, and was
carried to his hotel, The December air was
like wine. A brilliant sun shone from
Of flow ers bloomed in the yards. Near his
window grew an oak,y and in its leafy
branches hooking birds sang the whole
day through. 1t was a world into which
snow and ice did not enter. He found
that his livid face and gaunt frame, with
the pathetically raised shoulders and
Sunken chest, excited no comment in the
hotel or on the streets. There were many
like him lighting desperately for few
mere days of life He missed the sympathy
that had burdened him in Boston. People
regarded him and his disease as a matter
OF course. The hotel physician was fat,
jolly little man with d red face. "Sleep
much as you cam" he told him, land don't
tire yourself. You've come down here too
late TO 90 any good. but with care you'll
last through the winter. The trouble with
you fellows is that you won't come south
until you have one foot in the grave"
Thompson was far gone, but he had some
of his old spirit left. Il may have one foot
In the grave he said but you can bet
the other one Is on the moon. I'll live to
bury you yet" That was one promise
which Thompson made. In day or two
he had occasion to make another. Going
into the hotel dining room for breakfast,
faultlessly dressed as was his fashion,
but tottering with weakness, he found op-
posite to him at table a giant of a man.
This was an Irish railway contractor nam
ed Grogan, height six foot two, chest meas
ire 40 inches. weight 22O pounds, roughly
good-humored, occasionally brutal, and
without the memory of one day sick in all
his life. He looked at Thompson with dis
approval. and when the consumptive began
to cough pushed his chair back angrily.
A small bit of phlegm had lodged upon the
poor devils snowy scarf. Grogan glared at
1t ferociously .Thot's beautiful scarfpin
yez nov there, he said. Couldn't yez
cough me up pair Of cuff buttons?" He
tramped heavily out and Thompson looked
said to himself.
A man whom he met at bar room. half
drunk but wholly companionable. seemed
to take more interest in him than any
Princeton, had lived for some years in the
west and shot game for the market. How
much money have you paid the doctors?"
he asked; Ten thousand dollars, if a
ket hunter whistled. "Well,'' he declared
Il can cure you for bottle of wine 1t
makes no odds where a man dies. If he's
got to go he might as well have the blue
nave IL myself. People standing around
his bed don't do him any good. They'd
only lrrltate me. Live in the open air, man.
It's your only chance. Don't say word to
the doctors, but get yourself some rough
ciothes and go out on the plains. You may
die there. but you'll die here. sure" 'I'u
go, said Thompson. and they drank the
wine
ey. He bought him a stout covered wagon
and a pair of good mules. Into the wagon
ne loaded bedding, some books frying
pan, Dutch oven,ea coffee pot, food sup
pHes, winchester rifle, shotgun, am
munition, barrel eaf eight-year-old whisky
and small looking, glass. He hired a he
gro man to dc ther COOKING and attend to
the animals, crawled into the wagon, lay
down on the BLANKETS and whispered to his
servant to drive northwest. 1t was done.
Then began bitter struggle for life that
was fought out la silence Jogging over
hard roads all day; and coughing all the
night; feeling himself for a little while
grow weaker. and saying to himself that
the end was near rackad by fever and all
Its pains: shlvering with cold in the warm
dssh more sssa b9 tse the of
sttmulant Of the liquoru Thompson battled
on. The air, though. was ozonic. 1t sent
the blood through even chis shrunken veins.
Far on every side ,Epllea the prairie. shore
less as the sea. Overhead at night strange
stars burned in vault of jet black. An
infinite quiet was around. When the wa
gon was still there was no sound save the
swish of the wind in the grasses. If a
norther howled down across the plains
shelter was sought In the hollow of some
creek and giant fires were built. For many
days the negro did the hunting, but Thomp-
son found that after the first stress of the
grapple he grew stronger. He walked by
the side of the wagon then. but often
crawled into its bed to rest. Then he took
short excursions for antelope and black
tailed deer. He became something of a
stalker. He fished more Always the air,
pure as the first breath. that breathed DER
Eden. was around him. healing his torn
lungs, building up the tissues anew. In six
months time, although the hot summer
was on them. he slept like an infant
When the winter came again the negro.
who had grown tired of savagery, drew his
wages and quit. thompson, with the same
wagon and mules. but another barrel of
whisky, went it alone. He liked 1t better
that way. He thought that his solitary