They offered Hagle's Disease to a lot of comedians, but finally it was the new guy, Biff Kelsey, that got it and made it his own. He did a thirty-hour telethon for Hagle's Disease. Things really started to roll then. Boston coughed up three hundred thousand alone. The most touching contribution came from Carrville. I plugged away on the employ-the-physically-handicapped theme and was made president of the Foundation for the Treatment of Hagle's Disease. Dr. Wise (the intern) was the director. So far, I had been living soft at Cedars, but I hadn't got my hands on one red cent. I wanted to get that government bond to buy off the Hexers, but at the same time it no longer seemed so urgent. They seemed to have given up, and were just sitting back waiting for their bribe. One morning three months later, Doc Wise came worriedly into my room at the hospital. "I don't like these reports, William," he said. "They all say there's nothing wrong with you." "It comes and it goes," I said casually. "You saw some of the times when it came." "Yes, but I'm having trouble convincing the trustees you weren't malingering. And, contrary to our expectations, no one else in the country seems to have developed Hagle's Disease." "Stop worrying, Doc. Read the Foundation's charter. You have to treat Hagle's Disease, which means you can use that money to treat _any_ disease of mine while we draw our salaries. I must have _something_ wrong with me." Wise shook his head. "Nothing. Not even dandruff or B.O. You are the healthiest man I have ever examined. It's _unnatural_." Six months afterward, I had been walking all night in the park, in the rain. I hadn't had anything to eat recently and I had fever and I began sneezing. The money was still in the bank--no, not in _my_ name--I couldn't touch it; Miss Tompkins' descendants couldn't touch it--just waiting for me to-- I started running toward the hospital. I slammed my fists against Wise's door. "Obed up, Wise. Id's be, Hagle. I god a cold. _That's_ a disease, is'd it?" Wise threw back the door. "What did you say?" "I said 'Open up, Wise. It's me, Hagle. I've got a cold'.... Never mind, Wise, never mind." * * * * * But you don't want to hear about all that. You want to know about what happened in the relief office. There's not much to tell. I picked up the check from the guy's desk and looked at it. Nine fifty-seven to buy food for two weeks. I griped that it wasn't enough--not enough to keep alive on and save eighteen seventy-five clear in a lifetime. The slob at the desk said, "What have you got to complain about? You got your health, don't you?" That's when I slugged him and smashed up the relief office, and that's why the four cops dragged me here, and that's why I'm lying here on your couch telling you this story, Dr. Schultz.