John's Other Practice By Winston Marks Slot machines usually give you a big pain in the wallet. But Cunningham's Symptometer was more considerate--it also diagnosed the pain.... [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy July 1954 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I knew that John Cunningham had been warned on graduation day that no man with a romantic nature should specialize in gynecology. John was not only a romanticist; he was also the best looking intern north of the equator. The laws of probability functioned. Within three years, John Cunningham was married, divorced, disgraced and flat broke. And so it was that the winsome, six-foot, blonde-headed nurse's idol of the flashing smile and brilliant mind, approached life with three strangely related goals, namely: (1) To practice medicine successfully without (2) coming in contact with his patients, and yet (3) make back the family fortune he had squandered mixing potions with poetry. In a much less interesting way, I, too, was diverted from an otherwise promising career in the practice of conventional 21st Century medicine. My final exam before the board revealed an aptitude that landed me a fat offer from the International Medical Association. The job was Special Investigator on the Malpractice Board of Control. My apparent immunity to emotional disturbances from the other sex, ironically, was the deciding factor of my appointment. My first intimation of John Cunningham's vicarious practice came in the form of an order to check on a complaint from the Hotel Celt in New York. I bussed over to the 48-story hostelry and questioned the manager, a fat, bald man of some forty-two years and no arches. "A lady doctor," he mourned, "has served warning she will sue unless I take out the slot machines from our mezzanine powder rooms." "I know," I said. "She filed the complaint that brought me here. What I want to know is what does a slot machine violate by being in the ladies' room?" I meant, what violation beyond the usual federal, state and county restrictions whose ineffectual enforcement rendered them anachronisms in this age of device-gambling. "Why does this remotely concern the medical profession?" Mr. Dennithy, the manager plucked an imperfect petal from his buttonhole carnation and reluctantly pointed out. "These machines are vending, not gambling devices. They issue medical advice--on a limited scale," he added hurriedly. "What!" I yelled in his face. "Let's go see this."