"They have--or at least they have something quite as good," said AEsculapius. "They are all my disciples, and in the best instances they can see through the average patient without them. They have insight. You don't believe you deceive your physician, do you?" "I have sometimes thought so," said I, not realizing the trap the doctor was setting. "How foolish!" he cried. "Why should you wish to?" I was covered with confusion. "Never mind," said AEsculapius, smiling pleasantly. "You are only human and cannot help yourself. It is your imagination leads you astray. Half the time when you send for your physician there is nothing the matter with you." "He always prescribes," I retorted. "That is for your comfort, not his," said AEsculapius, firmly. "And sometimes they operate when it isn't necessary," I put in, persistently. "True," said AEsculapius. "Very true. Because if they didn't, the patient would die of worry." "Humph!" said I, incredulous. "I never knew that the operation for appendicitis was a mind cure." "It is--frequently," observed the doctor. "There are more people, my friend, who have appendicitis on their minds than there are those who have it in their vermiforms. Don't forget that." It was a revelation, and, to tell the truth, it has been a revelation of comfort ever since. "I fancy, doctor," said I, after a pause, "that you are a Christian Scientist. All troubles are fanciful and indicative of a perverse soul." AEsculapius flushed. "If one of the gods had said that," he replied, "I should have operated upon him. As a mortal, you are privileged to say unpleasant things, just as a child may say things to his elders with impunity which merit extreme punishment. Christian Science is all right when you are truly well--in good physical condition. It is a sure cure for imaginary troubles, but when you are really sick, it is not of Olympus, but of Hades." AEsculapius spoke with all the passion of a mortal, and I was embarrassed. "I did not mean to say anything unpleasant, doctor," said I. "That's all right, my lad," said AEsculapius, patting me on the back. "I knew that. If I hadn't known it, you'd have been on the table by this time. And now, good-bye. Curb your imagination. Think about others. Don't worry about yourself without cause, and never send for a doctor unless you know there's something wrong. If I had my way you mortals would be deprived of imagination. That is your worst disease, and if at any time you wish yours amputated, come to me and I'll fix you out." "Thanks, doctor," I replied; "but I don't think I'll accept your offer, because I need my imagination in my business." And then, realizing that I had received my _conge_, I prepared to depart. "How much do I owe you, doctor?" I asked, putting my hand into the pocket of my gown, confident of finding whatever I should need.