DR. CONY (_removing his gloves and opening the bag_)--Sorry I couldn't get here any sooner, but I've been on the go all day. An obstetrician gets mighty little rest hereabouts, I can tell you. Well, now, Mr. Cottontail, what can I do for you? What seems to be the trouble? COTTONTAIL (_pointing to the open door, and lifting one finger to his mouth_)--Shush! DR. CONY--Really! (_The physician crosses the room in one hop and closes the door_.) COTTONTAIL--The pain's in my foot. My big toe, I think, but that's not what worries me-- DR. CONY (_breaking in_)--Pains worse at night than it does during the daytime, doesn't it? Throbs a bit right now, hey? COTTONTAIL--Yes, it does, but that isn't the trouble. DR. CONY--That's trouble enough. I'll try to have you loping around again in a month or so. COTTONTAIL--But there's more than the pain. It's the worry. I haven't told a soul. I thought at first it might be a nightmare. DR. CONY--Dreams, eh? Very significant, sometimes, but we'll get to them later. COTTONTAIL--But I'm afraid it wasn't a dream. DOCTOR--What wasn't a dream? COTTONTAIL--Last Tuesday evening I was sitting in this room, quietly reading _The Evening Post_, when suddenly something tore the ceiling away, and down from above there came ten horrible pink tentacles and seized me in an iron grasp. Then something stabbed me with some sharp instrument. I was too frightened to move for several minutes, but when I looked up the ceiling was back in place as if nothing had touched it. I felt around for the wound, but the only thing I could find, was a tiny scratch that seemed so small I might have had it some time without noticing it. I couldn't be sure it was a wound. In fact, I tried to make myself believe that the whole thing was all a dream, until I was taken sick to-night. Now I'm afraid that the sword, or whatever it was that stabbed me, must have been poisoned. DR. CONY (_sharply_)--Let me look at your tongue. (Cottontail complies.) Seems all right. Hold out your hands. Spread your fingers. (_He studies the patient for a moment_.) Nothing much the matter there. (_Producing pen and paper_.) If it was only March now I'd know what to say. Let's see what we can find out about hereditary influence. Father and mother living? COTTONTAIL--I had no father or mother. I came out of a trick hat in a vaudeville act. DR. CONY--That makes it a little more difficult, doesn't it? Do you happen to remember what sort of a hat? COTTONTAIL (_a little proudly_)--It was quite a high hat. DR. CONY--Yes, it would be. What color? COTTONTAIL--Black and shiny. DR. CONY--That seems normal enough. I'm afraid there's nothing significant there. (_Anxiously_.) No fixed delusions? You don't think you're Napoleon or the White Rabbit or anything like that, do you? Do you feel like growling or biting anybody? COTTONTAIL--Of course not. There's nothing the matter with my brain. DR. CONY--Perhaps you went to sleep and dreamed it all.