The Autobiography of a Quack, and The Case of George DedlowMitchell, S. Weir (Silas Weir)
General
The Autobiography of a Quack, and The Case of George Dedlow
Mitchell, S. Weir (Silas Weir)
Didactic fiction; Political fiction; Social problems -- Fiction
very good rooms in one of the down-town localities of the Quaker City.
I am not specific as to the number and street, for reasons which may
hereafter appear. I liked the situation on various accounts. It had
been occupied by a doctor; the terms were reasonable; and it lay on the
skirts of a good neighborhood, while below it lived a motley population,
among which I expected to get my first patients and such fees as were to
be had. Into this new home I moved my medical text-books, a few bones,
and myself. Also, I displayed in the window a fresh sign, upon which was
distinctly to be read:
DR. E. SANDERAFT. Office hours, 8 to 9 A.M., 7 to 9 P.M.
I felt now that I had done my fair share toward attaining a virtuous
subsistence, and so I waited tranquilly, and without undue enthusiasm,
to see the rest of the world do its part in the matter. Meanwhile I
read up on all sorts of imaginable cases, stayed at home all through my
office hours, and at intervals explored the strange section of the town
which lay to the south of my office. I do not suppose there is anything
like it else where. It was then filled with grog-shops, brothels,
slop-shops, and low lodging-houses. You could dine for a penny on soup
made from the refuse meats of the rich, gathered at back gates by a
horde of half-naked children, who all told varieties of one woeful tale.
Here, too, you could be drunk for five cents, and be lodged for three,
with men, women, and children of all colors lying about you. It was this
hideous mixture of black and white and yellow wretchedness which made
the place so peculiar. The blacks predominated, and had mostly
that swollen, reddish, dark skin, the sign in this race of habitual
drunkenness. Of course only the lowest whites were here--rag-pickers,
pawnbrokers, old-clothes men, thieves, and the like. All of this, as it
came before me, I viewed with mingled disgust and philosophy. I hated
filth, but I understood that society has to stand on somebody, and I was
only glad that I was not one of the undermost and worst-squeezed bricks.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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