"'I'm one of the Sole Sanhedrims and Ostensible Hooplas of the Inner Pulpit,' says I. 'The lame talk and the blind rubber whenever I make a pass at 'em. I am a medium, a coloratura hypnotist and a spirituous control. It was only through me at the recent seances at Ann Arbor that the late president of the Vinegar Bitters Company could revisit the earth to communicate with his sister Jane. You see me peddling medicine on the street,' says I, 'to the poor. I don't practice personal magnetism on them. I do not drag it in the dust,' says I, 'because they haven't got the dust.' "'Will you treat my case?' asks the Mayor. "'Listen,' says I. 'I've had a good deal of trouble with medical societies everywhere I've been. I don't practice medicine. But, to save your life, I'll give you the psychic treatment if you'll agree as mayor not to push the license question.' "'Of course I will,' says he. 'And now get to work, doc, for them pains are coming on again.' "'My fee will be $250.00, cure guaranteed in two treatments,' says I. "'All right,' says the Mayor. 'I'll pay it. I guess my life's worth that much.' "I sat down by the bed and looked him straight in the eye. "'Now,' says I, 'get your mind off the disease. You ain't sick. You haven't got a heart or a clavicle or a funny bone or brains or anything. You haven't got any pain. Declare error. Now you feel the pain that you didn't have leaving, don't you?' "'I do feel some little better, doc,' says the Mayor, 'darned if I don't. Now state a few lies about my not having this swelling in my left side, and I think I could be propped up and have some sausage and buckwheat cakes.' "I made a few passes with my hands. "'Now,' says I, 'the inflammation's gone. The right lobe of the perihelion has subsided. You're getting sleepy. You can't hold your eyes open any longer. For the present the disease is checked. Now, you are asleep.' "The Mayor shut his eyes slowly and began to snore. "'You observe, Mr. Tiddle,' says I, 'the wonders of modern science.' "'Biddle,' says he, 'When will you give uncle the rest of the treatment, Dr. Pooh-pooh?' "'Waugh-hoo,' says I. 'I'll come back at eleven to-morrow. When he wakes up give him eight drops of turpentine and three pounds of steak. Good morning.' "The next morning I was back on time. 'Well, Mr. Riddle,' says I, when he opened the bedroom door, 'and how is uncle this morning?' "'He seems much better,' says the young man. "The mayor's color and pulse was fine. I gave him another treatment, and he said the last of the pain left him.