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"My wife's got" correcting himself with a shivery shrug "my wife had a brother that took to cutting up rough because when I'd been up too late I handled her a leetle hard now and again. "Luckily he fell sick with typhoid just then you see, he lived with us. When he got better I guessed he'd drop all that; but somehow he was worse than ever clean off his head, and strong as an ox.
"Sick in the hospital! Why, Arthur, have you been ill? What was the matter?" "A light typhoid fever. I went to the Wesleyan College, at Montreal, after that, so I didn't even know you had come back to college." "To the Wesleyan? I thought you were so attached to Victoria! Whatever made you leave it, Arthur?" He flushed slightly, and evaded her question.
But somebody had to, and I thought it might as well be me. I caught it from a child. A mild case. That would not make much difference. Being a woman is good. More men die than women. It's only within the last few years that typhus has been distinguished from typhoid...." After a few more useful particulars, she said: "It was very bad of you to come.
He was a vigorous, heavy-set man, a grand field for typhoid. But he prospered, and the young doctor was turned down with the full weight and breadth of the Van Elten thumb, or the Broderick; Abraham's build was that of his maternal grandmother, Hillotje Broderick.
The tub was already partly filled with water, and I afterward learned that owing to the laziness and filthiness of the attendants, the same water was often used over and over again for the different typhoid patients. I observed that this attendant, who was otherwise called an orderly, was about as ignorant and degraded a specimen of humanity as a much boasted civilization could possibly breed.
Nowhere can the natural history of disease be more clearly seen or more advantageously studied than in the case of typhoid fever. The cause of typhoid is simplicity itself, merely drinking the excreta of some one else, "eating dirt," in the popular phrase; simple, but of a deadly effectiveness, and disgracefully common.
A violent operation may be necessary to remove a malignant growth. It may be the only possible cure; but no physician would hope to cure typhoid fever by knocking the patient insensible with a club.
So much for this parenthesis of the tongue-scraper, which helped to save the young colony from a much more serious scrape, and may save the Union yet, if a Presidential candidate should happen to be taken sick as Massasoit was, and his tongue wanted cleaning, which process would not hurt a good many politicians, with or without a typhoid fever.
A ten and two fives. Enough to keep his room at the hospital for two weeks. No, for she must live, herself. Enough to give him a room one week longer and to enable her to live two weeks at least. . . . And day after tomorrow more. Perhaps, soon enough to see him through the typhoid. She put the money in her bosom, rose and went on toward the hospital.
On the other hand, cases of typhoid treated by the fast, and the other hygienic measures necessary, recover in a short time, there are no evil sequels and the body is in better condition than it was before the onset of the disease. I have never seen a fatality in a properly treated case, and the mortality is conspicuous by its absence. It is the same in curable chronic diseases.
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