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Updated: June 25, 2025
Yet many such men are not consciously dishonest. They are merely victims of disassociation." "I'm afraid," acknowledged Stuart, "I'm still too much the tyro to understand the term very fully." "None of us understand it as fully as we'd like," Dr. Ebbett assured him. "But we are gradually learning. In every man's consciousness there is a stream of thought which we call the brain content.
"It would be a gracious act," assented the younger man. "Life has become a burden to the old fellow." Dr. Ebbett rose and tossed his cigar stump outward. "We've been sitting here theorizing for hours after the better-ordered members of the household have gone to their beds," he said. "It's about time to say good night."
Stuart smiled to himself, but his prompting question came in the tone of commonplace. "Just what does that mean to you, Doctor too much the New Englander?" Ebbett laughed. "I use the word only as a term as descriptive of an intolerance which exists everywhere, north and south, east and west but in Eben it was exaggerated.
"Now, what's left for us?" After a brief conversation with the umpire Maitland signaled. Dick Prescott came bounding in from second, to receive the ball from Kennedy, while Ebbett was seen racing out to second. "Play ball!" called the umpire crisply. "Oh, pshaw!" called one of the cadets. "In training season Prescott tried for pitcher and the coaches turned him down. Now we're done for today!"
Ebbett as a guide, Farquaharson gratified that avid interest which every sincere writer must feel for explorations into new fields of thought. One evening the two sat alone on the terrace in the communion of lighted cigars and creature comfort long after their host and hostess had gone to their beds, and Ebbett said thoughtfully, and without introduction: "It seems to have worked out.
"But, Doctor," Stuart put his question with a keenly edged interest, "for such a condition as you describe, is there a cure, or is it only a matter of analysis?" "Ah," replied Ebbett gravely, "that's a large question. Usually a cure is quite possible, but it always depends upon the uncompromising frankness of the patient's confessions. He must strip his soul naked before we can help him.
Eben standing in the doorway, smiling, seemed to her disordered mood the figure of a Satyr. "I've had a letter from Ebbett," Tollman commented one day at luncheon. "Like Stuart here, he's been working too hard and he wants to know if he can run down for the week-end." When Conscience had declared her approval the host turned to Farquaharson. "I shouldn't wonder if you'd like Ebbett.
With fingers that trembled violently for a moment Eben grew as abruptly steady; he drew from his waistcoat pocket a small envelope such as druggists use, and into two of the glasses he divided its supply of small tablets. "Ebbett said they were tasteless and readily soluble," he reminded himself. "And that the amount should be enough for a dog or a man."
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