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I’ve been pretty well handicapped for a couple of months and am in the hands of a fine tyrant of a doctor, who makes me come to see him every other day, and who has forbidden me to leave the city until he is through with me, and then only under his own auspices and direction. It seems that the goddess Hygiene and I have been strangers for years; and now Science must step in and repair the damage. My doctor is a miracle worker and promises that in a few weeks he will double my capacity, which sounds very good both for me and for him, when the payment of the bill is considered.
Later he wrote Mr. Steger from Asheville:
Dear Colonel Steger:
I’d have answered your letter, but I’ve been under the weather with a slight relapse. But on the whole I’m improving vastly. I’ve a doctor who says I’ve absolutely no physical trouble except neurasthenia, and that outdoor exercise and air will fix me as good as new. As for the diagnosis of the New York doctors—they are absolutely without foundation. I am twenty pounds lighter and can climb mountains like a goat.
Some time previous to this he wrote in a similar vein to a New York editor:
My Dear Colonel:
I’ve been intending to write you a long time, but the fact is, I haven’t written a line of MS. and scarcely a letter since I’ve been down here. I’ve been putting in all my time trying to get back in good shape again. The simple life has been the thing I needed, and by or before Christmas I expect to be at work again in better condition than ever. It is lonesome down here as Broadway when you are broke, but I shall try to stick it out a couple of weeks or so longer.
Tell Hampton’s not to get discouraged about their story. It’ll come pretty soon, and be all the better for the wait. As I161