Part 39

“You didn’t have one here last night.”

“No.”

“And you ate almost nothing.”

“That is just it, you see. I need something: otherwise I have no appetite.”

“In other words, you have formed a drink habit.”

“Oh, Dr. Strong!” It was half reproach, half insulted innocence, that wail.

“After a cocktail—or two—or three,” he looked at her closely, but she would not meet his eyes, “you eat pretty well?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“And then go to bed with a headache because you’ve stimulated your appetite to more food than your run-down mechanism can rightly handle.”

“I do have a good many headaches.”

“Do anything for them?”

“Yes. I take some harmless powders, sometimes.”

“Harmless, eh? A harmless headache powder is like a mild cocktail. It doesn’t exist. So you’re adding drug habit to drink habit. Fortunately, it isn’t hard to stop. It has begun to show on you already, in that puffy grayness under the eyes. All the coal-tar powders vitiate the blood as well as affect the heart. Sleep badly?”

“Very often.”

“Take anything for that?”

“You mean opiates? I’m not a fool, Doctor.”

“You mean you haven’t gone quite that far,” said the other grimly. “You’ve started in on two habits; but not the worst. Well, that’s all. Come back when you need to.”

Miss Ennis’s big, dull eyes opened wide. “Aren’t you going to give me anything? Any medicine?”

“You don’t need it.”

“Or any advice?”

Dr. Strong permitted himself a little smile at the success of his strategy. “Give it to yourself,” he suggested. “You showed, in flashes, during the dinner talk last night, that you have both wit and sense, when you choose to use them. Do it now.”

The girl squirmed uncomfortably. “I suppose you want me to give up cocktails,” she murmured in a die-away voice.

“Absolutely.”

“And try to get along with no stimulants at all?”

“By no means. Fresh air and exercise ad lib.”

“And to stop the headache powders?”

“Right; go on.”

“And to stop thinking about my symptoms?”