strain will be too much for me." I was wrong. It was too much for the hook. The hook whizzed out, everything flew at me at once, and I remembered no more....
As I limped into bed, I trod heavily upon something sharp. I shrieked and bent down to see what had bitten me. It was a tin plate bearing the word "LADIES."
* * * * *
"Well?" said Adela a week later.
I looked at her for a long time. "When did you last use the Hyperion?" I asked.
"About a year ago."
"Ah!... You don't remember the chart that went with it?"
"Not well. Except, of course, that each exercise was arranged for a particular object, according to what you wanted."
"Exactly. So I discovered yesterday. It was in very small type, and I missed it at first."
"Well, how many did you do?"
"I limited myself to exercises 10, 15 and 28. Do you happen to remember what those are for?"
"Not particularly."
"No. Well, I started with No. 10. No. 10 you may recall is one of the most perilous. I nearly died over No. 10. And when I had been doing it for a week I discovered what its particular object was."
"What?"
"_'To round the forearm'!_ Yes, madam," I said bitterly, "I have spent a week of agony ... and I have rounded one forearm."
"Why didn't you try another?"
"I did. I tried No. 15. Six times in the pursuit of No. 15 have I been shot up to the ceiling by the left foot ... and what for, Adela? _'To arch the instep'!_ Look at my instep! Why should I _want_ to arch it?"
"I wish I could remember which chart I sent you," said Adela, wrinkling her brow.
"It was the wrong one," I said....
There was a long silence.
"Oh," said Adela suddenly, "you never told me about No. 28."
"Pardon me," I said, "I cannot bear to speak of 28."
"Why, was it even more unsuitable than the other two?"
"I found, when I had done it six times that its object was stated to be, _'To remove double chin.'_ That, however, was not the real effect. And, so I crossed out the false comment and wrote the true one in its place."
"And what is that?" asked Adela.
"_To remove the hook_," I said gloomily.
XXXIII. AN INSURANCE ACT
Of course I had always known that a medical examination was a necessary preliminary to insurance, but in my own case I had expected the thing to be the merest formality. The doctor, having seen at a glance what a fine strong healthy fellow I was, would look casually at my tongue, apologise for having doubted it, enquire genially what my grandfather had died of, and show me to the door. This idea of mine was fostered by the excellent testimonial which I had written myself at the Company's bidding. "Are you suffering from any constitutional disease?--_No._ Have you ever had gout?--_No._ Are you deformed?--_No._ Are you of strictly sober and temperate habits?--- _No_, I mean _Yes._" My replies had been a model of what an Assurance Company expects. Then why the need of a doctor?
However, they insisted.
The doctor began quietly enough. He asked, as I had anticipated, after the health of my relations. I said that they were very fit; and not to be outdone in politeness, expressed the hope that his people, too, were keeping well in this trying weather. He wondered if I drank much. I said, "Oh, well, perhaps I will," with an apologetic smile, and looked round for the sideboard. Unfortunately he did not pursue the matter....
"And now," he said, after the hundredth question, "I should like to look at your chest."
I had seen it coming for some time. In vain I had tried to turn the conversation--to lead him back to the subject of drinks or my relations. It was no good. He was evidently determined to see my chest. Nothing could move him from his resolve.
Trembling, I prepared for the encounter. What terrible disease was he going to discover?
He began by tapping me briskly all over in a series of double-knocks. For the most part one double-knock at any point appeared to satisfy him, but occasionally there would be no answer and he would knock again. At one spot he knocked four times before he could make himself heard.
"This," I said to myself at the third knock, "has torn it. I shall be ploughed," and I sent an urgent message to my chest. "For 'eving's sake do something, you fool. Can't you hear the gentleman?" I suppose that roused it, for at the next knock he passed on to an adjacent spot....
"Um," he said when he called everywhere, "um."
"I wonder what I've done," I thought to myself. "I don't believe he likes my chest."
Without a word he got out his stethoscope and began to listen to me. As luck would have it, he struck something interesting almost at once, and for what seemed hours he stood there listening and listening to it. But it was boring for me, because I really had very little to do. I could have bitten him in the neck with some ease ... or I might have licked his ear. Beyond that, nothing seemed to offer.
I moistened my lips and spoke.
"Am I dying?" I asked in a broken voice.
"Don't talk," he said. "Just breathe naturally."
"I am dying," I thought, "and he is hiding it from me." It was a terrible reflection.
"Um," he said, and moved on.
By-and-by he went and listened behind my back. It is very bad form to listen behind a person's back. I did not tell him so however. I wanted him to like me.
"Yes," he said. "Now cough."
"I haven't a cough," I pointed out.
"Make the noise of coughing," he said severely.
Extremely nervous, I did my celebrated imitation of a man with an irritating cough.
"H'm! h'm! h'm! h'm!"
"Yes," said the doctor. "Go on."
"He likes it," I said to myself, "and he must obviously be an excellent judge. I shall
