THE ELEVENTH CIGAR.

Dominion, Volume 4, Issue 1240, 23 September 1911, Page 6

THE ELEVENTH CIGAR.

MY AUNT SOPHIA. AND THE BARONET'S NERVES. (By "WI.") "While you are fiddling about with that thing, Charles," observed Aunt Sophia, opening tho glass doors of tho bookcase, "I want to find something about nervous disorders."

I allowed tho reference to "that thing," which I assumed was directed at my cigar, to pass witnout comment.

"Certainly. ;\unt.' Top shelf-right-hand corner—Dictionary of Medical Science," I indicated, between tho puffs. "Feeling a bit dicky?" I continued, with dutiful sympathy. "I have never felt better, Charles," replied my Aunt, running her finger down tho index. "Ah—delighted to hear it," I responded. "Who's 'the unfortunate?" I inquired, with polite interest. ' "H'm—don't interrupt, Charles—l inlet'me see now—neuralgia, neurasthenia, neuritis, neurosis—h'm." My Auut became absorbed in some mysterious investigations while I got the cigar well under way. Finally she shut the book. "It's neurasthenia, Charles," 6he exclaimed, with an air of decision. "What is?" I inquired, flicking the end of the cigar.- / "I feel convinced, Charles, she replied, drawing off her gloves, "that Sir Joseph is suffering from neurasthenia." "Oh?" - "Is that, all you have to say? demanded my Aunt impatiently. "What makes you think bos got neurasthenia?" I asked. "Pretty sudden diagnosis, you know, Aunt, for an amateur—oh?" ' "He's got the symptoms, Charles, declared Aunt Sophia. "Got 'em bad?" I inquired, with an air of solicitude. .. "They are unmistakable, at all events." "Urn—you've been watching him, then?" "All this week," said Aunt Sophia, with an air of finality, as if that settled it. "I've been at the House every day, and I've been reading Hansard." . "Then you must have heard our friend Mr. Glover doing a bit of a soar on the Cook Islands question?" "I say, Charles— wasn't he just perfectly ridiculous?" exclaimed Aunt Sophia, with a reminiscent smile. I laughed. "Tho elect of Auckland," 1 commented, cynically. "However in tho world did he get into Parliament?" "Goodness knows—give it up, Aunt," I replied, in a hopeless voice. "To return our mut-tons—what about this diagnosis of yours, Aunt?" •"Well, Charles," began the lady, as she "settled" herself in her chair, "Sir Joseph has been behaving in the most extraordinary manner lately." "Flying off the handle, as it were?" I suggested. "I dou't know what you mean, Charles," said Aunt Sophia, severely. "Well—going off pop—l mean—" I pause for a description which would satisfy the inexorable pedant on the chair. "Yes? You mean?" : "Unreasonable show of fueling—wild rage—frantic boasts aid foolish words— eh?" "Yes—that's something like it, Charles." "H'm—nothing unusual about that—of late. His urbanity is getting a trilie frayed at the edges." "In other words, Charles, he is suffering. I think, from nerves—neurasthenia, the book says." "Good on the book," I commented. "Don't bo trivolous, Charles." "Neurasthenia's a pretty gocd word, don't you think?" "It fits the case, at any rate," said Aunt Sophia. I shook my head. "I don't altogether agree with you. aunt, with all due respect. I'd call it pure political funk." "Is 'funk' in tho dictionary?" inquired tho lady with chilly sarcasm. I grinned. "Er—not quite, aunt," I replied. "But wo can compromise on tho point, I think. Supposs wo call it political neurasthenia?" "M—yes," conceded Aunt Sophia. "I suppose it is that." "And tho causc?" "I'm sure I don't know. Worry—hard work—over-excitement—or something, I suppose," replied Aunt Sophia at random. Bnt," I insisted, "you should havo known that beforo you dug your discovery out of the dictionary, you know." "I've noted his symptoms," said Aunt Sophia, defending her judgment. "All, yes—but you cannot have a reliable diagnosis without an examination of all tho circumstances. You see, my dear aunt," I. pursued, "the symptoms you noticed may quite conceivably have been developed from somo alimentary rumpus in the baronefs interior—ahem—a bilious attack— "ChaTles!" "Well, I explained, "indigestion, or something of that kind." "No—l do not think so, Charles," said my aunt, with determination. "It's nerves —neurasthenia." I gaye in. right, we'll give him neurasthenia. Now for cause and effect, aunt. Lefs examino the symptoms and see if we can trace the cause." "Well—first of all, I havo noticed that Sir Joseph becomes. very irritable whenever ho is criticised in tho newspapers." "Ah—you'vo noticed that, havo you?" "And particularly irritable if this criticism comes from one of tho Wellington papers." 1 smiled. "He flics into a perfect rage, sometimes, Charles." I nodded. "He sure does, Aunt." "Now, Charles, why this paper?" "Plain, unvarnished truth—that's all," I replied. "This paper is more outspoken than tho others. You can't expect candid criticism from a Ministerial paper, can you?" ', "Hardly." "Or a wobbly journal?" , "No—l supposo not." "And when Sir Joe sees the truth about his Government in good, plain typo, and good, plain English, ho doesn't liko it. Result: neurasthenia—political neurasthenia. Cause and effect—see?" "But ho complains—not in very dignified language, it is true—but he complains that this criticism, is unjust." "Well, why doesn't he prove it?" "I supposo ho would if ho could Charles?" ' ' iP ot J '°s r life " Bnt he . can't, apparently, so he resorts to the argument of the weaker side. Abuse is not argument Aunt." i ■ ' "All this may account for irritation, show of temper, and so on, Charles," pursued my aunt, "but it doesn't account for the obvious state of his nerves." "His nerves are all to bits, as you say Aunt, but that is because he is shaken over the prospect of a possible licking at the elections." "I see," said Aunt Sophia. . "Lots of people are amiabjo and smiling so long as they are on the winnin" side. But they can't face tho prospect of a licking." "Poor Sir Joseph," sighed my aunt commiseratingly. ' "Poof—he'll still Jiavo his baronetcy you know." *' "That will be some consolation." I laughed. "He's welcome to tho consolation, Aunt—good night!"