“’Smatter, Doc?” said Doughface, gnawing a chicken leg. “I was thinkin’ you was an old geezer. Thought you was for a minute. But that ain’t nothin’. I sure want to tell you that I think it was pretty swell, you fixin’ me up. Whatja have to do t’me?”
Pellman looked steadily at the grinning tramp. The man had not appreciably changed and was still not wholly well. Pellman examined the edges of the wound and then saw that the scalp which covered the silver skull had healed very rapidly.
But alone in all that room, Doughface Jack was the only man not perfectly cured.
“Want some more chicken?” said Pellman irrelevantly.
Chapter Three
DOCTOR PELLMAN, the following day, paced up and down the middle of his office in deep thought. He had some medical books open on his desk, pages flopped out as though they had expired.
Miss Finch sat by the window looking down into the street. Every time she glanced at the doctor she received a distinct shock. It was disconcerting to work for two years with an elderly, fatherly gentleman and then suddenly have him turn into an athletic youth who might have posed for a collar advertisement. It was also disconcerting to have this young man keep calling her “child” and “young lady.” And it was also very hard to remember to address him with due respect.
Pellman stopped and with a savage sweep sent the medical books thudding to the floor. “Damn it! I tell you there’s no answer that I can find. Cancer does not cure itself in an instant! An eye will not heal of itself so swiftly. A broken arm is a broken arm and compound fractures are compound fractures!”
“And moles are moles,” said Miss Finch.
“Yes! Moles are moles! And they don’t just vanish like that unless something is done to them. I tell you, young woman, I laid awake all of last night trying to get an answer and I’m still hunting!”
Miss Finch looked at him and thought he was more handsome than ever when he became so wild in his gestures and so dynamic in his excitement. Nobody in her memory had ever seen Doctor Pellman that excited.
He stomped over to a mirror above the washbowl and stared at himself. He ran his hand over his smooth jaw to make certain it was real. He faced her anew.
“And as for me, I’m either crazy or . . . Say, maybe I’m crazy. Look,” he said, striking a pose, “am I or am I not a . . . an aged patriarch?”
“You look like a college boy,” said Miss Finch, heart thumping. “You . . . you’re very handsome.”
“That’s it. I . . . What did you say?”
“I said you were very handsome.”
Pellman crossed to the mirror again and looked at himself. He let down a little and smiled. “Sure. I used to be quite a boy. Say, Miss Finch, I think I’ll get some clothes. This frock coat doesn’t look so good on me now, does it?”
She smiled and shook her head.
He examined his face again. “Huh. If I don’t watch myself some young lady is going to set her cap for me.”
“Yes,” said Miss Finch quietly, involuntarily touching her white cap.
“And I’m talking like a fool, too,” decided Pellman, all business again. He resumed his pacing up and down the floor, shaking his head as he went.
At the end of a long time he came to a decisive halt.
“Miss Finch, I may be wrong. It may be the tramp and it might not be the tramp. I’ve got to make a test.”
She got up expectantly.
“Miss Finch,” said Pellman, “you go down the street and find Sarah Bates and her consumption. Find a kid with warts. Nice, big warts. Find old ‘Thunder’ McClain and his grouch. Locate Mrs. Toby’s youngster, the one with eczema. And bring them here. Bring anybody here with a cold or a headache. Go get ’em!”
Miss Finch slipped into her jacket and went swiftly out. Pellman walked back to his ward and entered.
Doughface Jack was lying in bed, propped up with pillows and admiring a view of a peach tree outside the window. He heard the door open and turned to beam at Pellman.
“Geez, Doc, this is the nuts. I been sick a few times in my life, but I’m tellin’ you, I never thought it could be like this. I feel tops, I’m tellin’ you. I’d get up if . . .”
“You stay where you are,” said Pellman, moving to his side and pulling out a cigar case. “You’re perfectly well today and you ought to be sick as a dog for another month at least. Have a smoke?”
“Y’mean I hadn’t ought to be well?” said Doughface Jack, taking two.
“By all the rules and regulations as hereinbefore stated, you shouldn’t have lived in the first place. But you did and here you are and you’re perfectly all right.”
“Y’mean,” said Doughface, looking sad and wistful on the instant, “that you’re goin’ to boot me out of here, Doc?”
“Listen, fellah, quit that panhandling snivel and light up.”
Doughface grinned instantly. “Y’know y’way around, dontcha, Doc.”
“A man that’s handled all the sickness of Centerville for forty years ought to,” said Pellman.
Doughface blinked. “Forty years? Hell, y’stringin’ me. You won’t be forty for another twenty years.”
Pellman was about to contest the point with severity when he suddenly remembered. He shrugged and touched his lighter to the tramp’s cigar.
Doughface sat back, drawing his knees up, folding his arms and puffing contentedly. “Chicken and ice cream and now a ten-cent cigar. Yeah, Doc, this is the nuts. Anythin’ y’want done, now, just say the word. I’d even chop some wood for you.”
“You’ve got something to do,” said Pellman. “Listen, a lot of my friends are coming up here to pay you a visit and you be on your good behavior, understand?”
“What do they want?” said Doughface, suspiciously. “I been up against Ladies’ Aid Societies before this, Doc, and I ain’t . . .”
“No, nothing like that. You just lie there and say nothing. I’ll do all the talking.”
“You’re the boss,” said Doughface, puffing away.
Footsteps sounded in the outer office and then Miss Finch was at the door, gazing in admiration for a moment at Pellman.
“Yes?” said Pellman.
“I brought them,” said Miss Finch, recovering herself with a start.
“Show them in,” said Pellman. “No . . . wait. I’ll talk to them first.”
He went into his office and there were his guinea pigs in various stages of disorder. Sarah Bates was feeling very poorly and wanted everyone to know about it, gazing sadly with blue eyes too large for her sallow, thin face. A small boy was very suspicious of the proceedings and had his hands behind his back because Miss Finch had spotted the warts on them. He was very ashamed of his warts.
Thunder McClain was stumping about, muttering to himself, bent over and twisted with arthritis and meanness and old age. Mrs. Toby’s youngster was backed into a corner, conscious of eczema and wondering what was going to happen. Storekeeper Durance sneezed loudly and blew his nose on his apron.
“Good people,” said Pellman, “I . . .”
“Won’t!” said Thunder McClain defiantly. “See here, Doc Pellman, you order . . .” He stopped, his watery eyes growing wide. He had not seen Pellman for three days. “Huh? Who are you? I thought I heerd Pellman talkin’.”
“I am Pellman,” said the doctor.
“Hogwash!” stated McClain. “Y’think I wouldn’t know Doc Pellman if I seen him? Maybe you think I’m blind too! See here, you young whippersnapper, nobody is goin’ to order me around unless I knows what’s happenin’!!”
“Good people,” said Pellman, again. “I . . .”
“Doctor,” whined Sarah Bates, “I think I am going to faint.”
“Postpone it for a moment, Miss Bates,” said Pellman. “I called you here to show you the result of an interesting experiment in surgery.”
“Humph,” said McClain.
“As you are among the best citizens of Centerville,” said Pellman, “I wanted to show you something very unu
sual. Now, if you will please follow me I’ll be greatly obliged.”
They followed without much interest. Pellman led them into a half circle about Doughface Jack’s bed and they came to a halt and fidgeted.
Doughface Jack removed the cigar from his mouth and looked to Pellman for his cue.
“Jack,” said Pellman, “I want you to meet these very good friends of mine. They are much interested in your case.” He saw Doughface start to don his panhandling expression and checked him. “The town has already taken up a collection for you.”
Doughface grinned and stuck the cigar back in his face.
“This is Sarah Bates,” said Pellman.
Doughface grinned at her and nodded and then went on smoking.
Sarah Bates raised her nose at the odor. “Doctor, it is a little close in here and I am feeling . . .” She tried to cough but could not make it.
“Miss Finch!” said Pellman. “Wait in the outer office, Miss Bates.”
The elderly woman tried again to cough and was greatly perplexed at her inability to get more than a clear sound. Doughface thought it was funny and his grin broadened.
“And this,” said Pellman, hurriedly, “is Mr. McClain.”
“Humph,” grumbled Thunder McClain. “Never thought I’d have to be introduced . . .”
“Of course not,” said Pellman swiftly. “But Doughface is going to be a pretty famous fellow, Thunder.”
Doughface beamed.
“Miss Finch!” said Pellman.
“This is Durance,” said Pellman. “He wants to know if you want some cookies.”
“What?” said Durance.
“He’s got a whole store full,” said Pellman.
Doughface beamed again.
“And Jimmy here,” said Pellman, “wants to shake hands with you, Doughface. He’s a real tramp, Jimmy.”
The small boy advanced cautiously and held out his hand. Doughface took it, felt the roughness of it and looked at it. “Huh. Warts. Y’know how to cure them things, kid? Y’take some punk-water at midnight in a graveyard and say real fast, ‘Devil, take my warts!’ and zing! they’ll go just like that!”
Doughface snapped his fingers and the boy stared at his own hands. “Why . . . why, gee whiz, Doctor Pellman. Gee whiz, I . . . why, what happened to these warts?”
“And this is Jullie,” said Pellman quickly.
Doughface beamed on Jullie, Mrs. Toby’s child.
“Now get out, all of you,” said Pellman, shooing them off.
He went back into his office. A young man in baggy corduroy was there fumbling with a crooked cane and looking in perplexity at a young and beautiful woman who, from time to time, tried unsuccessfully to cough.
“Look here,” said Thunder McClain to Pellman, “you ain’t goin’ to fool me none, young feller. When I see Pellman and tell him you been makin’ free with his office and patients, he’ll give you suthin’ to think about. An’ what’ve you done with Miss Bates?”
The lovely blonde looked up in surprise. “Why . . . why, you sound just like Thunder McClain.” She peered at him carefully. “But no! That can’t be! Thunder McClain wouldn’t get married when he had a chance and he’s never had a son . . . and yet . . . yet you look just like a son would look if . . .”
“i am McClain,” stormed the youth, banging his cane down.
“Doctor,” begged Miss Bates, “are you going to let a poor maiden lady be bullied by this young fool?”
“Young fool?” cried McClain. “Young woman, I’ll have you know . . .”
“Stop it,” said Pellman, pulling the mirror off the wall and handing it to McClain. “Look at yourself.”
McClain looked grudgingly and then suddenly gaped at his image. He looked at Pellman but he couldn’t get a word out.
Pellman took the mirror away and shoved it at Miss Bates. She gazed at it without interest at first and then she, too, suddenly realized that something had changed.
She felt her fresh skin. She opened her mouth and looked at her tongue. She held the mirror back and saw the rounded curves which had taken the place of her flatness.
“Why . . . why . . .”
“Yes,” said Pellman, “it’s happened. You are now possessed of the wisdom of fifty and the youth of twenty. Both of you. And a long time ago, I seem to remember, you were both twenty with no more sense than to quarrel over some trivial thing. You have your chance again.”
They were stunned.
“Get out,” said Pellman.
They edged toward the door, looking at each other. Thunder McClain loosened his collar, “Gosh, Sarah, you look just like you did that there night when . . .”
“Don’t,” said Sarah Bates pleadingly. “Let’s forget, Thunder. For thirty years I have known that I was wrong. . . .”
“I was wrong!” cried Thunder McClain.
“Oh, Thunder,” said Sarah, “you’re . . . you’re just like you used to be and . . . and I love it.”
Pellman heard them going down the steps and then remembered that the two children and Durance were still there.
“Let’s see your tongue,” said Pellman to Durance. “Ah . . . just as I thought, young fellow. Your cold is gone.”
“Why . . . why, so it is,” said Durance, remembering. “Gosh, did I get young too?”
“I’m afraid you did,” said Pellman. He handed the mirror to Durance.
He took the two children by the shoulders and led them to the window. Jimmy he examined for warts and found none. Jullie’s eczema had vanished. He gave them a quarter and pushed them out of his office.
Miss Finch sat down at the window in a daze. “It’s happened again. It is the tramp that does it.”
“Yes. But why? That’s what I want to know. why?”
Pellman resumed his pacing up and down the floor. Miss Finch sighed.
“Wasn’t it beautiful?” said Miss Finch.
“What?” demanded Pellman.
“For thirty years they have lived apart and alone and now they can come together at last. . . .”
Her final sigh was so gusty that he stared at her. For a moment she thought he understood as a light came into his eyes.
But she was wrong.
“I’ve got it!” said Pellman excitedly. “I’ll get hold of Professor Beardsley in New York. He’s been monkeying around with such things. He’ll know!”
He grabbed for his telephone and Miss Finch, disgusted, listened to him start the call.
Chapter Four
MOST excitement this town’s had in years,” said Sheriff Joe Bankhead, pulling at his mustache. He sank down in a chair across from Pellman and signaled for some beer. Then he dragged out a bandanna and mopped at his face. “That shore was a crowd, Doc. Thought we’d never get the way clear for them to get aboard.”
Pellman poured his glass full. But he did not drink. His young face was pensive and he was staring thoughtfully into the great distances.
“How come all this happened?” said Joe. “I can’t git it through my thick skull that you’re you. I seen you yesterday and almost before I thought I almost said, ‘Hello, sonny.’”
Pellman smiled. “Can’t say as I’m used to it either, Joe.”
Joe noisily drank his beer and then wiped his mustache. “Was them real honest-to-God professors and things, Doc?”
“Real honest-to-God professors, Joe.”
“I still can’t figure it out. What would professors want with a tramp?”
“I hope they know,” said Pellman. “I was sorry to . . . Oh, well. What the devil. After all, I didn’t have a bill of sale on Doughface Jack.”
“I kinda figure he didn’t like leavin’ you, Doc. He kept lookin’ at you after he got on the platform like he was minded to stay.”
“Joe, it isn’t right. I have a feeling it isn’t. Something may happen.”
“What? He ain’t dangerous. He’s just a tramp.”
“Just a tramp,” echoed Pellman thoughtfully.
“Well, ain’t he?”
“Joe,” said Pellman, “that ‘tramp’ could do more for this world than any other living man. With a glance he can cure anything. But . . .”
“Yeah, I heard somebody say that. But I think it’s the bunk, don’t you, Doc? How could a thing like that happen?”
“You saw what happened to those people that went in to see him all last week,” said Pellman.
“Yeah, but . . .” Joe shook his head. “How could a thing like that work, huh?”
Pellman smiled wickedly. “Have you ever heard of mito-genetic rays, Joe?”
“Huh?”
“Mito-genetic rays. They were first discovered as coming from onions. ‘Mito’ means ‘a thread’ and ‘genetic’ is the same as ‘generator.’ ‘Thread-generators,’ then. Onions grow better when there are a lot of onions around. But no weeds grow in an onion patch. Onions, throwing out mito-genetic rays, kill weeds and benefit other onions.”
“Huh? How come?”
Pellman shrugged.
“What’s that got to do with Doughface Jack?” said Joe.
“I put his brain together. I had to sew up the two halves because of skull splinters and such. That’s the first time I know of that the two halves of a man’s brain have been connected. And then the entire brain is under silver, which will carry most currents. That’s as close as I can get.”
“Y’mean Doughface Jack has an onion in . . .”
“No,” said Pellman. “Every man has those mito-genetic rays in his head and nerves. Almost any human can look at yeasts and kill them just by looking. For instance, you could kill the yeasts in that beer just by staring at the beer and concentrating. . . .”
“Huh?”
“Anyhow,” said Pellman, “by connecting up his brain and short-circuiting the wave action I didn’t hurt his thinking process but I increased his generation of mito-genetic rays. Consequently, when he looks in kindly fashion at another person he can cure that other person of anything.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“Look,” said Pellman. “When you come into a room you can tell the man with the most magnetic personality there. Some people make you feel good and others make you feel bad. That is a slight reaction of mito-genetic rays. But onions can cure each other, evidently, by that process and kill out weeds.”
The Scifi & Fantasy Collection Page 59