LITMIR.BIZ

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CONY – That's all right, that's all right. Don't agitate yourself. Just a little professional trick. I wanted to calm you down. Now (he makes a hurried examination), Mr. Cottontail, I don't want you to run. I don't want you to climb stairs. Avoid excitement and don't butter your parsnips. Fine words are just as good, no matter what anybody may tell you, and they don't create fatty tissue. Of course, you've got to have some exercise. You might play a little golf. Say, about three holes a day.

      COTTONTAIL (sadly) – Three holes?

      DR. CONY – Yes, that will be enough.

      COTTONTAIL (musing) – It's a little tough, doctor. I can still remember the day I won my "H" at dear old Hassenpfeffer in the 'cross-country run. I had the lungs and the legs then. Even now I can feel the wind on my face as I came across the meadow and up that last, long hill. They were cheering for me to come on. I can tell you I just leaped along. It was nothing at all for me. If I'd sprinted just a bit sooner I could have been first in a hop. Anyhow, I was second. There was nobody ahead of me but the Tortoise. (Cheerlessly) Three holes of golf a day!

      DR. CONY – Come, come, sir, be a rabbit. There's no cheating nature, you know. You had your fun, and now you must pay.

      COTTONTAIL – What's the matter with me?

      DR. CONY – Plain, old-fashioned gout.

      COTTONTAIL – What does that come from?

      DR. CONY (with evident relish) – From too much ale or porter or claret or burgundy or champagne or sherry or Rhine Wine or Clover Clubs or Piper Heidsieck or brandy or Bronxes or absinthe or stingers, but the worst of all and the best of all is port wine.

      COTTONTAIL (horrified) – You mean it comes from drinking?

      Dr. Cony – In all my twenty-five years of professional practice I have never known a case of gout without antecedent alcoholism.

      COTTONTAIL (much relieved) – Well, then, it can't be gout. I've never taken a drink in my life.

      Dr. Cony – In all my twenty-five years of professional experience I've never made an incorrect diagnosis. It is gout.

      COTTONTAIL – But I'm president of the Bone Dry Prohibition Union.

      Dr. Cony – The more shame to you, sir.

      COTTONTAIL – What shall I do?

      DR. CONY – Obey my instructions implicitly. A good many doctors will tell you that they can't cure gout. Undoubtedly they are right. They can't. But I can. Only you simply must stop drinking. Cutting down and tapering off to ten or twelve drinks a day won't do. You must stop absolutely. No liquor at all. Do you understand? Not a drop, sir.

      COTTONTAIL (his nose violently palpitating with emotion) – I never took a drink in my life. I'm president of the Bone Dry Prohibition Union. I was just sitting quietly reading The Evening Post—

      DR. CONY – Save that story for your bone-dry friends. I have nothing to do with your past life. I'm not judging you. It's nature that says the alcoholic must pay and pay and pay. I'm only concerned now with the present and the future, and the present is that you're suffering from alcoholism manifested in gout, and the future is that you'll die if you don't stop drinking.

      COTTONTAIL – I tell you I promised my Sunday school teacher when I was a boy that I would always be a Little Light Bearer, and that I would never take a drink if I lived to be a hundred.

      DR. CONY – Don't worry, you won't live that long, and don't take on so. You're not the first one that's had his fun and then been dragged up by the heels for it. Cheer up. Remember the good times that are gone. Life can't be all carrots, you know.

      COTTONTAIL – But I never had any good times.

      DR. CONY – Oh, yes, you did, I'll warrant you. There must have been many merry nights as the bottle passed around the table. (With evident gusto) Maybe there was a rousing song – "When Leeks Are Young in Springtime" – or something like that, and I wouldn't be surprised if now and again there was some fluffy little miss to sing soprano to your bass. Youth! Youth! To be young, a rabbit and stewed. (Quoting reminiscently) "A leaf of lettuce underneath the bough." After all, salad days are the best days. I never meet an old rabbit with gout but I take off my hat and say, "Sir, you have lived."

      COTTONTAIL (wildly) – It's not true. I never lived like that. I never took a drink in my life. You can ask anybody. Nobody ever saw me take a drink.

      DR. CONY – That's bad. You solitary drunkards are always the hardest to handle. But you've simply got to stop. You must quit drinking or die, that's all there is to it.

      COTTONTAIL – This is terrible. It must have been that poisoned sword. I tell you, I was just sitting here quietly, reading The Evening Post—

      DR. CONY – My dear sir, please rid yourself right away of the alcoholic's habit of confusing cause and effect. He thinks he's sick because green elephants are walking on him, while, as a matter of fact, green elephants are walking on him because he's sick. It's terribly simple, when you stop to figure it out.

      COTTONTAIL – You don't think I saw any pink monster come through the ceiling?

      DR. CONY – On the contrary, I'm sure you did. But the point is, you mustn't see him again, and the only way to avoid seeing him is to quit drinking. Your fun's done. Now, be a good patient and tell me you'll stop drinking —

      COTTONTAIL – I tell you I never had any fun. I never had any fun —

      DR. CONY – Well, strictly speaking, it isn't the fun that hurts you, it's the rum. You must stop, even if you hate the stuff. Do you understand?

      COTTONTAIL (hysterical) – I can't stop, I can't stop; I never started, I can't stop —

      DR. CONY – Very well, sir, I must insist on taking the only measure that will save your life. (He steps to the door and calls) Mrs. Cottontail, will you come here immediately?

      (Enter Mrs. Cottontail.)

      COTTONTAIL – My dear —

      DR. CONY – If you please, madame. Let me explain first. You can have it out with your husband later. I'm sorry to tell you, Mrs. Cottontail, that your husband has gout. He has contracted it from excessive drinking. You knew, of course, that he was a heavy drinker?

      MRS. COTTONTAIL (surprised, but not in the least incredulous) – I couldn't go so far as to say I knew it.

      DR. CONY – He must stop or he'll die.

      COTTONTAIL (rapidly and wildly) – I can explain everything, my dear. The doctor's all wrong. The whole trouble is somebody pulled the roof off the other day and stabbed me with a poisoned sword. I was right here in this room. I was just quietly reading The Evening Post. I knew no good would come of our moving into this new apartment house, with its fancy wire and green paint and free food, and all the rest of it.

      DR. CONY (to Mrs. Cottontail, who aids him in ignoring the patient) – You can see for yourself, madame, just how rational he is. I leave him in your care, Mrs. Cottontail. Don't let him out of your sight. Try and find out where he gets his liquor. If he pleads with you for a drink, be firm with him. Follow him everywhere. Make him obey. It won't be hard in his enfeebled condition. I'll be around to-morrow. (To Cottontail) Remember, one drink may be fatal.

      (Exit Dr. Cony.)

      COTTONTAIL – My dear, it was a pink monster, with an enormous dagger. It lifted off the ceiling —

      MRS. COTTONTAIL – Peter, can't you even be temperate in your lies?

      COTTONTAIL (sinking helplessly in his chair) – My dear, I was just sitting quietly, reading The Evening Post—

      MRS. COTTONTAIL – You brute! I always had a feeling you were too good to be true.

      COTTONTAIL (feebly and hopelessly) – I was just sitting, reading The Evening Post (his voice trails off into nothingness. He sits motionless, huddled up in the chair. Suddenly he speaks again, but it is a new voice, strangely

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