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TEN DAYS IN A MAD-HOUSE.
39
Miss Scott stood before me. The man proved to be a doctor, and his first greetings were:
“I’ve seen that face before.”
“Then you know me?” I asked, with a great show of eagerness that I did not feel.
“I think I do. Where did you come from?”
“From home.”
“Where is home?”
“Don’t you know? Cuba.”
POSITIVELY DEMENTED.
He then sat down beside me, felt my pulse, and examined my tongue, and at last said:
“Tell Miss Scott all about yourself.”
“No, I will not. I will not talk with women.”
“What do you do in New York?”
“Nothing.”
“Can you work?”
“No, senor.”
“Tell me, are you a woman of the town?”
