"Impossible!" exclaimed Lewis.
Then, after a moment's thought: "Yet I don't know," he said. "In this age of wonders it isn't safe to say anything is impossible. Why, just a little while before I sailed, the papers carried a story about some doctor, out in Chicago, I think it was, who had actually changed a female pigeon into a male by injections of some sort, and predicted that human reversals of sex in both directions might someday be expected."
"I know a story that will beat that," rejoined the doctor. "I have the manuscript with me in my suit-case. Let me get it."
He returned in a moment with a package.
"Before I open it," he continued, "let me say I can't vouch for its truth, but you can judge for yourself when you hear it. Let me first tell you how the manuscript came into my hands.
"My wife and I were living in Vera Cruz at the time—I had quite a practice then. Our home was one of those old-time Spanish houses with great high ceilings and a patio full of palms and flowers, not far from the Paseo—you know the type. One evening we were sitting in the archway, which opened to the street, waiting for supper, when an old beggar-woman (or what we thought was one) limped up—we supposed to ask for a limosna, or to sell us lottery tickets. But instead she inquired in Spanish, "Does the American doctor live here?" When I assured her that I, myself, was the American doctor, the poor creature surprised us by slumping down in a faint.
"We carried her into the house and laid her on a couch, and found that her face was covered with a blood-stained mask or bandage made of rags, her head swathed in an old bandana, with a dirty blanket over all. Removing these somewhat gingerly to give her air, we met with a great surprise. Before us lay, instead of the diseased old beggar we expected to see, a young and handsome woman. Her golden hair in a thick braid was coiled about her head; in her ears were beautiful earrings of gold, made in the form of little Aztec idols with turquoise eyes; but most astonishing of all, she wore a large, heavy nose-ring of gold, something I had never seen in Mexico before, and never anywhere on a white woman. Her face and neck were clean, a great contrast to her filthy hands and to her travel-stained, bare ankles and sandal-clad feet.
"We had hardly noticed all this when she opened her eyes and gave us another surprise by asking faintly in English, 'Where am I?'
"'In Doctor Branson's house.'
"She raised her head, then sat up and looked about her.
"'May I ask who you are?' I continued.
"'My name,' she hesitated, 'is R—I mean Maria, Teo—that is, Dorada de Rey.'
"Then as an afterthought, she added, with an air of embarrassment that puzzled us, 'Senora or—Mrs., if you please.'
"'What is your nationality, Mrs. Rey?' I demanded. 'You are fairer than most Spanish people seen in this part of the world, although I admit there are some rubias.'
"'I am an American!' she announced proudly.
"'Then, how, please, did you come by that Spanish name, and where did you get those most unusual ornaments which are neither Spanish nor American?'
"'Oh, the nose-ring,' she cried, and put her hand to it; 'I had forgotten, want you to help me take it off, Doctor. Yes, it must come off before we do anything else. Oh, how I used to hate that
