From the Rock Island Argus, March 5, 1913. By S. E. Kiser. The doctor gazed a while at me and gravely shook his head; “You must not work so hard,” said he, “eat only whole wheat bread; Avoid all starchy things and try to take your beefsteak rare; Avoid the deadly stuff they fry, keep in the open air, And cheer up. Clear your frowns away, put all your cares aside: Play golf or tennis every day, or get a horse to ride. “You might take three months off and go to Europe or Japan, Or take a trip to Mexico; you need a change, old man. You have a haggard, weary look, your system’s all run down; Go out and loll beside some brook a thousand miles from town. Take my advice and rest a while, become a man of ease. Quit working and learn how to smile. Three dollars, if you please.” He could not know how glad I was to get his dear advice, Nor that I could not go because I chanced to lack the price; He knew not that if for a space I traveled unconcerned They would inform me that my place was filled, when I returned. By toiling hard and steadily I clung to my position And kept those who were dear to me in fairly good condition.
A Simple Prescription