Explore "One Third Off" by Irvin S. Cobb on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It required all of two weeks of experimenting with my interior to convince / me that whatever it might be that annoyed me, it surely was not a thing / which an intensive bombardment of the liver would cure. The liver has a / low visibility but is easy to hit.
I had the aversion to seeking professional guidance for the curing of a / presumably minor disorder that most robust male adults have. In personal / tribute I may add that I have never been hypochondriac in any possible / respect. However, toward the end of those three weeks I formed the / decision that I would go to see a doctor or so. But I would sneak up on / these gentlemen, so to speak. I would call upon them in the rôle of a / friend rather than avowedly as a prospective patient, and take them into / my confidence, as it were, by degrees. Somewhere in the back part of my / brain I nursed a persistent fear that my complaints might be diagnosed as / symptoms of that incurable malady known as being forty-four years old, / going, on forty-five. And I knew that much already without paying a / physician twenty-five dollars for telling me so the first time and ten / dollars for each time he told it to me over again.