“Of course you’re going, and I’m going too. 
I’m warranted sound, kind and true in all harness 
and good wind, and don’t need any liver tonic; 
but it’s my play time and I'm just aching to wal¬ 
low round in the backwoods. I know a hunting 
camp down East that’s jammed from floor to 
roof with antidotes to whatever ails you, and 
we’ll strike out for it as soon as you can get 
ready.” 
“I’m ready now,” returned the impulsive Bill. 
‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’ 
Get me?” 
“Sure thing,” assented the astute Aeneas who, 
no doubt, being fully acquainted with the tem¬ 
peramental failings of his friend, had tactfully 
adopted the course most likely to dispel further 
consideration of economic problems that so uni¬ 
formly appeared to oppose an affirmative decision. 
It is not contemplated either to philosophize on 
the weakness of human nature or to extol any 
particular school of medical practice, in this sim¬ 
ple narrative. The remedy prescribed in Bill’s 
case is common to most schools and widely ac¬ 
cepted as of tested value in certain cases. It is 
at least certain that it at once began to exert an 
influence over Bill. As he opened the street door 
and left the house of his friend, the autumn air 
held, he thought, an odor of spruce and pine 
and withered fern. Amid the din of street traf¬ 
fic he fancied he detected the distant rush of 
water round the boulders of Sisson’s brook; and 
mingled with the cries of “Wuxtra” that reached 
him from the corner below, there seemed to be 
carried the strident notes of the blue jay and the 
raucous cry of the crow. The shadows of tall 
buildings that fell upon him, to his transported 
mind were like those cast by the tall poplars, 
beeches and oaks of Bacon’s woods through 
which he had hunted gray squirrels so long ago 
that it seemed as if he were then living in anoth¬ 
er world; and if the dull concrete of the walks 
appeared strangely soft and yielding, it was be¬ 
cause his feet were tracing the old “cross-lots” 
path that terminated at the camping spot on the 
blueberry barrens, to which his thoughts had 
many times reverted when the annoyances of mo- 
FOREST AND STREAM 
I Guess Your Liver Will Sit Up and Take Notice 
After a Few More Meals Like That. 
notonous, daily occupation were unusually nu¬ 
merous and exhausting. 
In justice to the simple minded Bill, it may 
consistently be urged that others than he often 
lapse into the subconscious state in which he 
existed on his departure from the home of 
Aeneas. “The call of the wild” is alluring even 
to those of sound liver, steady nerves and normal 
digestion; and he in whom it does not arouse a 
devouring enthusiasm, is perverted and deserving 
of pity. The instinct in man that leads him to 
seek companionship with nature, was inherent at 
creation, and will not be eradicated till long after 
grim commercialism has robbed all her solitudes 
79$ 
of their products, and completely exterminated 
the fauna that still inhabit them. ^ 
So it came about that a few days after the 
conference between the two friends, they stepped 
from a train to the platform of a small station 
well within the confines of that great sanitarium 
and sportsman’s paradise known as the “Maine 
Woods.” The day was yet young—so young, in¬ 
deed, that as Bill inquisitively gazed about, only 
the station and the dim outlines of a potato shed 
not far away, came within his range of vision. 
Stars twinkled in a cloudless sky, and the sharp 
chilliness of a late, October frost was in the air. 
“Well, Bill, we’ve reached the environs of that 
secluded retreat the pill man advised you to look 
for,” announced Aeneas as he dropped his lug¬ 
gage to the floor. 
“If these are merely the environs, the retreat 
itself must be a complete vacuum,” commented 
Bill. “There’s seclusion enough right round here 
to meet any requirement I know of. Has a pretty 
good smell, though, hasn’t it? Nothing drug 
shop-y about this kind of medicine: pretty good 
for the appetite, I guess. I shouldn’t mind if I 
had a little snack with coffee on the side, right 
now.” 
“Ye-ah,” assented Aeneas, “but you’d better 
get your mind off on another subject—poetry, 
political economy or something in that line. It’s 
a far cry to breakfast: ’bout three hours and a 
half counting the buckboard ride and the paddle 
up-stream.” 
“So!” ejaculated Bill. “Poetry is good, Aeneas; 
but it has its limitations,” he continued. “I en¬ 
joy certain kinds of it at times; but when all 
your ribs are rattling against your spine, a nice 
broiled chop, or a couple of poached eggs on 
toast or browned sausage, or—” 
“O, shut up!” exclaimed Aeneas, with more 
fervor than unction. Then, as his ears caught 
the sound of an approaching vehicle, he an¬ 
nounced : 
“Here comes the buckboard. Grab your stuff 
and climb in;” a command he himself proceeded 
to obey along with his companion. Three hours 
later they stepped from the buckboard into the 
Cautiously Turning His Head He Observed Aeneas Similarly Accommodated in the Second Canoe. 
