had a crash a little while ago, did you not?" inquired my colleague.
"That was what started the trouble," said Black. "I was all right till then. Banged my head, I suppose. I was unconscious three days, and when I came round I was seedy, and have been so ever since."
I thought Taverner would refuse the case, for an ordinary head injury could have little interest for him, but instead he asked: "What made you come to me?"
"I was on my beam ends," said Black. "I'd been to two or three old ducks, but could get no sense out of them; in fact I've just come on from the blankest geyser of the lot." He named a name of eminence. "Told me to stop in bed a month and feed up. I wandered down the road and liked the look of your brass plate, so I came in. Why? Aren't I in your line? What do you go in for? Babies or senile decay?"
"If a chance like that brought you to me, you probably are in my line," said Taverner. "Now tell me the physical side of your case. What do you feel like in yourself?"
Our patient wriggled uneasily in his chair.
"I dunno," he said. "I feel more of a fool than anything else."
"That," said Taverner, "is often the beginning of wisdom."
Black half turned away from us. His painfully assumed jauntiness fell from him. There was a long pause, and then he blurted out:
"I feel as if I were in love."
"And you've been hard hit?" suggested Taverner.
"No, I've not," said the patient. "I'm not in love, I only feel as if I were. There isn't a girl in the case--not that I know of, anyway--and yet I'm in love--horribly in love-- with a woman who doesn't exist. And it's not the tomcat side of me, but the biggest and best that there is in me. If I can't get someone to love me back in the same way that I am loving, then I'll go off my head. All the time I feel that there must be someone somewhere, and that she'll suddenly turn up. She must turn up." His jaw set in a savage line. "That's why I drive so much, because I feel that round the next bend I'll find her."
The man's face was quivering, and I saw that his hands were wet with sweat.
"Have you any mental picture of the woman you are seeking?" asked Taverner.
"Nothing definite," said Black. "I only get the feel of her. But I shall know her when I see her; I am certain of that. Do you think such a woman exists? Do you think it is possible I shall ever meet her?" He appealed to us with a child's pathetic eagerness.
"Whether she is in the flesh or not I cannot say at the present moment," said Taverner, "but of her existence I have no doubt. Now tell me, when did you first notice this sensation?"
"The very first twinge I had of it," explained Black, "was we got into the nose dive that put me to bed. We went down, down, down, faster and faster, and just as we were going to crash I felt something. I can't say I saw anything, but I got the feel of a pair of eyes. Can you realize what I mean? And when I came round from my three days' down-and-out I was in love."
"What do you dream about?" asked Taverner.
"All sorts of things; nothing especially nightmary."
"Do you notice any kind of family likeness in your dreams?"
"Now you come to mention it, I do. They all take place in brilliant sunshine. They aren't exactly Oriental, but that way inclined."
Taverner laid before him a book of Egyptian travel illustrated in water-colours.
"Anything like that?" he inquired.
"My hat!" exclaimed the man. "That's the very thing." He gazed eagerly at the pictures, and then suddenly thrust the book away from him. "I can't look at them," he said; "It makes me feel--" he laid his hand on his solar plexus, hunting for a simile--"as if my tummy had dropped out."
Taverner asked our patient a few more questions, and then dismissed him with instructions to report himself if any further developments took place, saying that it was impossible to treat his trouble in its present phase. From my knowledge of
"That was what started the trouble," said Black. "I was all right till then. Banged my head, I suppose. I was unconscious three days, and when I came round I was seedy, and have been so ever since."
I thought Taverner would refuse the case, for an ordinary head injury could have little interest for him, but instead he asked: "What made you come to me?"
"I was on my beam ends," said Black. "I'd been to two or three old ducks, but could get no sense out of them; in fact I've just come on from the blankest geyser of the lot." He named a name of eminence. "Told me to stop in bed a month and feed up. I wandered down the road and liked the look of your brass plate, so I came in. Why? Aren't I in your line? What do you go in for? Babies or senile decay?"
"If a chance like that brought you to me, you probably are in my line," said Taverner. "Now tell me the physical side of your case. What do you feel like in yourself?"
Our patient wriggled uneasily in his chair.
"I dunno," he said. "I feel more of a fool than anything else."
"That," said Taverner, "is often the beginning of wisdom."
Black half turned away from us. His painfully assumed jauntiness fell from him. There was a long pause, and then he blurted out:
"I feel as if I were in love."
"And you've been hard hit?" suggested Taverner.
"No, I've not," said the patient. "I'm not in love, I only feel as if I were. There isn't a girl in the case--not that I know of, anyway--and yet I'm in love--horribly in love-- with a woman who doesn't exist. And it's not the tomcat side of me, but the biggest and best that there is in me. If I can't get someone to love me back in the same way that I am loving, then I'll go off my head. All the time I feel that there must be someone somewhere, and that she'll suddenly turn up. She must turn up." His jaw set in a savage line. "That's why I drive so much, because I feel that round the next bend I'll find her."
The man's face was quivering, and I saw that his hands were wet with sweat.
"Have you any mental picture of the woman you are seeking?" asked Taverner.
"Nothing definite," said Black. "I only get the feel of her. But I shall know her when I see her; I am certain of that. Do you think such a woman exists? Do you think it is possible I shall ever meet her?" He appealed to us with a child's pathetic eagerness.
"Whether she is in the flesh or not I cannot say at the present moment," said Taverner, "but of her existence I have no doubt. Now tell me, when did you first notice this sensation?"
"The very first twinge I had of it," explained Black, "was we got into the nose dive that put me to bed. We went down, down, down, faster and faster, and just as we were going to crash I felt something. I can't say I saw anything, but I got the feel of a pair of eyes. Can you realize what I mean? And when I came round from my three days' down-and-out I was in love."
"What do you dream about?" asked Taverner.
"All sorts of things; nothing especially nightmary."
"Do you notice any kind of family likeness in your dreams?"
"Now you come to mention it, I do. They all take place in brilliant sunshine. They aren't exactly Oriental, but that way inclined."
Taverner laid before him a book of Egyptian travel illustrated in water-colours.
"Anything like that?" he inquired.
"My hat!" exclaimed the man. "That's the very thing." He gazed eagerly at the pictures, and then suddenly thrust the book away from him. "I can't look at them," he said; "It makes me feel--" he laid his hand on his solar plexus, hunting for a simile--"as if my tummy had dropped out."
Taverner asked our patient a few more questions, and then dismissed him with instructions to report himself if any further developments took place, saying that it was impossible to treat his trouble in its present phase. From my knowledge of
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