Page:In defense of Harriet Shelley, and other essays.djvu/364

 MARK TWAIN

stands solitary on the top of a densely wooded mountain, and is a building of great size. It is called the Appetite Anstalt, and people who have lost their appetites come here to get them restored. When I arrived I was taken by Professor Haimberger to his consulting-room and questioned:

&quot;It is six o clock. When did you eat last?&quot;

&quot;At noon.&quot;

&quot;What did you eat?&quot;

&quot;Next to nothing.&quot;

&quot;What was on the table?&quot;

&quot;The usual things.&quot;

&quot;Chops, chickens, vegetables, and so on?&quot;

&quot;Yes; but don t mention them I can t bear it/

&quot;Are you tired of them?&quot;

&quot;Oh, utterly. I wish I might never hear of them again.&quot;

&quot;The mere sight of food offends you, does it?&quot;

&quot;More, it revolts me.&quot;

The doctor considered awhile, then got out a long menu and ran his eye slowly down it.

&quot;I think,&quot; said he, &quot;that what you need to eat is but here, choose for yourself.&quot;

I glanced at the list, and my stomach threw a handspring. Of all the barbarous layouts that were ever contrived, this was the most atrocious. At the top stood &quot;tough, underdone, overdue tripe, gar nished with garlic&quot;; half-way down the bill stood &quot;young cat; old cat; scrambled cat&quot;; at the bottom stood &quot;sailor-boots, softened with tallow served raw.&quot; The wide intervals of the bill were packed with dishes calculated to insult a cannibal, I said :

34S

�� �