happened to mention the modern craze for discussing intimately, or, as a
Frenchwoman whom he knew expressed it, "_avec un luxe de détail_,"
matters of health.

"Yes, yes," responded Mr. Harding. "It is becoming almost objectionable,
almost indecent. At the same time the health of the body is a very
interesting subject because of its effect upon the mind, even, so it
seems sometimes, upon the very nature of a man. Now I--" he struck the
ash off the end of his cigar--"was, I might almost say, the victim of my
stomach in the pulpit this morning."

"You were feeling ill?"

"Not exactly ill. I have a strong constitution. But I suffer at times
from what the doctors call nervous dyspepsia. It is a very tiresome
complaint, because it takes away for the time a man's confidence in
himself, reduces him to the worm-level almost; and it gives him absurd
ideas. Now this morning in the pulpit I had an attack of pain and
uneasiness, and my nerve quite gave out. You must have noticed it."

"I saw that you were troubled by something."

"Something! It was that. My poor wife was thoroughly upset by it. You
know how sensitive women are. To hold a crowd of people a man must be
strong and well, in full possession of his powers. And I had a good
subject."

"Splendid."

"I'll treat it again--treat it again."