WHAT you need, my dear sir, is a complete change; organically, there is absolutely nothing the matter with you. As a matter of fact, in so far as it concerns you, the answer to John Masefield's question to the shipwrecked sailor in Salt Sea Ballads —viz., ' An' 'ow's yer legs an' liver an' lungs an' lights a feelin' now,' is 'Oke, Chief.'"
The Harley Street Specialist paused, and, having mentally added another 10 guineas to the victim's bill, plus his telephone number and golf handicap, once more proceeded to illustrate that, although silence may be golden, words from a Harley Street Specialist are not only pearls of great price, but that cash on delivery is preferable to the hire purchase system.
The spoiler of bank balances continued: "You, I understand, are a stockbroker whose whole life has been bound up in the solidity of lead, the firmness of copper, and the bouncing propensities of rubber, etc., so much so, in fact, that instead of taking up the usual working hours of the day—n to i and 3 to 4— these various commodities now intrude upon the silent watches of the night, disturbing not only your own slumber, but also the sleeping partner of your temporal joys and sorrows whom you promised to love and cherish. I refer, of course, to your wife."
"What you require, my dear sir, is distraction; something that, without causing you too much physical fatigue or straining of the tendon Achilles, will at the same time command so much attention and concentration that the rising and falling of markets will become of secondary consideration; in fact, Bulls will cease to bully, and Bears will no longer be grizzly. I| recommend the only safe cure—the billiard- room. Whether you take up billiards, snooker, or both, the effect will be the same. Complete concentration to the exclusion of all else, including green fly on the geraniums, is the key to the cure. Moreover, it is easily attainable.
"Whereas most games exact a penalty, and in some cases are even prohibitive unless the player appears clad in a suitable costume, here we have a form of recreation in which the player can take part at a moment's notice in almost any garb, excluding, of course, that of a knight in full armour, boxing-gloves and the like. Unlike polo, which necessitates the player providing himself with a croquet mallet plus a fiery untamed Norfolk punch, every billiard-room is fully equipped and the implements of torture ready to hand."
"Take the question of weather. Although an important factor in most games, it does not interfere with billiards. Outside, the pedestrian may be clad in a waterproof and gum-boots; within the billiard room the player is smiling in his gent's natty striped, complete with two collars. On the other hand, the proletariat may be suffering the torments of the semi-grilled missionary, whilst inside the cool, shaded crystalate grotto, complete with ozone breezes from the electric fan, all is quiet save for the musical tinkle of the ice as it playfully contacts with the crystal glass."
"I doubt whether any other pastime produces such complete self-control and mastery over one's feelings. It has been said that the gentle art of fishing has a soothing effect on the nerves; and this is probably correct as regards the expert, but hardly so to the amateur after he has either caught a full-grown pollard willow or the lobe of his left ear. I myself have even witnessed a certain looseness of speech in a particularly mild-looking individual on discovering that for at least 15 minutes he has been carefully playing, with considerable skill, an elastic-sided boot, probably at some time the delight of an honest charwoman."
"With regard to the fascinating and ever-popular game of snooker, I am at a loss to imagine any other form of diversion more suitable as an outlet for one's feelings. In your case it is particularly apt. Imagine for one moment that the markets have been going badly, and then, after a very trying day, you find yourself in a state of nervous prostration, and that nothing worse can happen. At this critical moment a message arrives informing you that the bottom has fallen out of the Kaffir market—a market in which you are heavily involved. In your overwrought state it is the last straw, and you commence thinking of revolvers, arsenic, ropes, and a floppy dive off the nearest Thames bridge. Nothing of the sort, my dear sir. Kaffirs have fallen; very well, off you go to the nearest billiard saloon, start a game of snooker, and work off your pent-up feelings by potting the black as many times as possible. No Kaffir can be blacker than a black snooker ball. Your cheque? Certainly; allow me to offer you the loan of my fountain pen."