I daresay that, having read my confessions so far, you have begun to feel that I was a dangerous man. But not half so dangerous, I assure you, as some men who practise medicine—and profit by it. Know your drug, know your dose, and know its effect, and you can, with the aid of your hypodermic, play with men and women just as you please. The world itself is but a plaything in the hands of the clever practitioner who specializes in toxicology. Oh, yes. Brown! I could tell you some things even stranger than those I have written down here in the silent watches of the night. But I have refrained, because I fear that certain unscrupulous persons who may read these lines might be tempted to make similar experiments upon their fellow-men.
My little hypodermic, which lies here in its well-worn case as I write, has been my best friend throughout my career. It has brought to me more money in five seconds than I can earn by practise in five years. By its marvellous aid I can make the old feel young, and the miser generous; the sad will yell with side-splitting laughter, and the merry will become full of grief; the careful will gamble, and the good staid woman will cast virtue to the winds. Can any weapon be more terrible in
