death was sick. but they brought him bread that the modern bakers make, whitened with alum, and the tinned meats of chicago, with a pinch of our modern substitute for salt. they carried him into the dining-room of a great hotel (in that close atmosphere death breathed more freely), and there they gave him their cheap indian tea. they brought him a bottle of wine that they called champagne. death drank it up. they brought a newspaper and looked up the patent medicines; they gave him the foods that it recommended for invalids, and a little medicine as prescribed in the paper. they gave him some milk and borax, such as children drink in england.

death arose ravening, strong, and strode again through the cities.