The Coffin Cure - Alan E. Nourse - X Minus One Project

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Episode Transcript

(00:00):
The Coffin Cure by Alan E.Nourse. When the discovery was announced,
it was doctor Chauncey Patrick Coffin whoannounced it. He had, of course
arranged with Uncanny's skill, to takemost of the credit for himself. If
it turned out to be greater thanhe had hoped, so, much the

(00:21):
better. His presentation was scheduled forthe last night of the American College of
Clinical Practitioners annual meeting, and Coffinhad fully intended it to be a bombshell.
It was. Its explosion exceeded evendoctor Coffin's wilder expectations, who which

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took quite a bit of doing.In the end, he had waited through
more newspaper reporters and medical doctors.As he left the hall that night.
It was a heady evening for ChaunceyPatrick Coffin, m D. Certain others
were not so delighted with Coffin's bombshell. It's idiocy, young doctor Philip Dawson

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wailed in the laboratory conference room thenext morning, blind screaming idiocy. You've
gone out of your mind, That'sall there is to it. Can't you
see what you've done? Aside fromselling your colleagues down the river. That
is, He clenched the reprint ofCoffin's address in his hand and brandished it

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like a broadsword. Report on aVaccine for the Treatment and Cure of the
Common Cold by C. P.Coffin at ol. That's what it says,
et ol my idea in the firstplace, Jake and I both pounding
our heads on the wall for eightsolid months, and now you sneak it

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into publication of whole year before wehave any business publishing a word about it.
Well, really, Philip, doctorChauncey Coffin ran a pudgy hand through
his snowy hair. How ungrateful,I thought for sure you'd be delighted.
An excellent presentation, I must say, terse a saint. Unequivocal, he

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raised his hand, but generously unequivocal. You understand. You should have heard
the ovation. They nearly went wild, and the look on Underwood's face worth
waiting twenty years for. And thereporters snapped, Philip, don't forget the
reporters. He whirled on the smalldark man sitting quietly in the corner.

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How about that, Jake, didyou see the morning papers? This thief
not only steals our work. Hesplashes it all over the countryside and red
ink. Doctor Jacob Miles coughed apologizeradically. What Philip is so stormed up
about is the prematurity of it all, he said to Coffin. After all,

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we've hardly had an acceptable period ofclinical trial. Nonsense, said Coffin,
glaring at Philip. Underwood and hismen were ready to publish their discovery
within another six weeks. Where wouldwe be then? How much clinical testing
do you want? Philip? Youhad the worst goal of your life when

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you took the vaccine. Have youhad any sense? No, of course
not, said Philip peevishly. Jacob, how about you any stifles? No,
no, no coals. Well whatabout those six hundred students from the
university? And did I misread thereports on them? No? Ninety eight

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percent cured of active symptoms within twentyfour hours, not a single recurrence.
The results were just short of miraculous, Jake hesitated. Of course, it's
only been a month, month,year century. Look at them, six

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hundred of the world's most luxuriate coldsand now not even a sniffle. A
chubby doctor sank down behind the desk, is ruddy face beaming. Come now,
gentlemen, be reasonable, think positively. There's work to be done,
a great deal of work. They'llbe wanting me in Washington. I imagine

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press conferences and twenty minutes drug housesto consult with. How dare we stand
in the path of progress. We'vewon the greatest medical triumph of all times,
the conquering of the common cold.We'll go down in history. And
he was perfectly right on one point. At least they did go down in

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history. The public response to thevaccine was little less than monumental. Of
all the ailments that have tormented mankindthrough history, none has ever been more
universal, more tenacious, more uniformlymiserable than the common cold. It was
a respecter of no barriers, boundaries, or classes. Ambassadors and chambermaids snuffled

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and sneezed and drippy nosed unanimity.The powers of the Kremlin sniffed and blue
and wept genuine tears on drafty days, while senatorial debates on earth shaking issues
paused reverently upon the unplugging of anose, the clearing of a rhunered throat.

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Other illnesses brought disability, even deathin their wake. The common Cold
merely brought torment to the millions asit implacably resisted the most superhuman efforts to
curb it, until that chill Novemberday when the tidings broke to the world

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in four inch banner heads. Coffinnails lid on Common Cold no more.
Coffin State's co founder of cure Sniffles, sniped single shot to save sneezers.
While in medical circles it was calledthe Coffin multicentric upper respiratory virus inhibiting vaccine,

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but the papers could never stand forsuch high sounding names. They called
it simply the Coffin Cure. Belowthe banner heads, world renowned feature writers
expounded in reverend terms the story ofthe Leviathan struggle of doctor Chauncey Patrick Coffin

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at Awl in solving this riddle ofthe ages, how after years of failure,
they ultimately succeeded in culturing the causativeagent of the common Cold, identifying
it not as a single virus orgroup of viruses, but as a multicentric
virus complex invading the soft mucous liningsof the nose, throat, and eyes,

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capable of altering its basic molecular structureat any time to resist efforts of
the body from within or the physicianfrom without to attack and dispel it.
How the hypothesis was set forth bydoctor Philip Dawson that the virus could be
destroyed only by an antibody which couldfreeze the virus complex in one form long

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enough for normal body defenses to disposeof the offending invader, the exhausting search
for such a crippling agent, andthe final crowning success after in acting untold
gallons of cold virus material into thehides of a group of cooperative and forbearing

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dogs, a species which never sufferedfrom coals, and hence endured the whole
business with an air of affectionate boredom. And finally, the testing first coffin
himself, who was suffering a particularlyhorrendous case of the affliction he sought to
cure, then his assistance Philip Dawsonand Jacob Miles. Then a multitude of

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students from the university, carefully chosenfor this severity of their symptoms, the
longevity of their calls, their tendencyto acquire these on little or no provocation,
and their utter inability to get ridof them with any known medical program.
They were a sorry spectacle, thosestudents filing through the Coffin laboratory for

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three days in October, wheezing likesteam shovels, snorting and sneezing and sniffling
and blowing, coughing and squeaking,mute appeals glowing in their bloodshot eyes.
The researchers dispensed the materials, asingle shot of the right arm, a

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sensitivity control in the left, withgrowing delight. They then watched as the
results came in. The sneezing stopped, the sniffling ceased. A great silence
settled over the campus, in theclassrooms, in the library, and classy
calls. Doctor Coffin's voice returned ratherto the regret of his fellow workers,

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and he began bouncing about the laboratorylike a small boy at a fair.
Students by the dozen trooped in forcheckups, with noses dry and eyes bright.
In a matter of days, therewas no doubt left that the goal
had been reached. But we haveto be sure, Philip Dawson had cried
cautiously, this was only a pilottest. We need mass testing now on

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an entire community. We should goto the West coast and run studies there.
They have a different breed of coldout there, I hear. We'll
have to see how long the immunitylasts, make sure there are no unexpected
side effects. And, uttering tohimself, he fell to work with pad

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and pencil, calculating the program tobe undertaken before publication. But there were
rumors Underwood at Stanford. They saidthat already completed his tests and was preparing
a paper for publication in a matterof months. Surely with such dramatic results
and the pilot tests, something couldbe put into print. It would be

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tragic to lose the race for thesake of a little unnecessary caution. Peter
Dawson was adamant, but he wasa voice crying in the wilderness. Chauncey
Patrick Coffin was boss. Within aweek. Even Coffin was wondering if he

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had bitten off just a trifle toomuch. They had expected that demand for
the vaccine would be great, buteven the grizzly memory of the early days
of the Salk vaccine had not preparedthem for the mobs of sneezing, wheezing,
red eyed people bombarding them for thefirst fruits. Clear eyed young men

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for the government bureau pushed through thecrowds of local townspeople lining the streets outside
the Coffin laboratory, standing in thepouring rain to raise insistent placards. Seventeen
pharmaceutical houses descended like vultures, withproduction plans, cost estimates, colorful graphs

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demonstrating proposed yield in the distribution programs. Coffin was flown to Washington, where
conferences labored far into the night asdemands pounded their doors like a tidal wave.
One laboratory promised the vaccine in tendays, another said a week.

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The first actually appeared in three weeksand two days, to be soaked up
in the space of three hours bythe thirsty sponge of cold, weary humanity.
Express planes were dispatched to Europe,to Asia, to Africa with the
precious cargo. A million needles pierced, a million hides. With a huge,

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convulsive sneeze, mankind is stepped forthinto a new era. There were
abstainers, of course, there alwaysare. It doesn't baked her, it
saw, but you talk, ElieDawson cried hoarsely, shaking her blonde curls.
I know what, Edny cold shots. You're being totally unreasonable, Philip

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said, glowering at his wife andannoyance. She wasn't the sweet young thing
he had married, not this evening. Her eyes were puffy, her nose
red and dripping. You've had thiscall for two solid months now, and
there just isn't any sense to it. It's making him miserable. You can't

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eat, you can't breathe, youcan't sleep. I don't what Edny cold
shots, she repeated, stubbornly.But why not? It's just one little
needle, you'll hardly feel it.But I don't like deedles, she cried,
bursting into tears. Why don't youlive aldod go take your dasty old

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beetles, stick dubbed people at whatah, Ellie? I don't care.
I like beetles, she wailed,buried her face in his shirt. He
held her close, making comforting littlenoises. It was no use, he

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reflected, sadly. Science just wasn'tEllie's long suit. She didn't know a
cold vaccine from a case of smallpox, and no appeal to logic or
common sense could surmount her irrational fearof hypodermics. All right, nobody's going
to make you do anything you don'twant to do, he said. And

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anyway, think of the port tissuebed defactures. She sniffled, wiping her
nose with a pink facial tissue.All their little children started to death.
Say you have got a cold,said Philip, sniffling. You've got on

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enough, perfumed to fell an ox. He wiped away tears and grinned at
her. Come on, now,fix your face. Dinner at the Driftwood.
I hear they have marvelous lamb chops. It was a mellow evening.
The lamb chops were delectable, thetastiest lamb chops eat ever eating, he
thought, even being blessed with asgood a cook as Ellie for a spouse.

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Ellie dripped and blew continuously, butrefused to go home until they had
taken in a movie and stopped byto dance for a while. I hardly
ever get to see you, Eddiebore, she said, Oh, because
of that dusty better side to goingto people. It was true, of
course, the work of the lambwas endless. They danced, but came

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home early Nevertheless, Philip needed allasleep he could get. He awoke once
during the night to a parate ofsneezes from his wife, and rolled over,
frowning sleepily to himself. It wasignominious in a way, his own
wife, refusing the fruit of allthose months of work and cold or no

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cold, she surely was using awheel of a lot of perfume. He
awoke, suddenly, began to stretchand set bolt upright in bed, staring
wildly about the room. Pale morningsunlight drifted in the window and downstairs,
he heard Ellie stirring in the kitchen. For a moment he thought he was
suffocating. He leaped out of bed, stared at the vanity table across the

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room. Somebody spilled the whole damnedbottle. The heavy, sick, sweet
miasma hung like a cloud around him, drenching the room. With every breath
it grew thicker. He searched thetable top frantically, but there were no
empty bottles. His head began tospin from the sickening effluvium. He blinked

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in confusion, his hand trembling ashe lit a cigarette. No need to
panic, he thought she probably knockeda bottle over when she was dressing.
He took a deep puff and burstinto a paroxysm of coughing. His acrid
fumes burned down his throat to hislungs Ellie. He rushed into the hall,

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still coughing. The match smell hadgiven way to a harsh, clust
extench of burning weeds. He staredat his cigarette and horror and threw it
into the sink. The smell grewworse. He threw open the hall closet,
expecting smoke to come billowing out.Ellie, somebody's burning down the house.
Whatever are you talking about, Ellie'svoice came from the stairwell. It's

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just the toastye birds. Silly.He rushed down the stairs two at a
time and nearly gagged. As hereached the bottom. The smell of hot,
rancid grease struck him like a solidwall. It was intermingled with an
oily smell of boiled and par boiledcoffee, overpowering in its intensity. By

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the time he reached the kitchen,he was holding his nose, tears pouring
from his eyes. Ellie, whatare you doing in here? She stared
at him. I baking breakfast.But don't you smell it? Spell what?

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Said Ellie. On the stove,The automatic percolator was making small,
promising noises. In the frying pan. Four sunnyside eggs were sizzling. Half
a dozen strips of bacon drained ona paper towel on the sideboard. It
couldn't have looked more innocent. Cautiously, Philip released his nose, sniffed.

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The stench nearly choked him. Youmean you don't smell anything strange? I
did spell anything, period, saidEllie defensively. The coffee, the bacon,
Come here a minute, She wreakedthe bacon, of coffee, of
burned a toast, but mostly ofperfume. Did you put on any fresh

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perfume this morning before breakfast? Doesbe ridiculous? Not even a drop?
Philip was turning very white. Adrop. He shook his head. Now,
wait a minute, this must beall in my mind. I'm just
imagining things. That's all working toohard, hysterical reaction. In a minute,

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it'll all go away. He poureda cuff of coffee and added cream
and sugar, but he couldn't getit close enough to taste it. It
smelled as if it had been boilingthree weeks in a rancid pot. It
was the smell of coffee, allright, but a smell that was fiendishly
distorted, overpoweringly nauseatingly magnified. Itpervaded the room and burned his throat,

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brought tears gushing to his eyes.Slowly, realization began to dawn. He
spilled the coffee as he set thecup down, The perfume, the coffee,
the cigarette, My hat, hechoked, Get me my hat.
I've got to get to the laboratory. He got worse all the way downtown.

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He fought down waves of nausea asthe smell of damp, rotting earth
rose from his front yard in thegray cloud. The neighbor's dog dashed out
to greet him, exuding the greatgrandfather of all doggy orders. As Philip
waited for the bus, every passingcar fouled the air with noxious fumes,

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gagging him, doubling him up withcoughing as he dabbed at his streaming eyes.
Nobody else seemed to notice anything wrongat all. The bus ride was
a nightmare. It was a damp, rainy day. The inside of the
bus felt like a men's locker roomafter a big game. A bleury eyed

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man with three days stubble on hischin flopped down in the seat next to
him, and Philip reeled back witha jolt to the job he held in
his student days, cleaning vance inthe brewery. It's a gray morning,
blurry eyes breathed at him, aren'tdoc, Philip blanched to top it.

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The man had had a breakfast ofsalami. In the seat ahead, a
fat man held a dead cigar clampedin his mouth like a rank growth.
Philip's stomach began rolling. He sankhis face into his hand, trying unobtrusively
to clamp his nostrils. With agroan of deliverance, he lurched off the

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bus. At the laboratory gate,he met Jake Myles coming up the steps.
Jake looked pale, two pale morning, Philip said, weekly, Nice
day, looks like the sun mightcome through. Yeah, said Jake,
nice day. You feel all rightthis morning? Fine? Fine? Philip

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tossed his hat in the closet,opened the incubator on his culture tubes,
trying to look busy. He slammedthe door after one whiff and gripped the
edge of the work table with whiteningknuckles. Why oh nothing, thought you
looked a little peak, it wasall. They stared at each other in

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silence. Then, as though bya signal, their eyes turned to the
office at the end of the lab. Coffin in yet Jake nodded, he's
in there. He's got the doorlocked. I think he's going to have
to open it, said Philip,a gray faced doctor. Coffin unlocked the
door, backed quickly toward the wall. The room reeked a kitchen deodorant.

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Stay right where you are, Coffin, squeaked. Don't come a step closer.
I can't see you now. I'mbusy. I've got work that has
to be done. You're telling me, growled Philip. He motioned Jake into
the office and locked the door carefully, and then he turned to Coffin.
When did it start for you?Coffin was trembling right after supper last night.

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I thought I was going to suffocate. Got up walk the streets all
night. My god, what astench, jake. Doctor Myles shook his
head. Sometime this morning. Idon't know when I woke up with it.
That's when it hit me, saidPhilip, But I don't understand Coffin

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howled. Nobody else seems to noticeanything yet, said Philip. We were
the first three to take the Coffincure, remember you and me and Jake
two months ago. Coffin's forehead wasbeaded with sweat. He stared at the
two in a growing horror. Butwhat about the others? He whispered.

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I think, said Philip, thatwe better find something spectacular to do in
a mighty big hurry. That's whatI think. Jake Myles said. The
most important thing right now is secrecy. We mustn't let a word get out,
not until we're absolutely certain. Butwhat's happened? Coffin cried? These

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foul smells everywhere you Philip, youhad a cigarette this morning. I can
smell it clear over here, andit's bringing tears to my eyes. And
if I didn't know better, I'dswear neither of you've had a bath in
a week. Every odor in townhas suddenly turned foul, magnified, you
mean, said Jake. Perfume stillsmells sweet, there's just too much of

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it. The same with cinnamon.I tried it, cried for half an
hour, but it's still smelled likecinnamon. No, I don't think the
smells have changed any But what thenour noses have changed? Obviously, Jake
paced the floor in excitement. Lookat our dogs. They've never had coals

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and they practically live by their noses. Other animals all depended on their senses
of smell for survival, and noneof them ever have anything even vaguely reminiscent
of a common gold. The multicentricvirus hits primates only, and it reaches

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its fullest parasitic powers in man alone. Coffin shook his head miserably. But
why this horrible stanch of all ofa sudden I haven't had a cold in
weeks, of course not, That'sjust what I'm trying to say, Jake,
cry Look, why do we haveany sense of smell at all?
Because we have tiny olfactory nerve insburied in the mucous membrane of our noses

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and throats. But we have alwayshad the virus living there two coals or
no coals, throughout our entire lifetime. It's always been there, anchored in
the same cells, parasitising the samesensitive tissues that carry our all factory nerve
endings. Numbing them and crippling them, making them practically useless as sensory organs.

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No wonder, we never smelled anythingbefore. Those poor little nerve endings
never had a chance until we camealong in our shining armor and destroy the
virus, said Phillips. Oh,we didn't destroy it. We merely stripped
it of a very slippery protective mechanismagainst normal body defenses. Jake perched on

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the edge of the desk, hisdark face intense. These two months since
we had our shots, witnessed abattle to the death between our bodies and
the virus. With the help ofthe vaccine, our bodies of one that's
all stripped away, the last vestigesof an invader that has been almost a

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part of our normal physiology since thebeginning of time. And now, for
the first time, those crippled littlenerve endings are just beginning to function.
Oh God help us, Coffin groaned. You think we'll get worse and worse,
and still worse, said Jake.I wonder, said Philip slowly.

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What the anthropologists will say, Whatdo you mean? Maybe it was just
a single mutation somewhere back there,a tiny change of cell structure or metabolism
that left one line of primates vulnerableto an invader, no other with harbor.

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Why else should man have to flowerand blossom intellectually, grow to depend
so much on his brains instead ofhis brawn, that he could rise above
all others. What better reason thanbecause somewhere along the line, in the
world of fang and claw, hesuddenly lost his sense of smell. They

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stared at each other. Well he'sgot it bang now, Coffin wailed.
And he's not going to like ita bit. No, he surely isn't,
Jacob greed. He's going to startlooking very quickly for someone to blame.
I think. They both looked atCoffin. Not over ridiculous, boys,

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said Coffin, turning white, wearingthis together, Philip, it was
your idea in the first place.You said so yourself. You can't leave
me now the telephone jangle, Theyheard the frightened voice of the secretary clear
across the room. Doctor Coffin,there was a student on the line just
a moment ago, he said.He was coming up to see you.

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Now, he said, not later. Well I am busy, Coffin sputtered.
I can't see anyone, and Ican't take any calls. But he's
already on his way up. Thegirl burst out. He was saying something
about tearing you apart with his barehands. Coffin slammed down. The receiver's

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face was the color of lead.They'll crucify me, he sobbed Jake.
Philip. You've got to help me, Philip sighed and unlocked the door.
Send a girl down to the freezerand have her bring up all the live
cold virus she can find. Getus some inoculated monkeys and a few dozen

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dogs. He turned to Coffin andstopped sniveling. You're the big publicity man
around here. You are going tohandle the screaming masses, whether you like
it or not. What are yougoing to do? I haven't the faintest
idea, said Philip, but whateverI do is going to cost you your
shirt. We're going to find outhow to catch a cold again if we

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have to die. It was anadmirable struggle and a feudal one. They
sprayed their noses and throats with enoughpure culture of virulent live virus to have
condemned an ordinary man to a lifetimeof sneezing watery eyed misery. They didn't
develop a sniffle among them. Theymixed six different strains of virus and gargled

(30:36):
the extract, spraying themselves and everyinoculated monkey they could get their hands on
with the vile smelling stuff. Nota sneeze. They injected it hyperdemically,
intradermally, subcutaneously, intramuscularly, andintraveniously. They drank it. They bathed

(30:56):
in the stuff, but they didn'tat a gold. Maybe it's the wrong
approach, Jake said one morning.Our body defenses are keyed up to the
top performance right now. Maybe ifwe break them down we can get somewhere.
They plunged down that alley with grimabandoned. They starved themselves. They

(31:18):
forced themselves to stay awake for dayson end until exhaustion forced their eyes closed.
In spite of all they could do, they carefully devised vitamin free,
protein free, mineral free diets thattasted like library paste and smelled worse.
They wore wet clothes and sopping shoesto work, turned off the heat,

(31:41):
and through windows open to the rawwinter air. Then they resprayed themselves with
a live cold virus and waited reverentlyfor the sneezing to begin. It didn't.
They stared at each other and gatheringgloom. They'd never felt better in
their lives except for the smells.Of course, they'd hoped that they might

(32:04):
presently get used to them, butthey didn't. Every day it grew a
little worse. They began smelling smellsthey'd never dreamed existed. Noxious smells,
cloying smells, smells that drove themgagging to the sinks. Their nose plugs
were rapidly losing their effectiveness. Mealtimes were night merry shore deals. They

(32:27):
lost weight with alarming speed, butthey didn't catch cold. I think you
should all be locked up, EllieDawson said severely, as she dragged her
husband, blue faced and shivering,out of an icy shower one bitter morning.
You've lost your wits. You needto be protected against yourselves, that's

(32:49):
what you need. You don't understand, Philip moaned, We've got to catch
cold? Why, Ellie snapped angrily, Oh you don't. What's going to
happen? We had three hundred studentsmarch on the laboratory today, Phillips said,
patiently. The smells were driving themcrazy. They said, they couldn't

(33:12):
even bear to be close to theirbest friends. They wanted something done about
it, or else, they wantedblood. Tomorrow, we'll have them back,
and three hundred more, And theywere just the pilot's study. What's
going to happen when fifteen million peoplefind their noses going bad on them?

(33:34):
He shuddered. Have you seen thepapers? People are already going around sniffing
like bloodhounds, and now we're findingout what a thorough job we did.
We can't crack it, Ellie.We can't even get a toe hold.
Those antibodies are just doing too gooda job. Well, maybe you can

(33:57):
find some uncle bodies to take careof them, Ellie offered, vaguely.
Look, don't make bad jokes.I'm not making jokes. All I want
is a husband back doesn't complain abouthow everything smells and eats the dinners I
cook, and doesn't stand around andcold showers at six in the morning.

(34:19):
I know it's miserable, he said, helplessly, but I don't know how
to stop it. He found JacobCoffin in tight lipped conference when he reached
the lab. I can't do itanymore, Coffin was saying I've begged them
for time, I've threatened them,I've promised them everything but my upper plate.
I can't face them again. Ijust can't. We only have a

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few days left, Jake said grimly. If we don't come up with something,
we're goners. Philip's jaw suddenly saggedas he stared at them. You
know what I think, he saidsuddenly. I think we've been prize idiots.
We've gotten so rattle, we haven'tused our heads, and all the
time it's been sitting there blinking atus. What are you talking about,

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Snapjake, Uncle bodies, said Philip. Oh, great, god, no,
I'm serious. Philip's eyes were verybright. How many of those students
do you think we can corral tohelp us? Coffin gulped six hundred.
They're out there in the street rightnow, howling for a lynching. All

(35:29):
right, I want them in here, and I want some monkeys, monkeys
with coals, the worst coals thebetter. Do you have any idea what
you're doing, asked Jake. Nonein the least, said Philip happily,
except that it's never been done before. But maybe it's time we tried following

(35:49):
our noses for a while. Thetitle wave began to break two days later.
Only a few people here, doesn'tthere, but enough to confirm the
dire US newspaper predictions. The boomerangwas completing its circle. At the laboratory,
the doors were kept barred, thetelephones disconnected. Within, there was

(36:10):
a bustle of fevery shift odorous activity. For the three researchers. The olfactory
acuity had reached agonizing proportions. Eventhe small gas masks Philip had devised could
no longer shield them from the constantbarrage of odors. But the work went
on in spite of the smell.Truckloads of monkeys arrived at the lab,

(36:36):
cold ridden monkeys, sneezing, coughing, weeping, wheezing monkeys by the dozen.
Culture trays bulged with tubes, overflowedthe incubators and work tables. Each
day, six hundred angry students paradedthrough the lab arms exposed, mouths open,
grumbling, but cooperating. At theend of the first week, half

(37:00):
the monkeys were cured of their coalsand quite unable to catch them back.
The other half had new coals andcouldn't get rid of them. Philip observed
this fact with grim satisfaction, andone about the laboratory, mumbling to himself.
Two days later, he burst forthjubilantly, lugging a sad looking puppy

(37:22):
under his arm. It was likeno other puppy in the world. This
puppy was sneezing and snuffling with aperfect howler of a cold. The day
came when they injected a tiny dropletof milky fluid beneath the skin of Philip's
arm, and then got the virusspray and gave his nose and throwed a

(37:44):
liberal application. Then they sat backand waited. They were still waiting three
days later. It was a greatidea, Jake said, gloomily, flipping
a bulging note book closed with finality. It just didn't work, that's all,
Philip nodded. Both men had grownthin, with pouches under their eyes.

(38:07):
Jake's riot eye had begun to twitchuncontrollably whenever anyone came within three yards
of him. We can't go onlike this, you know, the people
are going wild. Where's coffin?He collapsed three days ago, nervous prostration.
He kept having dreams about hangings.Philip sighed, well, I suppose

(38:29):
we'd better just face it nice,knowing you, Jake, pity it had
to be this way. It wasa great try, old man, a
great try. Ah, Yes,nothing like going down in the blaze of
Philip stopped dead, his eyes widening, his nose began to twitch. He

(38:49):
took a gasp, a larger gasp, as a long dead reflex came sleepily
to life, shook his head rearedback. Philip sneezed. He sneezed for
ten minutes without a pause, untilhe lay on the floor, blue faced
and gasping for air. He caughthold of Jake, wringing his hand as

(39:10):
tears gushed from his eyes. Hegave his nose an enormous blow and headed
shakily for the telephone. It wasa sibilant of principple, he said later
to Elie, as she spread mustardon his chest and poured more warm water
into his footpath. The cure itselfto the etaged etibody reactoid. We had

(39:37):
the atibody against the virus, allright, though he had to find was
sub kind of at a body againstthe at a body. He sneezed violently
and poured in nose drops with ahappy grin. Will they be able to
make it fast enough, just aboutpast enough for people to get good and

(40:00):
eager to catch a Coldiegod, saidPhilip. There's oudly wood, little hitch.
Ellie Dawson took the stakes from thegrille and set them still sizzling on
the dinner table. Hitch, Philipnodded as he chewed the steak with the
pretense of enthusiasm. It tasted likeslightly damp keyation. This stuff we bade

(40:25):
does a real good job, justa little too good. He wiped his
nose and reached for a fresh tissue. I baby rug, but I'd take
I've got this cold for keeps,he said, sadly, unless I could
fired at a body against the ata body against the at a body.

(40:52):
End of the Coffin Cure by AlanE. Norse