What is an Internal Bath ?
W. R. BEAL
Much has been said and volumes have been written describing at length the many kinds of baths civilized man has indulged in from time to time. Every possible resource of the human mind has been brought into play to fashion new methods of bathing, but, strange as it may seem, the most important, as well as the most beneficial of all baths, the “Internal Bath,” has been given little thought. The reason for this is probably due to the fact that few people seem to realize the tremendous part that internal bathing plays in the acquiring and maintaining of health.
If you were to ask a dozen people to define an internal bath, you would have as many different definitions, and the probability is that not one of them would be correct. To avoid any misconception as to what constitutes an internal bath, let it be said that a hot water enema is no more an internal bath than a bill of fare is a dinner.
If it were possible and agreeable to take the great mass of thinking people to witness an average post-mortem, the sights they would see and the things they would learn would prove of such lasting benefit and impress them so profoundly that further argument in favor of internal bathing would be unnecessary to convince them. Unfortunately, however, it is not possible to do this, profitable as such an experience would doubtless prove to be. There is, then, only one other way to get this information into their hands, and that is by acquainting them with such knowledge as will enable them to appreciate the value of this long-sought-for health-produc ing necessity.
Few people realize what a very little thing is necessary sometimes to improve their physical condition. Also, they have almost no conception of how little carelessness, indifference, or neglect can be the fundamental cause of the most virulent disease. For instance, that universal disorder from which almost all humanity is suffering, known as “constipation,” “auto-intoxication,” “auto-infection” and a multitude of other terms, is not only curable, but preventable, through the consistent practice of internal bathing.
How many people realize that normal functioning of the bowels and a clean intestinal tract make it impossible to become sick? “Man of to-day is only fifty per cent, efficient.” Reduced to simple English, this means that most men are trying to do a man’s portion of work on half a man’s power. This applies equally to women.
That it is impossible to continue to do this indefinitely must be apparent to all. Nature never intended the delicate human organism to be operated on a hundred per cent, overload. A machine could not stand this and not break down, and the body certainly cannot do more than a machine. There is entirely too much unnecessary and avoidable sickness in the world.
How many people can you name, including yourself, w-ho are physically vigorous, healthy, and strong? The number is appallingly small.
It is not a complex matter to keep in condition, but it takes a little time, and in these
strenuous days people have time to do everything else necessary for the attainment of happiness but the most essential thing of all, that of giving their bodies their proper care.
Would you believe that five to ten minutes of time devoted to systematic internal bathing can make you healthy and maintain your physical efficiency indefinitely? Granting that such a simple procedure as this will do what is claimed for it, is it not worth while to learn more about that which will accomplish this end? Internal Bathing will do this, and it will do it for people of all ages and in all conditions of health and disease.
People don’t seem to realize, strange to say, how important it is to keep the body free from accumulated body-waste (poisons). Their doing so would prevent the absorption into the blood of the poisonous excretions of the body, and health would be the inevitable result.
If you would keep your blood pure, your heart normal, your eyes clear, your complexion clean, your mind keen, your blood pressure normal, your nerves relaxed, and be able to enjoy the vigor of youth in your declining years, practise internal bathing, and begin to-day.
Now' that your attention has been called to the importance of internal bathing, it may be that a number of questions will suggest themselves to your mind. You will probably want to know WHAT an Internal Bath is, WHY people should take them, and the WAY to take them. These and countless other questions are all answered in a booklet entitled “THE WHAT, THE WHY and the WAY, OF INTERNAL BATHING,” written by Doctor Chas. A. Tyrrell, the inventor of the “J. B. L. Cascade,” whose lifelong study and research along this line make him the pre eminent authority on this subject. Not only has internal bathing saved and prolonged Dr. Tyrrell’s own life, but the lives of multitudes of hopeless individuals have been equally spared and prolonged. No book has ever been written containing such a vast amount of practical information to the business man, the worker, and the housewife. All that is necessary to secure this book is to write to Dr. Tyrrell at Room 245, 257 College street, Toronto, and mention having read this article in MacLean’s Magazine, and same will be immediately mailed to you free of all cost or obligation.
Perhaps you realize now, more than ever, the truth of these statements, and if the reading of this article will result in a proper appreciation on your part of the value of internal bathing, it will have served its purpose. What you will want to do now' is to avail yourself of the opportunity for learning more about the subject, and your writing for this book will give you that information. Do not put off doing this, but send for the book now, while the matter is fresh in your mind.
“Procrastination is the thief of time.” A thief is one who steals something. Don’t allow procrastination to cheat you out of your opportunity to get this valuable information, which is free for the asking. If you would be natural, be healthy. It is unnatural to be sick. Why be unnatural when it is such a simple thing to be well?
his chin and smiling disdainfully with an unconcern which was belied by the abnormal brightness of his eyes.
“What does this mean, Findlay?” demanded his visitor in an unnaturally calm voice.
The agent shrugged his shoulders. Then he deliberately turned his back and sauntered over to the table. He threw one leg over a corner of it and laughed disagreeably.
“Oh come now, Mac—” he began easily.
“Quit that!” admonished McLennon sharply. “I’m in no mood for any more fooling about this thing. I want an explanation.”
The agent’s eyebrows became two arches of simulated surprise and his shoulders lifted again in another shrug.
“Ex-plan-ation?” he drawled as if here was a word that would require looking up in the dictionary. He took a long pull at his cigar and slowly blew the smoke at the ceiling, watching it curling in the air with considerable amusement.
“That’s what I said. You heard me. I want an explanation,” repeated' McLennon slowly, still in that calm voice. “Full and complete. It’s due me.”
“You don’t say ! Why?”
“Quit that, Findlay. I’ve already told you I want no fooling about it and that goes.”
“You surprise me! Really, Mac—”
McLennon took a step towards him, his face drawn, his eyes angry.
“Will you answer me? What’s it mean?”
“May I ask you to be a little more explicit, Mr. McLennon?” he mocked. “Now, you refer to—just what, please?”
“You know very well what!”
The agent blew another cloud of smoke, watching it dreamily through half-closed lids.
“Go on. Continue. You interest me tremendously.”
“You’ll be interested a damn sight more before we’re through,” said McLennon with cold menace.
FINDLAY clasped his hands comfortably about one shin, his cigar tilted rakishly in one corner of his mouth, and measured him insolently till his eyes puckered in the smoke.
“This is really rich! Pray, proceed.” “The first thing I want to know is, how much of that twenty thousand of mine did you actually pay over to Dubenko?” “That’s easy. Five thousand dollars, cash!”
McLennon fell back, speechless for a moment. He had expected a frame-up, but not this brazen acknowledgment.
“And you’ve got the gall to tell me that!” he gasped.
“Why not? Good business, wasn’t it?” grinned the other.
“Good business!” nodded McLennon in contempt. “So you call it good business to put across a thing like that on a man who trusted you, do you? I call it a lowdown, dirty deal, Findlay! You don’t expect to get away with it, do you?”
“Why not? What d’you think you’re going to do about it?”
“You’ll find that out soon enough to suit you. Don’t you worry about that, lyir. Man.”
“But it does worry me—a whole lot. I hate to think of you wasting your time and possibly some good money, McLennon. You see, Dubenko’s moved away from here—gone to Oshkosh or Kalamazoo or somewhere across the line. You have his receipt for your twenty thousand and— you’ll pardon me, won’t you?—it seems to me that it’s none of your blame business whether he chose to give me fifteen thousand dollars or not. How do you know that he wasn’t only paying me some money he owed me? What have you got to hang a claim on, I’d like to know?” He grinned cockily.
“A foreigner like him! Owed you fifteen thousand dollars!” scoffed McLennon. “For stocking his homestead, I suppose—five pigs, two milch cows, twenty hens, a yoke of oxen ! Confound your impudence! Let me tell you that no man steals fifteen thousand dollars of my money from under my nose and gets away with it!”
Findlay threw his leg off the table, his jaw set.
“Yes, I said it! ‘Steals’ is the word!” glared McLennon.
“You’ll eat that before you get out of this room,” growled the agent from between his clenched teeth. He started for the door.
McLennon stepped in ahead of him and removed the key.
“The door’s locked already. Is this the only key? Good enough!” He deliberately flung it through the window-pane. “Don’t try on any dodges with me! I mean business, Findlay!” They eyed each other.
'TpHE agent went back to his table, doubling over it with laughter. Under cover of this he furtively opened the drawer and took out a revolver, slipping it under some papers on top of the table.
“The next thing I want to know,” pursued McLennon, “is why that train didn’t stop here this morning, though I think I can make a pretty good guess. I want to know exactly what’s doing.”
“The town goes to the Junction.”
“So!” breathed McLennon. “It’s all true, then. I might’ve known it.”
“Hm-hm. You might’ve, sure enough.” The agent was watching him narrowly. “Railroads don’t usually select divisional points in a hole like this without anything to support a town surrounding it. That’s where you fell down.”
“All I’ve got to say, Findlay, is that you’re a bigger fool than I took you for!” cried McLennon harshly. “Come here!” The agent followed him disinterestedly to the window. “Do you see that mob of fellows down there? Well, I—”
A sudden roar from the crowd interrupted him as they caught sight of his companion. Findlay drew back hastily.
“You hear that?” went on McLennon eagerly. “I came here in the hope that what’s been on everybody’s tongue all | morning wasn’t true—that you had not been such a traitor as to play those men dirt. We’re saying nothing about my rights in this; we’re talking about the rights of those men out there, citizens of this little place, property-holders. They’re waiting for you to go out and explain yourself.
“And by Heaven! you’ll have to do it, Findlay. They’ll make you! They won’t stand for any monkey-shines. If you don’t go out to them soon, they’ll come in to you and then—watch out! You saw those fellows on the stairs there?
“But you won’t explain it because you can’t! You can’t do it because you’ve sold them out—every mother’s son of them! You’ve got in your dirty work and you ain’t denying it!”
AT cLENNON paced restlessly back and forth while his auditor continued to smoke, to smile tolerantly. There was nothing in his manner to indicate that he was more disturbed than he cared to admit; there was a note in that yell that he didn’t altogether like.
“What a mess you’ve made of this!” went on McLennon bitterly. “I came here to warn you, even if you have done me up—to warn you because I heard them say they’d tar-and-feather you if 'twas true— Oh you needn’t grin ! That’s what it means, Findlay. I’m giving it to you straight. Look here— See that mark on my neck? They thought at first I was mixed up in this with you. The fools tried to lynch me!”
The word was spoken in a dry whisper, hoarse with agitation. The agent’s face paled, but he still maintained his look of contemptuous amusement. His laugh broke boisterously.
“Tried to lynch you! That is a good one! Oh Lord!”
“For the love of heaven, Findlay, if it ain’t too late to do something to prevent this outrage on the town, do it!” pleaded McLennon. “If you don’t, your life won’t be worth a continental, to say nothing of what this means to the boys and me.”
The agent whirled with a swift change of manner. The mockery was still hovering about his thin lips, but his eyes were cold and hard.
“The boys and you, eh?” he snapped. “What’n blazes do I care about you? You’re nothing but a damn piker! A—!”
“The town’s going to the Junction, where it belongs, and you having a finger in the pie isn’t going to make that any different if I know it. You and your twenty-five per cent, split! You and your precious wife—”
“Don’t you say it! On your life, don’t you!” threatened McLennon wildly.
T) OTH men glared at each other. Loud H cries came up from the crowd below, followed by a heavy pounding on the door at the foot of the stairs. There was a crash of breaking glass and a piece of rock whizzed through the room and thudded against the opposite wall.
The agent’s face went whiter still. He clutched the other’s arm.
“I’ll give you another chance, Mac,” he said rapidly with a sudden change of manner. “I’ll give you back the fifteen thousand if you’ll split even with me on what’s in the bank at Edmonton. How much is it?”
“Fine and dandy! Is it so that you can get it in a hurry?”
“Well?” nodded McLennon, his eyes smouldering.
“Don’t you tumble to it? We can slip out of here the back way. There’s a couple of broncs hitched behind the station an’ we can beat it before that mob gets wise. We can catch the gravel train up at Hardman—”
McLennon took one step forward and hit him a slap in the face that knocked him sprawling half way across the room.
With an oath Findlay grabbed for his cigar and leaped to his feet in a passion. He hurled the burning stub full into the white face of the man before him.
At the same time there arose a great yelling from without, a noise of rending wood and a tumultuous clatter on the wooden stairway.
Findlay was reaching for the revolver he had left lying on the table behind him. But with a choking cry McLennon sprang desperately for his life.
He reached the weapon first. Before he knew what he was doing he had fired twice. The agent sank to the floor without a sound.
Like a flood-tide which nothing could stay, the mob poured upstairs with a roar. Beneath their frenzied blows the frail door was cracking and splintering. It burst inward, literally torn from its hinges, and the citizens of Spruce Crossing came tumbling into Findlay’s private quarters where the air hung heavy with the smell of gunpowder.
Sprawled grotesquely on the floor lay the inert form of the agent. Staring at it vacuously from a chair into which he had slumped was McLennon, in his dangling hand a revolver from the muzzle of which the smoke still oozed.
/CORPORAL STRUTHERS shouldered ^ through the gaping crowd.
McLennon looked up dully as he felt the hand on his shoulder.
“Bad business, Mac.” The Mounted Policeman shook his head gravely as he took possession of the weapon.
“It’s his gun,” said the prisoner in a mechanical voice. “He tried to kill me with it and I beat him to it.” He made an effort to stand up, but his knees refused to support him; so that Shorty Barber and Ike Sears had to walk beside him.
“Clear out of here—every one of you!” commanded the corporal peremptorily, and the crowd obeyed with evident reluctance.
The cool, fresh air outside seemed to revive McLennon somewhat and he spoke feebly to those nearest him.
“Your money’s safe, boys—in the bank —Edmonton. I’ll pay back every cent— Tell all the others—money’s safe.” But they weren’t thinking of money now; they wanted to see the man they had misjudged properly cared for and they escorted him back to the hotel.
'T'HE wheels of justice began to revolve at once in Spruce Crossing. Citizens qualified to act on a coroner’s jury—men quite capable of examining a small army of witnesses with the object of finding out that somebody was dead—immediately placed themselves at the disposal of Corporal Struthers.
The agent came to life while they were doing it. One bullet had glanced him into unconsciousness and the other had in-
I flicted but a flesh wound. Inside of an ! hour he was so far recovered that the j authorities had no hesitation in removing ; him from the town under escort and when McLennon’s bail had been many times j over-subscribed, things began to resume their normal trend.
But Spruce Crossing was doomed. This soon became apparent when the new town at the Junction was laid out and lots began to jump in value at the rate of twen! ty-five dollars a day. With the steam shovels coughing and rattling and goring away at the gravel beds where the shops were to be built, the speculators at the Crossing fairly fell over one another in the scramble for places on the ground floor of the new town.
Although the railroad people took no part in booming the place, they were interested in having the men employed upon the shops and grounds near at hand and with that end in view, made rates which enabled shopkeepers and others to transfer their goods and chattels at very little cost.
But John McLennon was completely ruined. After he had religiously squared off every man’s account, there was nothing left—except the Dubenko homestead itself. There was no place for him to go, so he and his wife decided to remain for awhile where they were and to begin life anew. For at the first opportunity Findlay had slipped away in the watches of the night, no man knew where, and with him went all hope of recovering the lost investment; the agent wisely preferred to lay no charge against McLennon.
Dead leaves blew about the valley and the hills and winter set in. The last wedge of wild fowl had winged into the South and the river oozed by under a crust of snow and floating ice. On stormy nights the snow smoked along the river-bank and
drifted through the open windows of the few shacks that scattered at wide intervals where once had been a town. The noises of the night—flapping boards, wailing wind, the squeaking of a rusty tin sign—these alone greeted the inquisitive flat-faced owl that stared out solemnly from the shelter of a broken roof at the flakes sailing away in the darkness.
Yet lots there came near to selling for a thousand dollars a lot! Now was no such place as Spruce Crossing, so called, and lots there were worth, so to speak, about a thousand for a dollar!
Away out West where the river meets the old Potlatch Trail that winds through the foothill country into the mountains is a bustling little town, a divisional point on the railway. Down at Ten-Mile Siding lives a homesteader and his wife and every once-in-awhile Mayor Spratt runs over in his auto to see them. So does Sergeant Struthers, of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, and a rancher by the name of Coleman.
These good people keep fifteen pigs, ten milch cows, forty hens, two teams of horses and sometimes an agent tries to sell them farm machinery. It is a nice place to visit. The land itself doesn’t amount to much as a farming proposition ; but back from the river away there are indications of a valuable deposit of gypsum about which those in the secret have enthused.
Neither the homesteader nor his wife, however, are in the habit of getting excited about such things. After awhile, when they are ready to do so, they may sell out. It is their intention to go back East.
And say, they know a dandy place back there in which to start up in the grocery business.