Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 649 A Unique Invention!
Lionel told the security guards to release the young man, and the guards then let go.

The young man stumbled and almost fell in front of Lionel, looking utterly disheveled.

He hurriedly began to straighten his coat and smoothed his hair, trying to make himself look presentable.

“Mr. Sorel, thank you.” He said, panting. “My name is George Junior Taylor, and I am a doctor, engineer, and inventor!”

Lionel sized him up. The man was in his early thirties, with messy hair and a gaunt face, but his eyes shone with a fanaticism.

Today's America is a paradise for inventors and adventurers, where almost everyone believes in the creed that "you can succeed as long as you do it."

"Doctor? Engineer?" Lionel asked. "What do you want with me?"

George Junior stepped forward: “Mr. Sorel, I read in the newspaper what you did during the cholera outbreak in Paris.”

You understand medicine, and you care about the lives of ordinary people. I have an invention that can enter every household, change the future, and benefit humanity!

I hope you will understand and support me!

Sophie, who was standing nearby, smiled when she heard this.

Lionel smiled too. So many people had wanted his support during his time in New York.

Bankers, real estate developers, railroad tycoons, and inventors of all kinds receive hundreds of letters every day in the hotel's mailbox.

However, there aren't many people like him who come directly to him, especially those who patiently waited for him at the Fifth Avenue Hotel for so long.

"What invention?" Lionel asked curiously. "Did you bring the blueprints? Or did you bring a prototype?"

George Junior's face flushed red. He looked around; the hall was bustling with people, and many were glancing in his direction.

He lowered his voice and said, "There are too many people here, and it's easy to leak secrets. The prototype is too big; I can't bring it here."

If you're interested, you can visit my clinic tomorrow. It's on 10th Street, not far from here.

Lionel hesitated for a moment. He really didn't have any plans for tomorrow and had originally intended to rest for a day.

Old Morgan asked him to talk business the day after tomorrow, but Tesla had gone to the power plant in the Bronx and wouldn't be back until the day after tomorrow.

“Okay,” Lionel nodded. “What time tomorrow?”

George Junior's eyes lit up immediately, and he hurriedly pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it over with both hands.

"Anytime is fine with me, whichever is convenient for you! My clinic address is above. I'll be closed tomorrow just to wait for you."

Lionel took it; the business card read: "Dr. George Junior Taylor, 127 Tenth Street, 'Taylor Family Clinic'"

"See you tomorrow," Lionel said, putting away his business card.

George Junior then bowed and turned to leave.

As he reached the door, he glanced back discreetly to make sure Lionel hadn't thrown away the business card before pushing the door open and leaving.

Sophie took Lionel's arm, and the two walked and talked towards the elevator.

Sophie said, "Aren't Americans really funny? Doctors are the ones who love inventing the most. I remember a few years ago in Paris, a doctor also electrocuted a dog."

Lionel laughed: "Probably because there's an oversupply of doctors in America. Here, even blacksmiths and barbers can put up signs and call themselves doctors."

This is not a joke. The American medical industry in the 19th century was indeed very chaotic. There was no industry regulation, and even the medical licensing system was practically defunct. Only three states in the entire United States regulated medical practice.

As a result, anyone, from barbers to blacksmiths, could sign up to practice medicine and call themselves a "doctor," leading to a severe oversupply.

This has led to a proliferation of "cure-all" drugs in the United States, with some sugar water and herbs being marketed as a cure-all. Many people have made a fortune from this.

To some extent, the fact that the United States became the country with the most rigorous medical education and the strictest accreditation in the 20th century is an overcorrection of that history. But that's another matter.

The elevator descended to the first floor, the doorman opened the iron gate, and the two went inside.

Sophie asked, "What do you think that invention is?"

Lionel thought for a moment: "I don't know. But to get a doctor-engineer this excited must be interesting. However, I need to have Morgan's people investigate him first."

If he's a fraud, then we shouldn't go.

The decision to go to George Junior Taylor's clinic was not a spur-of-the-moment thing. The late nineteenth century was an era of invention explosion, during which many prototypes of products that influenced later generations were born.

Moreover, the creators of these inventions are often ordinary people who are poor and have nothing, yet dare to claim they can "change the world" with just passion and limited engineering knowledge.

Perhaps Tyler Junior George is such a person? Since it's practically handed to him, Lionel naturally doesn't want to miss out.
Just like back then, who could have imagined that the bearded man listening to lectures in the last row of the Sorbonne was Guy de Maupassant?

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The following afternoon, Lionel received information about Taylor-Junior George from Morgan's secretary.

Seeing that his resume wasn't complicated and that he was indeed a legitimate doctor who had been in the profession for two generations, Lionel felt relieved.

He and Sophie then boarded a carriage and headed to Tenth Street.

The streets of New York are different from those of Paris. Parisian streets are wide and orderly, lined with five- or six-story residential buildings in the style established by Baron Haussmann, neat and elegant.

New York's streets are much narrower and more chaotic, with houses of all different styles crammed together, giving you a view of half of Europe at a glance.

Soon the carriage crossed Broadway, turned east, and entered a quiet neighborhood. It wasn't as bustling as Fifth Avenue, nor as dilapidated as the Lower East Side. Trees lined the streets, and the houses were mostly three- or four-story brick buildings, looking quite old. It was a typical middle-class neighborhood.

The carriage stopped in front of a gray brick building with the number "127" written on its doorplate. The driver said, "Sir, we've arrived. I'll wait for you outside. Please call me anytime if you need anything."

As Lionel got out of the car, he immediately saw the words "Taylor Family Clinic" written in large letters on the shop window on the first floor.

The shop window glass was a bit yellowed, but it was clean enough; the clinic didn't look very big, and there was a "Temporarily Closed" sign on the door, just as George Junior had said yesterday.

The two pushed the door open and went inside; the bell on the door rang once.

Inside was a small waiting room with a few wooden chairs. On the wall hung a human anatomy diagram and several medical certificates, framed in pictures.

George-Junior Taylor rushed out from the inner room, and when he saw it was Lionel, his face immediately lit up with a smile.

"Mr. Sorel! You've arrived! Please come in!"

He vigorously wiped his hands on the hem of his shirt before extending his hand to shake hands with Lionel: "I've always remembered your advice to wash your hands frequently."

Lionel: "..." Is this what you call washing your hands? But we can't really expect too much from the hygiene concepts of 19th-century doctors.

So Lionel politely shook hands with him, but instead of looking at the products, he began to carefully examine the certificates on the wall.

One of them is a graduation certificate from New York Medical School, dated 1875; the other is a certificate of study from the University of Edinburgh, dated 1881.

There are several other certificates, including a membership card from the New York State Medical Association and an internship certificate from a charitable hospital.

Lionel pointed to the certificate of study from the University of Edinburgh and asked, "Did you really study in Edinburgh?"

George-Junior Taylor nodded. "Yes. I spent two years there, studying under Dr. Lister."

Lister? Joseph Lister? The founder of surgical sterilization. Last year, when Lionel was shot in London, it was Lister who performed the surgery.

However, George Junior does not seem to have grasped the essence of Dr. Lister's teachings.

Sophie asked from the side, "Dr. Taylor, is this clinic your own?"

George-Junior Taylor nodded: “It was inherited from my father. He passed away and left the clinic to me. It only has two consultation rooms, and it’s not very big.”

He was a little embarrassed: "My place can't compare to a big hospital. But I've been doing this for almost ten years, and the neighbors in the community all come to me for medical treatment."

Lionel nodded. He was a graduate of a formal medical school, had studied in Edinburgh, apprenticed with Lister, and worked as a community doctor for ten years.

The findings were largely consistent with those investigated by Morgan's secretary, indicating that the person was not exaggerating and was therefore quite reliable.

Only then did he ask, "What about the invention you mentioned?"

George-Junior Taylor became excited: "It's inside. Please follow me."

He pushed open the door next to the waiting room, stepped aside, and Lionel and Sophie went in.

This is a small examination room with an examination chair and footrests, where you can recline with your legs spread apart.

Directly in front of the chair was a cast iron machine, more than half a person's height, resembling a large black iron box.

The machine was covered with complex gears and linkages, as well as several pulleys. A thick pipe ran through the wall at one end, leading to the next room.

A stick extends from the other end, about 20 centimeters long and 2-3 centimeters in diameter. It is made of wood, with a very smooth surface and a rounded shape, and is positioned directly opposite the examination chair.

Lionel stared at the stick, and even with his two lifetimes and vast knowledge, he couldn't immediately tell what it was.

Sophie stared at it curiously, but she didn't understand it either.

George-Junior Taylor walked up to the machine and said smugly, "Look!"

He pressed a button on the side of the machine. Two seconds later, the whole room shook.

The sound of a steam engine running came from the next room, rumbling like a train starting up, or like a blacksmith pulling the bellows.

The machine in front of them started to turn, with a steady, rhythmic beat.

Then, as the gears meshed and the belt turned, the stick also moved.

Lionel was stunned, his mind went blank.

He finally realized what it was, but it was too late to stop George Junior.

At that moment, he was so shocked that he was speechless.

Sophie realized what was happening, and her face flushed red, her ears burning.

Even though they were both French, they couldn't bear to see this scene.

Sophie abruptly turned her head to the side and slowly retreated towards the door. If Lionel hadn't been there, she would have already fled.

The atmosphere was incredibly awkward, but George-Junior Taylor seemed completely oblivious, his voice even louder than a steam engine:
"This machine is specifically designed to treat 'hysteria'! I'm the only one in all of New York that has it!"

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(End of this chapter)