The Debut Stage (2)
They say you shouldn't judge the past by the standards of the 21st century, but I couldn't let my guard down until the very last moment.
I mean, is it really appropriate for a president-elect and the heavyweights of his party to be staying at a hotel where people are collapsing from an unidentified case of diarrhea right before the inauguration?
Couldn't they have just changed the venue, claiming they had to urgently secure different accommodations for the safety of the VIPs?
But the "Amazing America" of the 19th century was a place that didn't care about such trivialities—it was, to put it bluntly, brainless.
"Mr. James Sett, welcome. The distinguished guests are already staying at the hotel."
"Ah... yes. But are you saying everyone has been staying here continuously for the past few days? Even President-elect Buchanan?"
"Yes. There have been many strange rumors lately, but we have thoroughly managed the situation and removed all risk factors, so please rest comfortably, sir."
Wow, they’re actually going through with it.
Setting aside how absurd it was, it wouldn't be a bad thing for me if the diarrhea patients kept popping up one after another.
As planned, I checked into the two rooms I had reserved in advance.
"Mr. Sett?"
"Yes."
"You reserved two adjoining rooms, but... are there other members of your party?"
"They aren't guests; they're my security."
I gestured with my chin toward Leo, Sam, and Ben, who were carrying a significant amount of luggage behind me.
The hotel manager sighed as if he were in a difficult position and flipped through his ledger.
"Hmm... it is our policy that slaves must stay in the servant quarters in the annex."
"I am aware. However, to my knowledge, there is no legal clause prohibiting Black people from staying here."
Unlike the North, Washington D.C. was a city where slavery was legal, so there were no specific ordinances prohibiting people of color from staying in hotels. Since many Southern bigwigs traveled with numerous slaves, and most Black people coming here were slaves anyway, there was no need to codify such a ban.
Of course, I wasn't just being stubborn because the law didn't explicitly forbid it.
After all, the biggest "Dixie" heavyweights were all gathered in the capital; I wouldn't be stupid enough to draw that much aggro.
"They need to guard important cargo 24 hours a day. This cargo is crucial for the inauguration, so I can't leave it in a warehouse. Therefore, I intend to have my slaves stay in the room to guard it."
"Ah... I see. If that is the case, there shouldn't be a problem with the regulations. However, please ensure the slaves do not walk through the hallways, as other gentlemen might find it unpleasant."
"Of course. And since you must be tired from the constant stream of high-profile guests, please take this and have a drink with your colleagues after your shift."
"Oh, you shouldn't have. Thank you!"
As I slipped him a few dollars, the manager, as if he had never been troubled, even waved at Leo and Ben.
Leo and Sam looked bewildered, yet their faces were slightly flushed—the feeling was similar to, yet different from, when we stayed at a hotel in the North.
"This is amazing. In the North, where slavery is banned, we couldn't even dream of this and would have been sent straight to the basement."
"It's unavoidable since it's written into their ordinances there. But don't think this place is any better. They're only allowing this because they consider you guard dogs protecting my luggage, not guests."
"Still, sleeping in a soft bed is a luxury! *Kuh*... I never thought I'd see a day like this. I'm so glad I followed you, Master. Thank you, truly, thank you."
"If you go to those warehouses or servant quarters and catch some disease, it'll be a huge problem for me immediately."
I wasn't joking; this was a genuinely serious matter.
If the drinking water at a hotel housing the nation's top VIPs was a mess, what would the hygiene level be like where the slaves slept? And they wanted me to let the best employees of Sett Plantation sleep in a place like that?
I’d rather tell them to go to hell and rent an entire house nearby for a homestay.
"For now, let's investigate roughly before Dr. Geddes arrives this evening. I'll say this again: do not drink any water from this hotel. Who knows what might be in it."
"Yes. We will only drink the purified water we sealed and brought from the plantation."
I first visited Breckinridge's room to express my gratitude for the invitation and to gather information. But, as I should have expected—or perhaps as I feared—
"Oh... welcome. Seeing you here again... it's a pleasure."
"Yes, I suppose you'll be called 'Mr. Vice President' now. You look healthy... I'm relieved."
"Ha... haha, I suppose so. Then, if you don't mind, may I excuse myself?"
No, Mr. Breckinridge, why are you twisting your body like a puppy suffering from urgent diarrhea?
The confident smile he showed when we met at the clinic was nowhere to be found; the pathetic struggle of a man desperately wanting to run to the toilet bowl made even me feel a twinge of sympathy.
"I am truly sorry, but may I ask you a few questions?"
"Of course! I will answer, but please wait a moment. Ha... haha. I, I have urgent business."
The Vice President, looking as if he couldn't hold it a second longer, bolted toward the hallway restroom and vanished from my sight in an instant.
"*Kuhp!*"
I barely suppressed my trembling lips and warned Leo and Ben, who were standing behind me with their heads bowed low.
"*Hoo*... don't... laugh. If you laugh, we're really screwed."
"*Kuh*... *hup*... Yes, sir!"
"*Kuhhh*... I'll... risk... my life."
A "pooping Vice President"—how could I keep a straight face through this?
I, Leo, and Ben could all pride ourselves on possessing superhuman patience for managing to hold it in.
After about 10 minutes of chanting "patience" in my heart, Breckinridge returned, having deliberately turned his body away from the restroom, and cleared his throat.
"*Ahem*, *ahem*, *ahem*. I apologize for earlier; I had urgent business. Now, what was it you wanted to ask?"
"I heard that many of the guests staying at this hotel are unwell. Has the President also contracted dysentery?"
"...That is the case. My symptoms aren't that severe, but the President is currently very weak, and his physician's opinion was that he must rest until the inauguration..."
Breckinridge reflexively rubbed his stomach, looking like he wanted to go back and rest, but I suppressed my pangs of conscience and continued my questioning.
I'm sorry, but you're the highest-ranking official I can contact directly. Please, just hold on a little longer.
"Actually, I also heard the strange rumors circulating at the National Hotel and have been researching them with the medical staff at my clinic. I’ve had some success, so I wanted to discuss it with you, Mr. Vice President."
"I, is that so? But..."
"Ah, first, please drink this. It is a special medicine that is highly effective for dysentery."
As I reached behind me, Leo quickly handed over the oral rehydration solution we had prepared in advance.
If I had read more web novels, I might have been able to make the "golden ratio" oral rehydration solution immediately, but unfortunately, all I knew was that mixing salt and sugar was effective. Still, I believed it would have some effect since I had diligently sought out dysentery patients and adjusted the ratios.
Breckinridge snatched the bottle of oral rehydration solution with lightning speed before I could even finish my sentence.
"According to the experimental results, drinking this won't stop the diarrhea itself immediately. However, it will noticeably alleviate vomiting and dehydration, so it will be much easier to endure."
"...Really? If it's even that much, it'll be livable... Then, should I keep drinking this?"
"Ah, and please try not to drink any water from the hotel. Instead, drink this medicine I gave you. Don't drink too much at once; drink one cup after every bout of diarrhea."
I deliberately didn't mention that dysentery was a waterborne disease or that the solution was just water mixed with sugar and salt. Wouldn't it be much easier and more intuitive to call it a "miracle medicine" I created with MSMA doctors after pouring money into it, rather than giving a boring, pedantic explanation?
I could just reveal the identity of this miracle medicine later, once its effectiveness was clearly proven.
"Thank you! Then I'll go rest for a moment, and we can talk more later!"
As expected, Breckinridge accepted the solution without a hint of suspicion and returned to his room.
And about four hours after I returned to my room and started transferring the solution into sterilized bottles:
Breckinridge, looking surprisingly more vibrant than when I saw him earlier, came to find me in my room himself.
"James Sett! What on earth is this medicine! The effect is so rapid—my judgment in calling for you was not wrong!"
"It seems the Vice President's symptoms weren't that severe, so the effect appeared quickly. If the symptoms had been worse, you would have suffered for another day or two."
"I suppose so. But if I can get better within a day or two, isn't that a blessing? Ah, wait, look at me. This is no time for this... Sett, how much more of that medicine do you have?"
"I brought plenty in case of an emergency. It should be enough to prescribe to the key figures attending the inauguration."
"Then... this is no time to wait. Let's go to the President together, first."
Breckinridge walked ahead with a brisk pace and told me roughly how many people were suffering from dysentery.
The list was as follows:
President James Buchanan, and his secretary and nephew, Elliott Lane.
John Quitman, a Mississippi congressman and a major figure among the "Fire-Eaters."
Pennsylvania congressmen David Robinson and John Montgomery.
And the future cabinet nominees, including Lewis, Floyd, and Aaron Brown.
From the President to the Vice President, three congressmen, and even the cabinet ministers—it was a real "Avengers Assemble."
It’s no wonder conspiracy theories like "Oh, it's the North's fault!" are popping up... but this is entirely your own fault, so prepare to be properly embarrassed later.
And anyway, if history goes the way I know it, Buchanan and Breckinridge are destined to survive and walk around just fine after leaking a bit of diarrhea here. So, there shouldn't be any massive butterfly effect just because I treat them. I just need to secure the title of the clinic director who possessed the best medical staff to cure the President and Vice President.
Thus, I set out on a long round of medical visits, with Leo, Sam, and Ben carrying a mountain of oral rehydration solution.
The first destination was, of course, the nation's biggest heavyweight, President Buchanan.
"Mr. President! Do not worry. James Sett and his medical team have developed a medicine that is highly effective for dysentery. I just drank it myself, and in less than four hours, my body feels significantly better."
"Oh... i, is that... so?"
Buchanan looked even worse than Breckinridge, his skin and bones showing through his gaunt face.
"Mr. President. Please consume this medicine in small amounts frequently. If you have diarrhea, drink one cup of the medicine."
"Is that... all? And then I will recover?"
"Yes, there will definitely be improvement, so please trust me. The Vice President has already recovered. However, when you drink this medicine, you must never drink the water in the hotel. It will negate the medicinal effect."
"*Huu*... thank you so much. But... if there is enough medicine left, could you... see my nephew, my Elliott, first? His condition is so severe that..."
Indeed, Elliott, Buchanan's secretary and nephew, was suffering from severe dehydration due to a particularly bad case of dysentery. If I hadn't been here, there would have been a very high probability he would have lost his life.
Considering Buchanan, who had no children, had taken him on as his secretary, it was highly likely this young man was a nephew the President cherished deeply.
Regardless of whether he goes down in history as the worst president ever, he is still the man who will reign as President for the next four years. It would be a fool's errand to pass up the opportunity to make him owe me such a huge debt.
"His condition is severe, but it's not too late. At my clinic, we've had patients in even worse states than this. Leo, put the medicine here."
"Yes."
Normally, the President's personal physicians would have nitpicked, but since I had already finished the experiment on the Vice President's body, no one could stop me.
Following the President's secretary, three federal congressmen, and even the cabinet nominees. I briefly debated whether I should save Quitman, a "Fire-Eater," but it was out of the question to exclude him and give the medicine to others, so I had no choice. I had slipped him some campaign funds before, so even if he was an extremist, he wouldn't repay the grace of saving his life with enmity.
"Oh... thank you. Thank you so much."
"I thought I would die in such an absurd way... thanks to you, I've lived!"
"James Sett! James Clinic! I will definitely remember this!"
Even if it smelled a bit, objectively speaking, it was a debut stage that couldn't have been more magnificent.
"Mr. Sett! What on earth is the secret of this amazing medicine?"
"Is it only effective for dysentery? Or other diseases as well?"
"They say you have to drink a significant amount until you recover—how much will the medicine cost? Is it very expensive?"
The greatest focus of this inauguration was naturally not the President's speech, but the "magic potion" of James Sett that had saved the lives of those "pooping" politicians.
***
Even in original history, President Buchanan reportedly held his inauguration in an extremely weakened state due to this incident, while incumbent congressmen suffered greatly, some died, and cabinet nominees also complained of persistent diarrhea.