No appeal here to come in and be relieved of a big fee; no intimation that the doctor would like to have Mr. Peters as a pay patient. On the contrary the doctor only seeks information that may be of benefit to other patients. At least this is the way Mr. Peters interprets it. “Fine fellow, that doctor,” says Mr. Peters as he reads the letter, and he sits him down “with pen in hand” to describe his case, invariably winding up with an enquiry as to whether the doctor thinks there is any hope for him. The reply from Mr. Peters is forthcoming all the quicker because the doctor has thoughtfully enclosed a plain stamped envelope bearing the written (not printed or type-written) address, “G. H. Wilkinson, —— Michigan Ave., Chicago.” No M.D., attached to the title, nothing 111to give the inquisitive hangers-on at the post office in Beeville a clue to the true nature of the communication. When these busybodies happen to catch a glimpse of Mr. Peters’ letter they have no suspicion that it is a doctor their fellow townsman is writing to. Nothing to show it on the envelope. No doctor’s return card in the corner, no printed or even type-written address. No sir-ree. Dr. Wilkinson is too smart for that. Experience has taught him that the average man does not like to have his friends and neighbors know that he is corresponding with a strange doctor. Hence the “sent-securely-sealed-in-plain-package tactics.” It’s different in a big town or city where the facilities for becoming acquainted with the nature of a man’s correspondence do not exist, and the rush of business is so great that even postal cards go through the mails unread by any one except the sender and the receiver. But in the rural districts where Absalom Squash and Praise-it-all Tompkins assist Hiram Gaylord in his duties as postmaster to the extent of closely inspecting every letter that comes in or goes out—why that’s another story. “Wonder what John Peters is writing to that fellow in Chicago erbout?” says Absalom Squash as he picks up the letter addressed to G. H. Wilkinson and holds it up to the light in a vain effort to get an inkling as to the contents. But this Wilkinson chap is wise. He has provided an extra heavy envelope, white on the exterior, but blue coated inside, to thwart just such efforts. Against the postal regulations for anybody outside of the postmaster or his sworn assistants to handle the 112mail? Of course it is. But this regulation is a dead one in nearly every small post office in the country. When Mr. Squash goes home he reports to Samantha that “John Peters is writin’ to that Chicago fellow again. John had a letter from Chicago day before yesterday, and to-day he sent off the answer, but he didn’t write the address himself.” “How’d you know ’twas from Peters, then?” “’Cause his boy brought it to the office,” answers Absalom triumphantly.