It requires no great mental effort to see the terrible load the profession is carrying—self-inflicted, and often for fallaciously selfish motives, it is true, but none the less heavy. The college and free hospital may be the professional “old man of the sea,” but so much the worse for the medical Sinbad. Whatever the explanation, private practice is on a par with dispensary practice with regard to the impositions practiced on the doctor. It is safe to say that, of the sum total of surgical and medical patients of all kinds and social conditions under treatment in Chicago at the present time, over one-half are paupers—honest or dishonest. Pay the doctor for the work involved in this wasted and misapplied charity, and the medical profession would plunge into a sea of prosperity that might swamp it. And it is not only the rank and file of the profession that suffers. Ye celebrated professor, reaching out for 15glory, yea, into infinite space, clutching frantically at everything in sight, no matter how profitless—providing the other fellow doesn’t get the case—often defeats his own ends. And the great man dies, and is buried, and we take up a collection for his widow, to meet his funeral expenses, and sell his library—six feet of earth make all men of a size. Sic transit gloria mundi. And when, like dog, he’s had his day, And his poor soul hath passed away, Some friendly scribe in tearful mood Will tell the world how very good The dear departed doctor was— And thus win for himself applause. One of the most potent causes of professional poverty is the mania of the doctor for a pretense of well-doing. He exhibits this in many ways. One of the most pernicious is an affectation of contempt for money. This it is that often impels him to delay the rendering of his accounts. Oftentimes his patient offers to pay all or part of his bill. With a lordly and opulent wave of his marasmic hand the doctor says, “Oh, that’s all right; any time’ll do.” And the triple-plated medical imbecile goes on his way with a dignified strut that ill befits the aching void in his epigastric region, and is decidedly out of harmony with the befringed extremities of his trousers. And then the doctor apologizes to himself on the ground of a philanthropy that is but the rankest and most asinine egotism en masque.