Thanks to the tip given by Dr. Grab the ear specialist is able to speedily locate and describe the trouble with which Mr. —— is afflicted. Dr. Flubdub names his fee at $250, collects it, and sends $125 to his worthy brother, Dr. Grab. It’s a case of two pluck one. When opportunity offers Dr. Flubdub returns the favor by sending patients to Dr. Grab who, in turn divides the fee, and thus the medical mill is kept busy. 161Some physicians are very bold in demanding a division of fees as if it were right, rather than a honorarium. There is a letter in a certain office in Chicago, preserved as an evidence of gall, in which the writer says, when suggesting that he can send the recipient a patient: “The woman will do just about what I tell her. She is business-like, and so am I. I think she will stand for $200. Now, if you can see any money in that after giving me $100, I’ll send her to you; if not, why I know plenty of others who will take the case on those terms. She is my meat, and will go where I say. I am not charging $100 for my time, but for steering the case to you. This is my game and I can steer the case where I please,” etc. Nothing modest or backward, no hesitancy about this. The writer comes bluntly to the point, without false delicacy or reserve. Well, to give the devil his due, the fellow was honest in his straightforwardness. He knew what he wanted, and didn’t hesitate to ask for it. And the doctor who received the letter? Well, to tell the truth, he had conscientious scruples against that sort of thing, so he lost the case. Another physician of equal prominence got the patient, presumably on the terms named by the writer of the letter. Speaking of deals between physicians and undertakers, Dr. G. Frank Lydston says: “Over on the great West Side lives an undertaker friend of mine, who, in deference to his ancient and honorable vocation, we will call Mr. Watery Weeps. My friend Weeps has an eye to business; in faith, he has two eyes to business—both of ‘em red; some say from 162‘red eye’ homeopathically applied. I do not believe this theory regarding Mr. Weeps’ headlights. Their peculiar bicycle lamp glow, like their excessive humidity, is due to his faithful, sorrowful ‘proxifying.’ In the course of my practice it did befall that a certain pulmonopathic vassal of mine—we will designate him as Mr. One-Lung, insomuch as he had no other lung—did feloniously, with malice prepense and aforethought and intent to deceive, up and die. Having a corpse on my hands, I naturally bethought me of my post-medical friend, Weeps, who undertaketh much in that vicinity. Weeps was prompt, and my late friend of the pulmonary solitaire was soon duly boxed and crated, ready for shipment to his ancestral home in ‘Injianny,’ whereupon quoth Weeps, lachrymosing his prettiest the while: