In my later capacity of visiting physician to that hospital I often met young Dunbar, the scrub-woman's boy, as he progressed through the ailments and accidents of childhood; and as family physician to the wealthy Lance family I as often met their pampered youngster. After a few years I noticed that if anything was wrong with one, something--not necessarily the same thing--happened to the other. For instance, young Dunbar broke his arm at the time young Lance had the measles. The latter sprained his wrist, and the former came to the free clinic the same day with a black eye, acquired in a fight. I called this coincidence for a while, until both mothers died at the same hour, of the same disease. Then I recalled that I, who had been present at that other momentous event in their widely divergent lives, was now the useless physician to each. I began to take notes, but never investigated the lives of the mothers; my studies and speculations were concerned with the lives of the sons. And I first learned that since birth they had never met. Each in his own environment, these two boys grew up, as different in physique, mentality, and morals as can be imagined. At sixteen their characters were shaped, and at this age I invoiced their attributes. Each was what the other was not. Dunbar was a tough, Lance a gentleman; but Dunbar possessed physical courage of the highest order, while Lance, up to this period in his life, had never voluntarily placed himself in the way of pain or punishment. He would run from an angry goose or girl playmate. On the other hand, he possessed moral courage, while Dunbar was a moral coward. Lance proudly bore himself through a storm of boyish ridicule when caught playing with dolls and toy-houses, while Dunbar hid himself in shame because of defeat at the hands of a larger, heavier boy. Lance was truthful, polite, and with a high sense of honor and justice; Dunbar a liar, a bully, and a bad example. His associates were the worst in the town, and when there came the time that my safe was robbed, and the loot was found upon Dunbar, I could not have saved him, even though I had believed him innocent. It was simply a case of the People against Dunbar, and I was prosecuting witness. Others had robbed me, and Dunbar, unthinkingly, had held the goods until arrested. I could not prove this at the time, and so Dunbar was convicted. But, as an incident in this story, on the day that he entered prison to begin a four-years' sentence, Lance, the most effeminate boy I had known in my experience, entered the Naval Academy at Annapolis, there to begin a four-year tutelage in a profession where the most masculine attributes are required.