When my friend Black was away from the actual presence of a corpse, he would unbend and show the true inward cussedness of the born humorist--with the evident self-sacrificing purpose of making life pleasant for his many friends. I happened to be one of the fortunate individuals who luxuriated in his friendship, and will cheerfully bear testimony to his devotion to the occupation of increasing the happiness of those about him. I feel that I could do no less, without stamping myself an ingrate. One of the first things I did on entering practice, many years ago, was to invest in a typic doctor’s buggy. This was done in self-defense--my face was as smooth as a pippin, my mustache was a caricature of the real article and, taken all in all, there was nothing about me to inspire confidence. There was consequently but one thing to do, and that was to look and act as professional and prosperous as possible. It was with this end in view that I bought a buggy which looked unmistakably professional. As I had many friends and acquaintances, the moral effect of my turn-out was excellent. Had I been able to live on moral effect life would have been one vast smile of peaceful, well-fed joy and contentment, but I could not dine on any sort of effect, least of all upon the moral variety--which is a delusion and a snare. Observing the marked attention that was paid to my equipage--and incidentally to the prosperous young doctor--I was well pleased; there were times when even my stomach was forgotten. It seemed to me that it was better to ride on an empty stomach than to walk upon a full one, provided I attracted sufficient attention to warrant my remaining in practice--or the hope of practice. On some occasions the people I met appeared especially delighted with my appearance. Being self-satisfied with the notion that I was at last beginning to be appreciated, I made no investigations to determine why so much more attention should be paid to me on some occasions than upon others. Such is the blinding power of self-conceit! The advisability of hiring a colored driver suggested itself to me as an additional bait for popular applause. The idea so impressed me that I consulted one of my friends, Jack T---- about it. He advised me to wait a while, and seemed much entertained by my story of increasing popularity. “Well, my boy,” said he, smilingly, “you are indeed getting on in the world. Let me see--you lecture at a medical college, are surgeon to a free dispensary, physician to the order of Sons of the Blue Hen, physician to the hospital of the Big Sisters of the Rich, medical examiner for the Knights of the Empty Cupboard, and have the swellest turn-out in town. You certainly are to be congratulated.” “Yes, Jack,” I said, “I feel that my career is full of promise. By the way, old man, lend me a dollar, will you? This is my day for dining--every third day, you know. I’ll pay you back next week.”