My kindly and well meant offices being no longer necessary, I naturally supposed that my responsibility had ceased. Not so, however--I was asked to recommend an undertaker. Having heard of Mr. Weeps and his phenomenal skill, I suggested that the family consult him as to the further management of the case. It seems that the family took my advice and was highly gratified with the pleasant and expeditious manner in which he performed his important functions. Indeed, the friends of the party chiefly interested were so well pleased, that they thanked me a few days later, for recommending a gentleman of so much talent and such a sympathetic nature. I, of course, appreciated the family’s gratitude, although the service rendered was quite unusual in my experience. Some unfeeling persons might say that the large life insurance policies left by the deceased were an element in the gratitude the family expressed to me, but, my dear reader, the very thought would be cruel and ignoble. Without confidence in human nature life would be miserable for all of us--and especially for doctors. A few days after the funeral I received a call from Mr. Weeps. There seemed to be no end to the gratitude which was believed to be due me. Weeps had called to express his. He appeared to be as well pleased with the family as its members were with him. I had never had the honor of meeting Mr. Weeps before, but his suave and cordial manner of introducing himself put me at my ease at once. The pleasure of acquaintance was of course mutual; it always is, you know. After thanking me most cordially for my courtesy in referring the case of the late Mr. B---- to him, Mr. Weeps said: “Now, doctor, I shall always be glad to have you remember me whenever you happen to be in my neighborhood.” I looked at him suspiciously, but saw no murder in his eye; he was as oily and plausible as ever. “You see,” he continued, “I have never had the honor of serving any of your patients before, and am very glad to have the opportunity of getting at least a small portion of your business.” The fellow seemed to be getting a little personal, but I made no remark, and he went on with his little piece. “I will see you again in a few days, doctor--as soon as I have been compensated for my labors in this particular case. You, of course, understand that I will extend to you in this case, as in all future cases, the same courtesies I usually extend to the medical profession.” “Ah, indeed!” I exclaimed, “and of what do those courtesies consist?” “Well,” he replied, blandly, “they are quite liberal, considering the hard times--_about twenty-five per cent._” “’Tis strange--but true; for truth is always strange. Stranger than fiction.” Among all the undertakers I ever knew my feelings have been seriously disturbed by but one.