“‘Well, then,’ said the doctor, ‘don’t talk so like a d--d fool!’ “‘Oh, there’s no use roasting me, doctor, I am patient enough under the circumstances. I sometimes think that if the medical profession did its full duty, such children would not--’ “‘Would not live to a ripe old age, eh, Smith?’ interrupted the doctor, angrily. ‘Well, sir, the profession of medicine is sometimes compelled to save people from the consequences of their crimes--it does not, however, feel in duty bound to commit crimes for them. I trust the ethical distinction between the duty of the profession and the dirty work some persons would have it do for them, is clear to your somewhat biased intellect, my good sir!’ “My! but old Smith was mad--madder than a hornet! But the doctor seemed to have the better of the argument, and the governor soon cleared out, grumbling to himself and swearing at the cat that got in his way and had his tail stepped on.” “The old doctor certainly was your friend, and I am not very favorably impressed by your description of your father. I might say in passing, however, that your lack of filial respect is a by no means commendable trait in your character. No matter what his peculiarities may be, you must remember that Smith is your father and as such demands respect. Have you forgotten what the Bible says, ‘Honor thy father and thy mother?’” My young friend looked extremely disgusted, and replied: “Dear me, doctor!--can’t you get along without quoting such old, wormy, out-of-date authorities as the Bible? That advice was all well enough in its day, but honoring one’s parents in the collective sense is played out in these modern times. Mothers are just as much deserving of honor as ever--and that’s a great deal, but fathers--humph! The fellow who wrote that particular portion of the scriptures didn’t know Smith, you can just bet your bottom dollar on that. If I was as big a fool as he thinks I am, I might honor and respect him, but I know a thing or two. “Honor Smith? Ye gods! Look at the protuberances of my cranium! Gaze upon these misshapen legs of mine! You told my mother I had ‘rickets,’ didn’t you?” “Ye--yes, I believe I did.” “Well, I don’t blame you for your ignorance, doctor. You have not been in practice long enough to lose faith in human nature. Now, old Dr. Whittemore knew better, and so does Smith.” “But, my dear boy,” I interposed, “I think I know rachitis when I see it.” “So, rachitis is the scientific appellation, eh? Well, in the language of the street, ‘rachitis nothing!’ Can’t you see through a millstone with a hole in it? Doctor, my so-called rickets is nothing more nor less than--” “Hush! for the Lord’s sake, hush!” I cried, putting my hand over young Smith’s mouth, as a horrible suspicion suddenly flashed upon me. “Be careful, my young friend, even the walls of a doctor’s study may have ears. Can it be possible that I have been mistaken and that--”