“Yes, you could. What would you like to be?” “Well,” answered the other, smiling, “I used to think I wanted to be a locomotive engineer, but I reckon now I’d rather be a veterinary surgeon.” “What!” exclaimed Arthur. “A horse doctor?” Wayne nodded untroubledly. “Yes, that’s what they call them in the country,” he replied, “just as they call the doctor a ‘sawbones.’ Don’t you think curing sick animals is just as fine a profession as curing sick people?” “Hm. Do you?” “Finer. Seems to me it takes more skill. A person who is ill can help the doctor, you see, by telling him where the trouble lies, but an animal can’t. The doctor has got to depend on his knowledge altogether, hasn’t he?” “I suppose so. Still, up where I live we don’t class the vets and the physicians together, I’m afraid. The vets are generally rather ignorant old chaps, I guess. I remember hearing my father say once when I was a kid that old Nancy, the carriage horse, was dying and that he guessed it was time to call in the vet and let him have the credit for it.” “Did she die?” asked Wayne. Arthur thought a minute. Then: “By Jove, I don’t believe she did that time!” he laughed. “Perhaps old What’s-his-name was some good, after all!” “Doctor Kearny--he’s the veterinarian at home--says that the profession is making faster strides nowadays than any other,” said Wayne. “He says the day is past when the man who can’t make a living any other way can become a dentist or a veterinary surgeon. He says treating horses and cows and dogs and things is a heap harder than giving pills to persons. I’d rather cure a horse or a dog any day than a human being.” “It might depend on the human being, mightn’t it?” laughed the other. “Well, all right, old man, you be a vet if you want to. Perhaps it is a good deal finer trade than I’d thought. Anyway, what we’ve got to decide is whether you’re to join the Badgers, isn’t it?” “Yes. I wish he’d given me some idea what the salary would be. What do you think, Arthur?”