To one of the smaller Hudson River valley towns the Doctor was called by a local practitioner to see in consultation a man noted for his wealth, who lay critically ill. All the afternoon and evening were consumed in this rather trying trip. When the next morning at breakfast his wife made some mention of his arduous journey of the previous day, his face lighted up with interest at the recollection. To a practical wife, what could be more natural than an interest which embraced with some satisfaction the thought of her husband's immediate reward--that reward which could be readily converted into the shoes and frocks constantly needed by the little brood about her? So led on with the thought in her mind, she inquired how far the Doctor had travelled--the town to which he had gone. He told her with readiness the name of the railway station where the practitioner had met him and driven him to the patient's house; then his face relighting with the memory of the case which had so engrossed him, came out in his characteristic way with: "Very sick man; pneumonia; unusual type--very unusual." "But that very long trip, a whole afternoon and evening, that should mean a pretty good fee," said his wife. The Doctor, his mind still occupied with the sick man's problem, replied: "It was in the upper lobe, right side, quite solid, very rare--very rare to see that in these cases." Then very gently from his wife came: "Did you remember to put down his address?" "No, no," was the somewhat irritable response. His mind then going back to the patient again: "But I have my notes on the case--on his condition." "But his name?" she came out with, "so that you can send your bill; you put that down?" "His name?" repeated the Doctor slowly, a slight frown of annoyance coming over his face as his train of thought was by then definitely derailed. "His name? No. Didn't get that." IV