“Do take my advice and don’t presume upon your physical endurance. When you have once been in the grip of the tiger you ought not to give him a chance to get you again, for he has downed many as good a man as you are; and you must not act on impulse, but use your head and self-control, even if you can’t accomplish all you want to in life. If you can’t have a whole loaf, try and be satisfied with a half one, or else the graham bread will get burned in good earnest and you won’t have any loaf at all!” His attitude toward the patients, who came to him from all lands, ranks, and conditions, was ever eloquent of the man’s human kindness and sympathy. Many came as broken in spirit as in health, and often with but two hopes: one, that Trudeau would perform the great miracle; the other, that a physician of his reputation would not charge more than this latest victim of tuberculosis could scrape together. I know of one case in which the new patient said, “Doctor--before you do anything--I haven’t much money. How--how much will it cost?” “Much depends on how much you’ve got, and how bad you are,” said Trudeau, himself assisting to unbutton the patient’s collar. “You see,” he went on disarmingly, “if you are not very bad, it will cost you quite a lot, so I can use the money for those who are. If you are a really bad case--Well--say ‘Ninety-nine,’ please, and keep on saying it while I listen to your chest.” The doctor’s face became grave as he noted the vibrations caused by the reiterated “nine-nine-nine.” When the examination was over the patient asked,-- “How bad--I mean--how much will it be, doctor?” For reply Trudeau--and one can imagine the great sympathy that flooded the beloved physician’s face--handed the patient a ten-dollar bill. “I owe you--that much--at least,” he said. One can imagine the rest--that speech which he employed so often and to so many:-- “Don’t take it too seriously, but just seriously enough. I am no better off in health than you are, and both you and I, old man, will be a great deal worse before we’re better.” When, however, he sent some promising young man back into the battle of life, a repaired asset to the world, he liked to refer to him as “another young gladiator with a new blade in his sword.” The following, which he sent to me one day, explains the simile:-- “My sympathies are naturally in the world with the vanquished. My favorite statue is that great one of Victory carrying the dying gladiator, his broken sword in hand. The world applauds and bows before success and achievement; it has little thought for those who fall by the way, sword in hand; and yet it takes most courage to fight a losing fight!” Speaking of this same statue, “Gloria Victis,” a fine copy of which stood in the hall of his house, he said one day early in the great European war: “When he created that thing, I wonder did the sculptor, Mercié, realize that he was modeling the glory of Belgium in ruin?”