"This man's name can't be printed, because he lives in Chicago and it might embarrass him,"--Karl and Dr. Parkman exchanged glances with a smile. "This is a characteristic story, as it shows a doctor's tyranny. There was a boy taken ill at a little town near Chicago. The country doctor telephoned up to the boy's father, and the father telephoned the family physician who, from the meagre facts, scented appendicitis. I don't know how he knew it was bad, but I believe a good doctor is a pretty good guesser. At any rate he suspected this was serious, and told the father they would have to go down there at once. The father said there was no Sunday train. 'Then get a special,' said the doctor. 'We'll probably have to bring him up to the hospital to operate, and can't do it in the automobile.' The father protested against the special, saying it would be very expensive and that he did not think it necessary. The doctor said he did think it necessary or he would not have suggested it. The father demurred still more and the doctor rang off. Then you called up the railroad office, yourself--wasn't that it?" turning to Dr. Parkman, who grew red and looked genuinely embarrassed. "Oh dear,"--in mock dismay--"now I've mixed it up, haven't I? Well, this doctor--I'm not saying anything about who he is--called up the railroad office and calmly ordered the special. I must not forget to say that the man who did not want to spend the money had an abundance of money to spend. Then he called the boy's father and said, 'Be at the station in twenty minutes. The special will be waiting. You will have nothing to do but sign the check.'" "Well," said Mrs. McCormick, when Ernestine stopped as though through, "would the father pay for it, and did the boy have to have an operation, and did he get well?" "Mother doesn't like this new way of telling a story," said Georgia; "she likes to hear the got-married-and-lived-happily-ever-after part." "I'm sure no one said anything about getting married in this," said Mrs. McCormick, serenely. "But don't you think that a fine doctor story?" Ernestine asked smilingly of Dr. Parkman. "A very bad story to tell. Miss McCormick's general reader will say--: 'Oh yes, of course, he was just bound to have an operation.'" "Georgia,"--this was from the man at the head of the table, and there was something in his voice to arrest them all--"if you are in earnest about wanting stories of doctors, why don't you tell some of the big ones? Some of the stories medical men have a right to be proud of?" "What are they?" she asked, promptly. "Tell me some of them." Dr. Parkman's eyes were on his plate. He was handling his fork a little nervously.