“Yes, miss, I am—a graduate of the Entaw Chiropedic Institution, and with seven years’ experience. Corns, as you know, are divided into two classes—the curable and the incurable, the latter being most generally found on the feet of persons well advanced in life, though sometimes affecting the younger. Under the new system their removal is practically painless and but the work of a moment. A bare glance is sufficient to decide as to the treatment required. If there are any corns in this household I shall be happy to inspect them, and until the operation is decided on the consultation will not cost you a cent.” Once started, my confounded glib tongue ran away with me. Before I knew it I had Miss Higbie—that was her name, Miss Mattie Higbie—converted to my way of thinking. While I was talking I gradually edged my way into the house, and when I politely suggested she show me the corn she had admitted the ownership of, she consented without hesitation. Alas! the work of my tongue was more artistic than the work of my hand. I must have still been bewildered, for on seeing that corn I fell on it in haste, and without preliminary exhortations tore it out by the roots. I had said the operation would be painless. On the contrary, the pain was so intense that the young lady gave a scream and fell back fainting. I did not lose my wits as completely as I might have done, but, raising her head, I shouted for water. Mrs. Higbie came running into the room with a whole basin full, which she dashed into Miss Mattie’s face, and under this heroic treatment the young lady began to revive. I have since wondered whether she had entirely fainted. “You horrid man,” she exclaimed, faintly; “I just allowed you to look at my corn. Nobody said you might jerk it out. I shan’t pay you a cent.” “And I tell you,” shouted Mrs. Higbie, “that you had better be getting away from here before I get a bucket of hot water. If I get a scald on you the hair will come off, bristles and all.” From which I judged she was acquainted with the implements and process of hog killing, and that it was time for me to leave. I slipped out of the house speechless, made my way to the hotel, and vowed this was the last time I would ever pose as a corn doctor. That evening the landlord, or the hotel clerk, or whoever was running the caravanserai I stopped at, got me in a corner, and before the interview was ended I was broke. Not only broke, but dead-broke. By that time he had heard of some of the schemes I had worked, or tried to work, but worst of all a report had reached him of my late exploit as a corn doctor. After collecting all that was due him, completely emptying my pockets, he informed me that his hotel could shelter me no longer, and that if I wanted to avoid a coat of tar and feathers it would be well for me to leave the city on the first train. As an afterthought he handed me a letter, which had come for me to the hotel during my absence.