Now you can see that there’s a difference in being these two doctors. And it’s a good deal easier being the doctor who doesn’t have to sew on his own buttons and who needs take less thought than the birds of the air about his breakfasts and his luncheons and his dinners, how they shall be ordered for the day. That’s the way every man I know in business or the professions has the bothersome details of living all arranged for him by some one else. I noted recently a business man who was thus speeded on his way to his office from the moment of his call to breakfast. The breakfast table was perfectly appointed. “Is your coffee all right, dear?” his wife inquired solicitously. It was. As it always is. The eggs placed before him had been boiled just one and a half minutes by the clock. He has to have them that way, and by painstaking insistence she has accomplished it with the cook. The muffins were a perfect golden brown. He adores perfection and in every detail she studies to attain it for him. The breakfast that he had finished was a culinary achievement. “Don’t forget your sanatogen, dear,” she cautioned as he folded his napkin. “Honey, you fix it so much better than I can,” he suggested in the persuasive tone of voice that is his particular charm. She hastily set down her coffee cup and rose from the table to do it. Then she selected a white carnation from the centrepiece vase and pinned it in his buttonhole. He likes flowers. She picked up his gloves from the hall table, and discovering a tiny rip, ran lightly upstairs to exchange them for another pair, while he passed round the breakfast table, hat in hand, kissing the five children in turn. Then he kissed her too and went swinging down the front walk to catch the last commuters’ train. I happened to see him go that morning. But it’s always like that. And when she welcomes him home at night, smiling on the threshold there, the five children are all washed and dressed and in good order, with their latest quarrel hushed to cherubic stillness. The newest magazine is on the library table beneath the softly shaded reading lamp, and a carefully appointed dinner waits. All of the wearisome domestic details of existence he has to be shielded from. For he is a captain of industry.