My earliest memory of professional jealousy goes back to the age of seven. I lived next door to a dentist, a real qualified L.D.S. Across the street lived a quack dental surgeon. When trade was dull these two used to come to their respective doors and converse with each other in the good old simple way of putting the fingers to the nose. They never spoke to each other. Life in a northern town was simple in these days.
* * * * *
Helen Macdonald is four years old, and her mother and I have some breezy discussions about her upbringing. Mrs. Mac has a great admiration for her own mother, and she is bent on bringing up her daughter in the way that she was brought up.
"Mother made me obey and I'll make Helen obey," she said to-day with decision.
"It's dangerous," I said.
"No it isn't; it worked well enough in my case anyway."
"Don't blow your own trumpet, madam!"
She smiled.
"I don't think I am a bad product of the good old way," she said with a self-satisfied air.
"Madam, shall I tell you the truth about yourself?"