There are some doctors who do not understand the precise relation that the noble profession of undertaking desires to bear to the medical man. I freely confess that I myself was ignorant on this point until quite recently.
In a certain neighborhood of this metropolis dwells an undertaker of more than local renown whose reputation has been built up largely by virtue of certain natural attributes that peculiarly fit him for the practice of his profession;—indeed, I have never met a man more to the manner born as regards fitness for his—shall I say, life work, or would “death work” be more appropriate?
Mr. Weeps is one of those mournful-looking persons, who seem to be constantly on the verge of tears. His expression is of a most sympathetic nature, and his eyes seem ever ready to exude the saline fluid that is so essential to the expression of sincere sorrow and regret. It might be remarked in passing, that there are numerous theories explanatory of the redness and humidity of those bleary orbs. Personally, I repudiate the onion theory altogether, and incline to the view that Mr. Weeps’ ocular peculiarities are dependent upon a combination of catarrh and polypi obstructing the nasal ducts. The “red eye” theory, advanced by one of his homeopathic constituents, is unworthy of consideration—especially as my lugubrious friend has been superintendent of a Sunday school for ten years and has served two terms as alderman.
But, whatever, may be the true explanation, Weeps’ eyes appear to have been especially designed for his vocation. There is no other business—unless it be selling milk—to which those watery orbs could possibly be so well adapted as to undertaking.
I cannot claim to be on terms of intimacy with Mr. Weeps, and therefore do not feel warranted in attempting a detailed description of his many physical peculiarities—it would, however, be manifestly unfair to that most estimable gentleman, did I not dwell upon his eyes.
In the course of my semi-occasional peregrinations into Mr. Weeps’ neighborhood, it transpired that one of my patients, with malice both prepense and aforethought—and consumption—did leave his little lung behind and hie him heavenward.
My kindly and well meant offices being no longer necessary, I naturally supposed that my responsibility had ceased. Not so, however—I was asked to recommend an undertaker. Having heard of Mr. Weeps and his phenomenal skill, I suggested that the family consult him as to the further management of the case. It seems that the family took my advice and was highly gratified with the pleasant and expeditious manner in which he performed his important functions. Indeed, the friends of the party chiefly interested were so well pleased, that they thanked me a few days later, for recommending a gentleman of so much talent and such a sympathetic nature. I, of course, appreciated the family’s gratitude, although the service rendered was quite unusual in my experience. Some unfeeling persons might say that the large life insurance policies left by the deceased were an element in the gratitude the family expressed to me, but, my dear reader, the very thought would be cruel and ignoble. Without confidence in human nature life would be miserable for all of us—and especially for doctors.
A few days after the funeral I received a call from Mr. Weeps. There seemed to be no end to the gratitude which was believed to be due me. Weeps had called to express his. He appeared to be as well pleased with the family as its members were with him.
I had never had the honor of meeting Mr. Weeps before, but his suave and cordial manner of introducing himself put me at my ease at once. The pleasure of acquaintance was of course mutual; it always is, you know.
After thanking me most cordially for my courtesy in referring the case of the late Mr. B—— to him, Mr. Weeps said: