“No, sir, I’m not an agent of any kind. I have nothing to sell.”
“You are certain you are not promoting the sale of a new absolutely talk-proof safety razor for married men whose wives insist on conversing while they are trying to shave themselves? Or a new hip-pocket Testament holding one pint? Or a machine for manufacturing cigars at home, in anticipation of the next Great Reform? Or a self-spelling typewriter for business college graduates? You are not selling stock in a gold mine in Iceland at fifty cents par today, but price to be raised positively next Monday at ten o’clock to a dollar and a half, all shares guaranteed non-assessable and non-returnable? You are not the agent for a combination snow-shovel and lawn-mower, especially designed for the North American climate, transposable at a moment’s notice? You are not selling diamond-studded coupon clippers for profiteers or self-finding collar buttons, or—”
“My dear sir, I have nothing to sell at all. I am a reporter and I want—”
“Oh, a reporter? Well, why didn’t you say so at first, instead of causing all this confusion and waste of breath? I’ve been so bothered with agents of every sort lately that I can’t sleep nights. I told one that the other day and he pulled a bottle out of his bag and tried to sell me an infallible cure for insomnia. I resolved not to let another one into my house. But you’re a reporter, eh? That’s a refreshing novelty around here. Come in.
“But you must know that I never talk for publication. I have never done such a thing in my entire professional career. It would be entirely contrary to the ethics of my sacred calling. Somebody might say I was trying to advertise myself. You know doctors can’t be too careful. We never advertise. We may occasionally consent, under pressure, to the publication of an item in the society column saying that ‘Dr. Theophilus Sawbones of 52896 Arnica Avenue has returned after a two weeks’ trip to Atlantic City and resumed his practice.’ But that isn’t advertising. That’s news. You never see a surgeon, for instance, descending to the low commercial plane of your merchants, and announcing in a display advertisement: ‘Cut rates all this week at Dr. Carvem’s. Now is the time to get that appendix cut out. All operations marked down. Special bargains in tonsils.’
“No, sir. We have an exalted code of ethics in our profession, I am happy to say, dating from the time when I founded the practice of medicine. But if you are sure a few timely remarks from me will not be misinterpreted and regarded as an attempt on my part to get into the limelight, I am at your service to the extent of about a column and a half, offered for acceptance at your regular rates, to be run next reading matter.”
“I am certain, doctor,” I responded, “that the world will attribute no self-promoting motives to one enjoying your long and honorable reputation. Do you note many changes in the practice of medicine since the days when you were in the harness?”
“Well,” responded Hippocrates as he thoughtfully stroked his long beard, “there seem to be more different kinds of doctors nowadays than we had in 400 B. C. We didn’t know anything about specialists in our time. We were not merely general practitioners; we were universal practitioners.
“Suppose, for instance, a prosperous citizen of Athens had the gout, indigestion, corns, heart murmur, rheumatism, torpidity of the liver and clergyman’s sore throat—seven ailments in all. He sent for me and I treated all his diseases at the same time. While he had a combination of diseases, we knew any good doctor would understand the combination.
“I felt his pulse, looked at his tongue, and told him he was working too hard—just as one of your modern doctors would do. It always pleases a prosperous citizen to be told that he is working too hard—and we aim to please. If I thought he would like a trip somewhere, I recommended a run over to Rome during the Coliseum season. They used to have some mighty good shows at the Coliseum. If he preferred to take his vacation at home, then I recommended a trip for his wife. I told him not to eat so much and to take more exercise, and to cut out the worry, and then collected my fee of two drachmas, and went on to the next vic—I mean, the next patient.