"It is, my boy," said Templeton Thorpe; "especially when you haven't got
anything serious the matter with you."

"But if you were hopelessly ill and suffering beyond all endurance you'd
welcome death, wouldn't you?"

"No, I wouldn't," said Mr. Thorpe promptly. "The only time I ever wanted
to shuffle off was when your grandmother first refused to marry me. The
second time she refused me I decided to do something almost but not quite
so terrible, so I went West. The third time I proposed, she accepted me,
and out of sheer joy I very stupidly got drunk. So, you see, there is
always something to live for," he concluded, with his driest smile.

"I am quite serious about it, grandfather," said Braden stiffly.

"So I perceive. Well, you are planning to hang out your sign here in New
York pretty soon, and you are going to become a licensed physician, the
confrère and companion of a lot of distinguished gentlemen who believe
just as you do about putting sufferers out of their misery but who
wouldn't think of doing it, so I'd advise you to keep your opinions to
yourself. What do you suppose I sent you abroad for, and gave you an
education that few young men have received? Just to see you kicked out of
your profession before you've fairly well put a foot into it, or a knife
into a plutocrat, or a pill into a pauper? No, sirree, my boy. You sit
tight and let the hangman do all the legal killing that has to be done."

"Oh, I know perfectly well that if I advanced this theory,—or scheme,—at
present, I'd be kicked out of the profession, notwithstanding the fact
that it has all been discussed a million times by doctors in every part of