umpire's throat from ear to ear, free of charge; and I remembered
his name, and remembered, too, that he had impressed me at the
time as being a person of character and decision and scholarly
attainments.

He wore whiskers. Somehow in my mind whiskers are ever associated
with medical skill. I presume this is a heritage of my youth,
though I believe others labor under the same impression.

As I look back it seems to me that in childhood's days all the
doctors in our town wore whiskers.

I recall one old doctor down there in Kentucky who was practically
lurking in ambush all the time. All he needed was a few decoys
out in front of him and a pump gun to be a duck blind. He carried
his calomel about with him in a fruit jar, and when there was
cutting job he stropped his scalpel on his bootleg.

You see, in those primitive times germs had not been invented yet,
and so he did not have to take any steps to avoid them. Now we
know that loose, luxuriant whiskers are unsanitary, because they
make such fine winter quarters for germs; so, though the doctors
still wear whiskers, they do not wear them wild and waving. In
the profession bosky whiskers are taboo; they must be landscaped.
And since it is a recognized fact that germs abhor orderliness and
straight lines they now go elsewhere to reside, and the doctor may
still retain his traditional aspect and yet be practically germproof.
Doctor X was trimmed in accordance with the ethics of the newer
school. He had trellis whiskers. So I went to see him at his
offices in a fashionable district, on an expensive side street.