t from your clean-shaven doctor is the
physician of the conventional beard. There is no trifling with him. He
takes himself seriously, and he takes you seriously. His examination is
as thorough as the stethoscope can make it; in fact, he listens to your
heart-action long enough to make you fear the worst. This is in marked
contrast with the smooth-faced doctor, who, as a rule, asks you to show
your tongue, and when you obey he does not look at it, but begins to go
through his mail, whistling cheerfully. He puts such vital questions as,
how far up is your bedroom window at night, and do you ever have a
sense of eye-strain after reading too long, and when you reply, he pays
no attention. His entire attitude expresses the conviction that either
you are not ill at all, or that if you are, you are not in a position to
give an intelligent account of yourself. That is not the case with the
other physician. He asks precise questions and insists on detailed
replies. Nothing escapes him. While you are describing the sensations in
the vicinity of your left lung, he will ask quietly whether you have
always had the habit of biting your nails.

Under such sympathetic attention the patient's spirits rise. From an
apologetic state of mind he passes to a sense of his own importance.
Instead of being ashamed of his ailments he tries to describe as many as
he can think of. His specific complaint may be a touch of sciatica, but
he takes pleasure in recalling a bad habit of breathing through the
mouth in moments of excitement, and a tricky memory which often leads
him to carry about his wife's letters an entire week before mailing
them. The need for a certain amount of self-castigation is implanted in
all of us, and it is satisfied in the form of confession. Many people do
it as part of their religious beliefs. Others belabour themselves in the
physician's office. Men who in the bosom of the family will deny that
they read too late at night and smoke too many cigars will call such
transgressions to the doctor's attention if he should happen to overlook
them. I know of one man suffering from neuralgia of the arm who insisted
on telling his doctor that it made him ill to read the advertisements in
the subway cars. But the doctor who wears no beard does not invite such
confidences.

IV

INTERROGATION

One day a census enumerator in the employ of the United States
government knocked at my door and left a printed list of questions fo