Perhaps you remember the story of “Puss in Boots”--how the talented and
resolute cat caught game in the woods and presented it to the king as
the gift of his master, the _Marquis of Carabas_. Then the cat advised
his master to bathe in the river, and, as the king’s coach rolled past,
he set up a great shout that the _Marquis of Carabas_ was drowning, and
that his fine clothes had been stolen by thieves. The king stopped,
ordered new clothes for the marquis, and took him into the royal coach.
While they drove on, the cat ran ahead, and bullied the workers in the
fields into saying that all the land belonged to _Carabas_.
There is more in the story, but the chief thing is that the cat secured
for his master a fine castle and estate, and the hand of a beautiful
princess. And, mind you, the young man was nothing on earth but the
youngest son of a poor miller, the _Marquis of Carabas_ being simply an
invention of the clever animal’s.
Well, there are people alive to-day who have the same ambition as that
devoted cat--people who try to make a _Marquis of Carabas_ out of some
ordinary young man. Unfortunately, they do not always succeed. I know of
a case in point.
There appeared one day in a certain town in Westchester a new doctor,
arriving unknown and without introduction in the midst of a quite
sufficient supply of well established practitioners. It was a prosperous
town, but not a growing one. There seemed to be nothing for a new doctor
to do, unless he set to work to create a demand for his services--a
thing that doctors can’t very well do. He put out his sign, however, on
his tidy little house--“Noel Hunter, M.D.”--sat down behind his sign,
and waited.
Now and then he was seen out on his veranda, looking at the barometer,
or strolling out to the garage, where an energetic little car ate its
head off in idleness. Whoever saw him was favorably impressed, because
he was a charming young fellow, slender, tall, and dark, with an honest,
good-humored face and very fine black eyes. Indeed, he was almost too
handsome for a doctor. It was cruel to think of his being called out at
night in all weathers, of having hurried and inadequate meals and too
little sleep, of losing his endearing youth in arduous and exhausting
toil.
Well, to be sure, that was not happening, He had ample time for sleep,
and, providing he was able to pay, there was nothing to prevent his
eating all day. And that, too, was a pity and a waste, because obviously
he must be longing to give his medical services, and must have studied a
long time to prepare himself. The people who lived on the same street
felt embarrassed and a little guilty when they caught sight of Noel
Hunter, M.D., all ready to be a doctor, but wanted by no one.