Genial biography in the succession of fond, irreverent, admiring paternal portraits, this time of a New York City doctor of the '90's. In days of superstition, stale air and shotgun mixtures, Vandegrift started practice with ""a little anatomy, less physiology, and one drug, ipecac"". The latter he amended as experience taught him, and he found that a dose of castor oil and quinine accomplished marvels. In spite of this, he was a good doctor, beloved of the Seventh Ward, and modern for his day. He had a love of pets; he exercised unfailing fascination for women patients; he knew how to use telepathy and hypnosis; and he lived a long, pleasant, useful life.