If proof were wanted of the truth of Scipio’s contention, his demeanour at this painful moment was sufficient. It was plainly evident to Lady Repton’s not insufficient dose of intellect that no man would have stood firm who had not seen the ghastly disease in its worst forms before. “Well,” said Sir Charles, “so you’re going to cut me up, are you?” “Oh! _My_ no!” said Scipio. “Lady Repton would never hev permitted a serious operation without your full con-currence. My proposition, Senator, is nawthing but two slight pricks in the neighbourhood of the pain. Ye’ll hardly feel it, but it’ll change ye,” added the determined Knickerbocker with a suspicion of a smile upon his bony jaws. “What with?” said Sir Charles a little nervously. (“Ouch!” by way of digression as there was a stab of pain.) “Yes, anything, s’long as you can do it quickly.” “It don’t take but a moment,” said Scipio. “But there’d better be some one hold your hands. There’s no pain worth accountin’.” “Might we re-quest the Senator to be seated?” he politely suggested to the lady. Sir Charles as politely commented: “I’m not a Senator, you skimpy little fool! Good lord, Maria, where do people like that come from?” And as he chatted thus, Scipio passed one firm hard skeleton hand over the top of that great brain, and with the other, even as Sir Charles, with his chin bent upon his chest, was occupied in explaining to Maria the physical deficiencies of his medical attendant, he put the edge of the lancet in the precise position behind the ear which his science had discovered. “It’s his beastly Yankee accent, if it isn’t that beastlier thing, the Australian,” the great Imperialist was in the act of saying when the lancet struck suddenly and was as suddenly withdrawn. “You’re quite right, monkey,” said Sir Charles in a weaker voice, “it’s only a prick, and I think”--his voice still sinking,--“that it’s only due to your great position in the medical world that I should express my heartfelt thanks for your courteous services. It is men like you, sir, who mean to suffering humanity....” Sir Charles suddenly stopped. His voice grew a little louder. “Did you say he was a Yankee or an Australian, Maria? Australians have the Cockney ‘a’; a filthy thing it is, too!” The skeleton hand was poised again upon Sir Charles’ head; he felt his chin pressed down upon his chest; there was another sharp little stroke, this time behind his left ear, and with a deep sigh he seemed to sink into himself. Scipio quietly touched the delicate point of his instrument with antiseptic wool, put it back into its case and watched his patient with a professional eye. The man was dazed. He gripped his wife’s hand until he almost caused her pain, and they could hear him mutter disconnected words: