Out she went. Belle and I looked at each other hopelessly. “If _that_ is what women doctors are like, I don’t want to be one,” each of us thought, and knew the other’s thought. Disheartened, disillusioned, tired, sleepy, hungry, far from home, our Regents’ certificates counting for nothing, this great unfriendly building, the dull sky, and we not knowing where we were going to stay that night--all this and more we felt as we looked at each other and tried to keep back the tears. And then SHE came back and told us to go across the hall to the Dean. We saw the sign “Faculty Room,” and went in. Rising to greet us, coming with both hands extended, his ruddy face and smiling eyes beaming a welcome, a short, stout, gray-haired man waddled toward us, enveloping us in his benevolent presence. It was a wonder we did not throw ourselves into his arms. Taking us by the hand he beamed and we basked in the sunshine of his fatherly welcome. Many a time in the years that have passed I have wished I could tell him what he was to us girls that day. I think I did essay it once, three years later, when I came to see much of him. I have always loved him for that welcome. He is gone now. A remarkable man, overflowing with energy and tact, a champion of Homœopathy in its early days in Boston--the University, in fact, Homœopathy in general owes more to him, probably, than to any other man in New England. We came in time to hear him criticized by certain students; sometimes heard it said that he carried his politic measures to the point of insincerity; but I never had the slightest reason for changing the feelings toward him which were born that day. Though subsequently seeing some of his limitations, I admired his exceptional gifts--his indomitable energy, and his wonderful executive ability, while his warmheartedness won my lasting regard. I did change my opinion of Dr. Caroline Matson, but of that later. How tactfully the Dean went to work to soothe Belle, and yet bring about the proper registering of a name that would be dignified and in good taste as a physician! “‘Minnie’--let us see--that is your first name? I suppose you are fond of it, but it doesn’t sound just right for a physician, does it?” Under his kindly glance Belle explained that she had never used that name, that she had always been called “Isabel” or “Belle,” but that as the paper asked for her full name, she had given it. “Quite right, quite right; well now, if that is not the name you are accustomed to, why not drop it? Anyhow, your name is a long one, ‘Isabel Washburn,’ what a fine-sounding name! ‘Dr. Isabel Washburn’--I like that.” “So do I,” said Belle, getting confidential, “but I can’t drop ‘Minnie,’ because it is my grandmother’s name; my father, I’m sure, would object.” This gave him pause, but he was equal to the occasion: