“_Can’t_ you tell what I want before I want it?--never did see such stupid assistants.” “Who sharpened these knives?” “Who prepared this cat-gut?” “_Can’t_ you keep your patient under ether--have I got to operate and etherize, too?” How furious we used to get! We were all in the same boat, though I am sure I was more stupid than the others, especially when he was concerned. But he would come around afterwards, while we were washing up instruments (and at the same time resolving that we were fools to stay on there and take his abuse), and by a few words he would, as it were, pat us all on the back; say we had helped him out of a very trying operation; that he never meant what he said when operating, and so on. And, so potent was his penitent manner, we were usually mollified--till the next time. As an operator we respected him; his cases always did well. We knew he was hot-headed, and that afterwards he was always ashamed of his temper; we also knew that others had lived through just such experiences, and that other students stood ready to take our positions if we abandoned them. Serious were the daily events by which we were surrounded, but the irrepressibility of youth asserted itself. Mingled with the memory of solemn scenes and grave responsibilities are recollections of many a jolly hour within the hospital walls. I recall in this connection the initiation that our colleagues, Fenton and Laidlaw, gave me shortly after I went there. I roomed with Dr. Thorndike who had gone on the house-staff three months before. One night shortly after we had gone to bed we suddenly smelled _amyl nitrite_ so strong that we got up to investigate. All was quiet in the hall and in the private rooms near by--the odour was clearly more penetrating right there in our room. After considerable search we found a tiny moist streak on the floor--those young doctors had injected a hypodermic syringeful of that pungent drug through our key-hole! We turned out our light and went back to bed, chagrined that, lurking about somewhere, they had doubtless heard us and known that we had risen to their bait. Soon we heard stealthy steps outside in the hall, then a squirt and a splash, and through the key-hole came a bigger stream--this time they had used a large syringe and injected strong ammonia. Of course we were forced to vacate and air our room--just what the besiegers wanted! They, and we, got all the more fun out of these practical jokes because we could not risk disturbing the patients, and also had to be guarded lest the wary matron, or the night nurses, discover our pranks. We were not above the pranks, but did not wish to impair our prestige as house-officers.