He was a short, fair-haired, sturdily-built fellow with a round face which gave him the appearance of an overgrown boy, a pair of blue eyes that twinkled with good fellowship, cheeks that struck me as just a trifle too ruddy to be altogether healthy, a small mouth, and a tiny, drooping, yellow moustache. He wore a silk hat of brilliant gloss, a frock-coat, as became one of "the profession," and carried in his hand a smart ebony cane with a silver crook. I noticed, as we stood at the bar, that his hat bulged slightly on either side, and knew that in it was concealed his stethoscope. He was therefore in practice. Over our drinks we briefly related our experiences, for we had both left the hospital at the same term, and had never met or heard of each other since. I told him of my drudgery, disappointment, and despair, to which he listened with sympathetic ear. Then he told me of himself. He had gone out to Accra, had a narrow squeak with a bad attack of fever, returned to London to recover, and became assistant to a well-known man at Plymouth. "And what are you doing now?" I inquired. "I've started a little practice over in Hammersmith," he answered. "I've been there a year; but Hammersmith seems such a confoundedly healthy spot." "You haven't got many patients--eh?" I said, smiling. "Unfortunately, no. The red lamp doesn't seem to attract them any more than the blue lamp before the police-station. If there was only a bit of zymotic disease, I might make a pound or two; but as it is, gout, indigestion, and drink seem to be the principal ailments at present." Then he added, "But if you're not doing anything, why don't you come down and stay a day or two with me? I'm alone, and we'd be mutual company. In the meantime you might hear of something from the _Lancet_. Where's your diggings?" I told him. "Then let's go over there now and get your traps. Afterwards we can go home together. I've got cold mutton for supper. Hope you don't object." "Very digestible," I remarked. And, after some persuasion, he at length prevailed upon me to accept his hospitality. He had established himself, I found, in the Rowan Road--a turning off the Hammersmith Road--in an ordinary-looking, ten-roomed house: one of those stereotyped ones with four hearth-stoned steps leading to the front door, and a couple of yards of unhealthy-looking, ill-kept grass between the bay window and the iron railings. The interior was comfortably furnished, for Bob was not wholly dependent upon his practice. His people were brewers at Bristol, and his allowance was ample. The dining-room was in front, while the room behind it was converted into a surgery with the regulation invalid's couch, a case of second-hand books to lend the place an imposing air, and a small writing-table whereat my hospital chum wrote his rather erratic ordinances.