But the Doctor was not satisfied with his grandson. Throughout Jim’s five years at Rugby the general tenor of his reports had been: "Has done well on the whole, but might have done much better." His hospital career had been of a very similar character. Jim, though of a lazy temperament, had, nevertheless, won warm encomiums from great surgeons for his skill with the knife. Sir Savile Smart, the renowned specialist in abdominal matters, had written to Dr Mortimer--who was an old friend of his--in high praise of Jim. But there, as ever, was the qualifying clause: "Your lad can do wonders when he likes, which isn’t always." And then again Jim was given to bursts of rowdyism, accounts of which had trickled down to Threeways, where Jim was regarded as a lovable, harum-scarum youth, who would come into all the Doctor’s money, "and so it would be all right." This meant that his wild ways didn’t matter--he would never have to earn his living. Besides, he was only a youngster--he would sober down in time. He wouldn’t go on fighting policemen all his life--"and so it would be all right." At dinner on the preceding evening the Doctor, warmed by the generous grape, had been in an affable, not to say confiding mood, and it would have been well for Jim had this been their final conversation ere he departed for town, for the Doctor was in a high good-humour when they lit their bedroom candles, and even went so far as to pat his grandson on the back in a manner that was quite affectionate. Jim guessed that this amiable frame of mind would decamp with the darkness, and his surmise proved correct, for when he got to the telephone and took the receiver off its peg, he knew by the sound of the Doctor’s voice that his grandfather was in an irritable mood. "Are you there, James?" "Yes, sir." "My carriage is waiting, and I must be off in a minute or two, but I want to have a word with you before you go." "Shall I come across?" suggested Jim, "No, that will waste time, and I haven’t much to say." It occurred to the Long ’Un that what little his grandfather wished to say would not be of an overwhelmingly genial character. "I--ah--I received a bill this morning for a plate-glass window you smashed in the Strand about six weeks ago," began the Doctor; "I suppose you recollect it?" "Seem to remember something of it," replied Jim. "That’s good of you. The bill is for twelve pounds." "Those big shop windows run into money," hazarded Jim. "Somewhat superfluous information," snapped the Doctor; "what I want to say is that I won’t pay any more of these bills--do you clearly understand?" "I do," said the Long ’Un. "And, moreover, I won’t have any more of your drunken frolics--it’s high time you stopped all that nonsense. I should also advise you to drop the acquaintance of that disreputable reporter friend of yours--he seems to have a bad influence on you--Coke, is that his name?" Jim chuckled.