I cannot say I much liked Roger's appearance now, as he sat opposite me in the railway-carriage, leaning against the arm of the comfortably-cushioned seat. His fair, pleasant face was gentle as ever, but the once clear blue eyes no longer looked very clear and did not meet ours freely; his hands shook, his fingers were restless. Mr. Brandon did not much like the signs either, to judge by the way he stared at him. "Have you been well lately, Roger?" "Oh yes, thank you, Uncle John." "Well, your looks don't say much for you." "I am rather hard-worked," said Roger. "London is not a place to grow rosy in." "Do you like your new work?" continued Mr. Brandon. For Roger had done with St. Bartholomew's Hospital, and was outdoor assistant to a surgeon in private practice, a Mr. Anderson. "I like it better than the hospital work, Uncle John." "Ah! A fine idea that was of yours--wanting to set up in practice for yourself the minute you had passed. Your mother did well to send the letter to me and ask my advice. Some of you boys--boys, and no better--fresh from your hospital studies, screw a brass-plate on your door, announcing yourselves to the world as qualified surgeons. A few of you go a step further and add M.D." "Many of us take our degree as physician at once, Uncle John," said Roger. "It is becoming quite the custom." "Just so: the custom!" retorted Mr. Brandon, cynically. "Why didn't _you_ do it, and modestly call yourself Dr. Bevere? In my former days, young man, when some ultra-grave ailment necessitated application to a physician, we went to him in all confidence, knowing that he was a man of steady years, of long-tried experience, whose advice was to be relied upon. Now, if you are dying and call in some Dr. So-and-so, you may find him a young fellow of three or four and twenty. As likely as not only an M.B. in reality, who has arrogated to himself the title of Doctor. For I hear some of them do it." "But they think they have a right to be called so, Uncle John. The question----" "What right?" sharply demanded Mr. Brandon. "What gives it them?" "Well--courtesy, I suppose," hesitated Roger. "Oh," said Mr. Brandon. I laughed. His tone was so quaint. "Yes, you may laugh, Johnny Ludlow--showing your thoughtlessness! There'll soon be no modesty left in the world," he continued; "there'll soon be no hard, plodding work. Formerly, men were content to labour on patiently for years, to attain success, whether in fame, fortune, or for a moderate competency. Now they must take a leap into it. Tradespeople retire before middle-age, merchants make colossal fortunes in a decade, and (to leave other anomalies alone) you random young hospital students spring into practice full-fledged M.D.'s." "The world is changing, Uncle John." "It is," assented Mr. Brandon. "I'm not sure that we shall know it by-and-by."