"I hope he won't turn nervous over it," thought Matt. "Be serious to a man in his position, with so many looking on.--Can't I have the chloroform?" he then whispered to a dresser by his side. "Yes, of course: here he is with it," said the man; and for the second time in his life Matt gazed curiously at a polished mahogany box which was being brought forward. "I say," whispered Matt earnestly to the man at his side, "if anyone comes afterwards--afterwards, you know, and asks for me, you'll say, `Medicine and attendance,'--there, don't laugh--it's particular--you'll say, `Medicine and attendance;' and that old Matt tried to think it out to the last. You'll do that for me?" he whispered earnestly. The man repeated the words over, and smiled as he made the required promise. "Tell him not to give me too much," said Matt, now with the first display of anxiety, as he glanced at the inhaling apparatus. The time since old Matt had been brought into the theatre might be reckoned by moments; and now, in the midst of a profound stillness, the grey-haired man calmly raised his eyebrows, turned up his sleeves, and then walked a step or two from the patient, now inhaling the wondrous vapour of that simple-looking limpid fluid, whose first effect was to cause him to push away the apparatus and struggle feebly with those who administered it. But there was a strong hand upon his pulse and a pair of stern eyes watching him, and, as the mouthpiece was kept firmly against his face, old Matt gave one or two more inspirations and became insensible. Then every eye was fixed upon the calm, business-like man, whose nerves seemed of kindred material to the blades he drew from their delicate purple-velvet resting-places and quietly inspected for an instant, his eyes flashing brightly as their grey-hued blades--knives whose keen edges were formed of the finest-tempered metal that human skill and ingenuity could produce.