Any married man knows how difficult it is to hold his own against the arguments of _one_ woman; and to stand out against a whole bevy of them requires a species of fortitude of which no normal man is possessed. Being hopelessly in the minority, both as to numbers and argumentative force, I appealed to Doctor Braasch and asked if the operation couldn’t be postponed a few months or a year without endangering my health. For a moment he seemed to weaken slightly in favor of the losing side, and admitted that it probably could; but the women insisted that it couldn’t. Having made up their minds there was going to be an operation, they would hear to nothing else, and declared that I was only delaying the performance with needless discussion. I said, “I don’t want any operation; that isn’t what I came here for.” My wife said, “Maybe you didn’t know it, but that’s exactly what you did come here for. I know a lot of things that you know nothing about. And it’s much better you shouldn’t know.” She had kept in touch with my diagnostician, and I wondered if he had initiated her into some of the clinical secrets in order to punish me for insubordination. I didn’t ask what it was she knew, nor did it make much difference. Whatever a woman may know, it does not alter the fact that she wants what she wants. And if her wants call for no more than the loss of a kidney, it’s easier to accommodate her than it is to oppose her wishes. Therefore, with the family and the clinical staff arrayed against me there wasn’t much use arguing. Nobody supported my side: I was like a lone defendant facing a “packed” jury, solid for conviction. The women were convinced that it was such a trivial affair, that they all wished they could take the job off my hands. They were astonished that under the circumstances I should be so obstinate in refusing this opportunity of having Doctor Will Mayo operate on me. The result was, I was made to feel more like a slacker than a hero. What a pity it is, I thought, that those who like such things cannot have their tastes gratified! I wished the kidney would kick up again so I could get thoroughly sore and disgusted with it; but it lay there as quiet as a mouse in the corner--as if it heard what was going on. I could almost hear it whisper, “Stick to your guns, old pal, I’ll be a good kidney in future.” But in a moment of weakness I asked the doctor how long it would take. “It means only ten days to two weeks in bed and one more to convalesce. Yes, Doctor ‘Will’ can operate on you day after tomorrow morning.” That settled it. At four o’clock the next afternoon, with the mercury thirty below zero, my family accompanied me to the hospital. “ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE--”