But I discovered that the Mayo brothers are not mere mechanical butchers. On the contrary they are genial, sentimental, and tenderhearted, to the last degree. My nurse declared that Doctor Will was “all business”; but that “Doctor Charles makes more fun than a circus clown.” They make the rounds at the hospital early in the morning, meet the new patients and spend a few moments of cheerful conversation with each one, which goes a long way toward counteracting the dread of the trip to the operating room. These calls are attended with a considerable amount of impressive ceremony. About eight o’clock the first morning I heard a tramping of many feet in the hall outside, then suddenly, without any warning, the door was opened, my overhead light was flashed on and the nurse in suppressed excitement whispered, “Doctor Will!” She immediately took her position at the head of my bed. Two men--Doctor Will’s first assistant and the house physician--came in and took their positions across the room, facing the entrance. Then appeared Doctor Will, followed by two other assistants. As he approached my bed with outstretched hand he smiled and called me by name. After a few good-natured remarks he said, “Don’t be alarmed, we’ll have you out in a few days.” At this he left the room, with the other four, none of whom had spoken a word. He had a firm, quick step, strong handsome features, and a most engaging personality. After meeting and talking with him you feel that you have entrusted yourself to competent hands. An hour or so later the nurse came hurrying in with the news that we’d been “called.” After being assured that I had no false teeth or portable bridgework to leave behind, she hastily gave me a hypodermic of morphine, bustled me into a wheel chair and hurried me up to the operating room on the top floor. There under a great dome thickly studded with electric lights, in the presence of Doctor Will and a dozen or more gowned and masked assistants and attendants I climbed up on the operating table, my arms were quickly folded across my chest, and while my legs were being strapped into position the cone was placed over my face and an angel-voiced creature murmured softly in my ear, “Now take long deep breaths, please; it will only be a few seconds.” I wondered if she were as beautiful as her voice. At any rate I would gladly have postponed the operation and breathed an hour or more for her, just to hear her talk. Her soft, musical voice seemed to move farther away, and in the distance she was saying how nicely I was getting on. I was about to call to her, not to go off and leave me, but-- The next I knew I was back in my room looking drowsily up into the anxious faces of my family who assured me that it was “all over.”