“But you have a nice room, with plenty of air, light, private bath and everything.” “I don’t like it,” I said. “What is there you don’t like about it?” By this time I was becoming tired from overexertion. She afterwards told me that I looked wearily about, then resting my eyes on the paneled oak door I said,-- “The door is upside down--I want another room.” In the weeks that followed I had the usual run of bad days and nights, when things looked gloomy and hope sank low, but all things considered, my recovery was satisfactory to the physicians, though it seemed slow, and at times uncertain, to me. A few days after my first experience of sitting up, Doctor Will came in and found me nibbling on a piece of toast--the first solid food I had taken in many weeks--which prompted him jokingly to remark that since I was beginning to eat, the price of my board ought to be raised. “Doctor,” I said, “that reminds me of something that’s been worrying me of late. You being one of America’s greatest surgeons, naturally I have a patriotic pride in being operated on by you; but when I came here I had no intention of giving you a steady job cutting me open and sewing me up. One operation at a time by a great surgeon is usually as much as any ordinary person can stand, either physically or financially, and my Scotch instinct warns me that you are running me into ruinous extravagance.” “Never mind, my good fellow,” he said; “don’t let that bother you. We are here to cure you, not to get your money; and when you get your bill if it isn’t satisfactory all you need do is scratch out the amount and fill in your own figures--whatever sum is agreeable to you, and that will be our price.” But I was so elated over my recovery that it didn’t occur to me to acquaint the office with this generous proposal. SUBCONSCIOUS HALLUCINATIONS