“You’re the thirty-ninth,” cried the blood; “that was the thirty-eighth you met upon the stairs, and the day’s still young. Excuse my staring at you. Yes, you pass your prelim., and can come inside; you’re one of the few. We had most just after breakfast, but now the porter’s heading off the worst cases, and that last chap was the first for twenty minutes. Come in here.” And I was ushered into an empty room with a good bay-window, which enabled my full-blooded friend to inspect me yet more critically in a good light; this he did without the least false delicacy; then his questions began. “’Varsity man?” “No.” “Public school?” “Yes.” “Which one?” I told him, and he sighed relief. “At last! You’re the very first I’ve not had to argue with as to what is and what is not a public school. Expelled?” “No,” I said, after a moment’s hesitation; “no, I was not expelled. And I hope you won’t expel me if I ask a question in my turn?” “Certainly not.” “Are you Mr. Maturin’s son?” “No, my name’s Theobald. You may have seen it down below.” “The doctor?” I said. “His doctor,” said Theobald, with a satisfied eye. “Mr. Maturin’s doctor. He is having a male nurse and attendant by my advice, and he wants a gentleman if he can get one. I rather think he’ll see you, though he’s only seen two or three all day. There are certain questions which he prefers to ask himself, and it’s no good going over the same ground twice. So perhaps I had better tell him about you before we get any further.” And he withdrew to a room still nearer the entrance, as I could hear, for it was a very small flat indeed. But now two doors were shut between us, and I had to rest content with murmurs through the wall until the doctor returned to summon me. “I have persuaded my patient to see you,” he whispered, “but I confess I am not sanguine of the result. He is very difficult to please. You must prepare yourself for a querulous invalid, and for no sinecure if you get the billet.” “May I ask what’s the matter with him?” “By all means—when you’ve got the billet.” Dr. Theobald then led the way, his professional dignity so thoroughly intact that I could not but smile as I followed his swinging coat-tails to the sick-room. I carried no smile across the threshold of a darkened chamber which reeked of drugs and twinkled with medicine bottles, and in the middle of which a gaunt figure lay abed in the half-light. “Take him to the window, take him to the window,” a thin voice snapped, “and let’s have a look at him. Open the blind a bit. Not as much as that, damn you, not as much as that!”