And the maiden prattled on. "Some of them are fearfully grateful. Do you see that old stuffed owl in the dusty case, there? That’s a present—to me. It only came yesterday, and it’s a token of gratitude from a Jewish lady in the fish trade. This is her sixth, and the first five were all girls. She used to deal with our opposition—Dr. McWhite—but when the fifth female came along they changed over to Fatty, and this stuffed owl is what he calls a tribute to professional ability. And there’s Fatty’s key in the door. Seize his bacon, will you—it’s in the fender." I was rather annoyed with Dr. Brink for returning just then. I had mapped out a series of leading questions designed to elicit James’s age and identity. But when the little hungry man came in, I felt that these questions were unimportant and could wait. It was interesting enough to help that busy scientist to mustard, and to hear him curse the Liberal Government with his mouth full of bacon, and to watch the quiet motherliness of James. "Regular multitude in the waiting-room," announced the doctor, as he gulped his coffee. "Got to get back there quick. You’d better pop down with me, youngster, and get a squint at it all." "You sit on the gas-stove in the kitchen," explained James. "There’s a window just above it which gives on to the consulting-room, and it’s painted on the kitchen side, and I’ve scratched a little squint-hole in the paint.... I often go down there when the drunks come in—the _funny_ drunks, I mean. Sometimes they are not funny. And Mr. Boag, the Conative Meliorist, sits there by the hour. He calls it ’supping with misery.’" "You’ll spend the day with us, I suppose?" suggested the little doctor. And, as it was Saturday, and therefore a holiday in my trade, I supposed that I would. And then they introduced me to the gas-stove. *IV* *SIXPENCES* I sat on the gas-stove, with James beside me, and we applied our eyes in turn to the squint-hole and beheld the Doctor earning sixpences. _Item:_ A young gentleman with the hiccoughs. Was feeling suicidal. How was his appetite? Shocking, shocking! Digestion in good order? On the contrary, it was shocking bad. What sort of nights? Shocking! Spirits low? Shocking low. Did his head ache? Shockingly. Food taste dull? Absolutely shocking. Young gentleman receives some advice on the subject of alcoholic excess and a bottle of water, fortified by harmless colouring matter. Young gentleman departs. _Item:_ Tired woman with baby in convulsions. Baby’s dietary discussed. Woman indignant. "Why," she declares, "’e ’as the very same as us!" Baby dismissed with a powder. _Item:_ Slow-spoken man with a jellied thumb. "Door jamb," he explains. "Want a stifficut. Works at the Brewery. Want another stifficut for the Insurance. ’Urry up. ’Ow much? Good-day."