“No,” I said, “don’t do that; in fact I was going to ask you to ring up and say I am so much better, that I think he had better not call to-morrow. He is fearfully busy, and if I am as well as this I want to go into town and get some soap--and a hatchet----” James thought me extremely silly, and said the man was a deuced clever chap. I bided my time and had my reward later. James got a bad chill, and I sent at once for Dr. Smithson. I provided him with a bag of the ordinary Castile soap, four thick towels, and my clinical thermometer, and left the room. From the study downstairs I could hear the gentle monotonous flow of sound, and the hands of the clock moved peacefully on. Presently the stream of sound became fuller as it was joined by another and more familiar current. There was a prolonged duet. I thought of the Zonophone Opera Company in the last part of “Home to our Mountains”; the clock struck another hour, and I heard the door open. The first single stream of sound flowed down the stairs alone, and died away as the front door banged. I left James five minutes to get his breath, and then I went up. “Well, dear,” I said, “I hope he is going to do you good. I suppose he does not want you to have many visitors, no talking----” “The man’s a damn fool!” said James. “I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.” “Did he take your temperature?” I asked. “Yes,” replied James. “I wanted to put the thing under my arm--it’s the proper way to take a temperature--but he stuck it in my mouth and left it there an hour while he talked.” “Did he? Then how did you manage to tell him what the treatment ought to be?” “I told him what he didn’t seem to know--that in cases of inflammation what you want to do is----” “To set up counter-irritation. I know. And so you each talked one against----” “I want some soup,” interrupted James. “Did you say soup or soap?” I asked. “Soup, and as hot as possible.” “Did he say you were to have hot things?” “No; but it is obviously the thing to do.” I turned, just as I was leaving the room, to say: “By the way, that’s a nice little water-colour sketch; do you----” A leather slipper whizzed past my head and struck the door. We have been in many parts of the world since then, and I have come across a great number of doctors. Many of them are amongst the dearest creatures on earth, but, like all our other loved ones, they have their little ways. Clara was ill once, and Dr. Smithson’s partner came. He explained everything to me with the greatest care.