Here was a poser. Yet Ger was consumed by a desire to see this mysterious "myjor" who syringed ears and didn't hurt people. He had fallen upon an adventure, and he was going to see it out. "I don't know exactly," he whispered mysteriously, "but I've got to see him." "P'raps they've wrote about ya'," the bandaged boy suggested. Ger thought this was unlikely, but let the suggestion pass unchallenged. He watched the various people vanish into a room on the right, saw them come out again, heard the invariable "Next please" which heralded the seclusion of a new patient, till everybody had gone and come back and gone forth into the street again save only the bandaged boy and himself. "You nip in w'en I comes out," the boy said encouragingly, "it's a bit lyte already, but 'e'll see ya' if yer slippy." It seemed a long time to Ger as he waited. The little crowd of women and children had melted away. Men in blue cotton jackets passed to and fro across the hall, "Sister," in a curious headdress and scarlet cape, looking like a picture by Carpaccio, came out of another room, went up the staircase and vanished from view. No one spoke to him or asked his business, and Ger stood in a dark corner holding his cap in his hands and waiting. At last the boy came back with a clean bandage and a big new pad of cotton-wool over the syringed ear. "'Urry up," he whispered as he passed. "I told 'im as there was one more." Ger hurried. Once inside that mysterious door he started violently, for a tall figure clad in a long white smock was standing near a sink brushing his nails. He wore a black band round his head, and on his forehead, attached to the band, was a round mirror. The very brightest mirror Ger had ever seen. So this was the Myjor. The uniform was quite new to Ger. The eyes under the mirror were very blue, and for the rest this strangely clad tall man had a brown moustache and a pleasant voice as he turned, and drying his hands the while, said: "Well, young shaver, what's the matter with you?" In his eight years Ger had had but few aches and pains save such as followed naturally upon falls or fights, but he knew that if this interview was to be prolonged he must have something, so he hazarded an ailment. "I've a muzzy feeling in my head sometimes, sir, a sort of ache, not bad, you know." The Myjor looked very hard at Ger as he spoke--evidently the little boy's voice and accent were in some way unexpected. He sat down and drew him forward close to his knees. The round mirror on his forehead flashed into Ger's eyes and he winced. "Headache, eh?" said the Myjor cheerfully. "You don't look as though you ought to get headaches. Can you read?" "No, sir, that's just what I can't do, and there's awful rows about it. I can't seem to read, I don't want to much, but I do try . . . I do really, but it's so muddly." "How long have you been learning?"