"Those bones bring back old memories to me. I am rusty in my anatomy, but I dare say I could stump you yet. Let me see now. What are the different foramina of the sphenoid bone, and what structures pass through them? Eh?" "Coming!" yelled his son. "Coming!" and dashed out of the room. "I didn't hear any one call," observed the doctor. "Didn't you, sir?" said Garraway, pulling on his coat. "I thought I heard a noise." "You read with my son, I believe?" "Yes, sir." "Then perhaps you can tell me what the structures are which pass through the foramina of the sphenoid?" "Oh yes, sir. There is the--All right, Tom, all right! Excuse me, sir! He is calling me;" and Garraway vanished as precipitately as his friend had done. The doctor sat alone, puffing at his cigarette, and brooding over his own dullness of hearing. Presently the two students returned, looking just a little shame-faced, and plunged instantly into wild talk about the weather, the town, and the University--anything and everything except the sphenoid bone. "You have come in good time to see something of University life," said young Dimsdale. "To-day we elect our new Lord Rector. Garraway and I will take you down and show you the sights." "I have often wished to see something of it," his father answered. "I was apprenticed to my profession, Mr. Garraway, in the old-fashioned way, and had few opportunities of attending college." "Indeed, sir." "But I can imagine it all. What can be more charming than the sight of a community of young men all striving after knowledge, and emulating each other in the ardour of their studies? Not that I would grudge them recreation. I can fancy them strolling in bands round the classic precincts of their venerable University, and amusing themselves by discussing the rival theories of physiologists or the latest additions to the pharmacopoeia." Garraway had listened with becoming gravity to the commencement of this speech, but at the last sentence he choked and vanished for the second time out of the room. "Your friend seems amused," remarked Dr. Dimsdale mildly. "Yes. He gets taken like that sometimes," said his son. "His brothers are just the same. I have hardly had a chance yet to say how glad I am to see you, dad." "And I to see you, my dear boy. Your mother and Kate come up by the night train. I have private rooms at the hotel." "Kate Harston! I can only remember her as a little quiet girl with long brown hair. That was six years ago. She promised to be pretty."