"Oh, I think not," the colonel declared reassuringly. "I expect it won’t be as serious as that." "In course, sir, ye’ll dae whichever ye think best—but I hae a wife and twa wee bairnies at hame, an’ I were thinkin’ as how I’d be better able tae dae for them wi’ baith ma legs." "We’ll do our very best to save it," the colonel answered. In a few minutes we were dressed in our white gowns and caps. The X-ray plates were brought in and placed in the illuminator for us to see the exact damage done. The thigh bone was badly splintered for a distance of three inches, and one large piece was torn away. We hoped to be able to put a steel plate upon the bone, and, by screwing it down, draw the fragments together with some fair chance of having them unite. This is a delicate operation, and not only demands considerable skill, but the operating facilities must be perfect. Fortunately our operating room was ideal, with its white enamelled walls and marble basins, its rubber covered floor, the most modern of surgical appliances, and, most important of all, a staff of highly trained nurses—it was as ideal as science could make it. With a bright keen knife the incision was made down to the bone. Alas! It was hopelessly fractured. For a space of several inches there was nothing but tiny fragments, and the one long loose piece we had seen in the X-ray plate. The colonel turned, and said: "What a pity! The space is so large, the bone will never regenerate. This leg should come off—but I promised to try and save it." We discussed the situation for a few moments, and finally decided to try an experiment. The loose piece of bone had not yet been thrown away. Might it be used as a splint? We fitted it in between the upper and lower fragment—it was just long enough to be wedged between. We drilled a hole through either end and fastened it firmly with silver wire. Would it grow or decay there? We had grave doubts, and time alone would tell. Let no one imagine that in the thousands of operations performed at the front surgeons become careless! Every case is a special one; every "Tommy" the private patient of the Empire. The surgeon’s responsibility is as great—and he feels it, too—in that far-away land, as it is at home. We put the limb in a plaster cast to hold it firm. It had been a clean wound—no infection—we had hopes. Six weeks later the bone had united fairly well, and in three months McPherson was able to walk! But when this operation was done the colonel’s troubles were by no means over for the day. It was ten o’clock, and "office" must be held. This miniature military "Police-Court" sits every morning, with the commanding officer as judge. If the court is small, it is by no means unimportant. Jogman realised this as he stood waiting with the guard and witnesses in the hall, the day after his great "debâcle."