ubject since I had learned that he was
being treated by his club doctor.

That was the first of my morning incidents. My second followed hard upon
the heels of it. Another ring came, and from my post of observation I
saw that a gipsy's van, hung with baskets and wickerwork chairs, had
drawn up at the door. Two or three people appeared to be standing
outside. I understood that they wished me to purchase some of their
wares, so I merely opened the door about three inches, said "No, thank
you," and closed it. They seemed not to have heard me for they rang
again, upon which I opened the door wider and spoke more decidedly.
Imagine my surprise when they rang again. I flung the door open, and was
about to ask them what they meant by their impudence, when one of the
little group upon my doorstep said, "If you please, sir, it's the baby."
Never was there such a change--from the outraged householder to the
professional man. "Pray step in, madam," said I, in quite my most
courtly style; and in they all came--the husband, the brother, the wife
and the baby. The latter was in the early stage of measles. They were
poor outcast sort of people, and seemed not to have sixpence among them;
so my demands for a fee at the end of the consultation ended first in
my giving the medicine for nothing, and finally adding fivepence in
coppers, which was all the small change I had. A few more such patients
and I am a broken man.

However, the two incidents together had the effect of taking up my
attention and breaking the blow which I had had in the Cullingworth
letter. It made me laugh to think that the apparent outsider should
prove to be a patient, and the apparent patient an outsider. So back
I went, in a much more judicial frame of mind, to read that precious
document over again, and to make up my mind what it was that I should
do.

And now I came to my first real insight into the depths which lie in the
character of Cullingworth. I began by trying to recall how I could
have torn up my mother's letters, for it is not usual for me to destroy
papers in this manner. I have often been chaffed about the way in which
I allow them to accumulate until my pockets become unbearable. The more
I thought about it the more convinced I was that I could not have done
anything of the sort; so finally I got out the little house jacket which
I had usually worn at Bradfield, and I examined the sheaves of letters
which it contained. It was there, Bertie! Almos