ekman is there, talking in a low tone with a stout young man who
listens intently. The stout young man is his student and assistant. Hans
is there also. He stands near the window, respectfully waiting until he
shall be accosted.

"You see, Vollenhoven," said Dr. Boekman, "it is a clear case of--" And
here the doctor went off into a queer jumble of Latin and Dutch that I
cannot conveniently translate.

After a while, as Vollenhoven looked at him rather blankly, the learned
man condescended to speak to him in simpler phrase.

"It is probably like Rip Donderdunck's case," he exclaimed in a low,
mumbling tone. "He fell from the top of Voppelploot's windmill. After
the accident the man was stupid and finally became idiotic. In time he
lay helpless like yon fellow on the bed, moaned, too, like him, and kept
constantly lifting his hand to his head. My learned friend Von Choppem
performed an operation upon this Donderdunck and discovered under the
skull a small dark sac, which pressed upon the brain. This had been
the cause of the trouble. My friend Von Choppem removed it--a splendid
operation! You see, according to Celsius--" And here the doctor again
went off into Latin.

"Did the man live?" asked the assistant respectfully.

Dr. Boekman scowled. "That is of no consequence. I believe he died,
but why not fix your mind on the grand features of the case? Consider a
moment how--" And he plunged into Latin mysteries more deeply than ever.

"But mynheer," gently persisted the student, who knew that the doctor
would not rise to the surface for hours unless pulled at once from his
favorite depths. "Mynheer, you have other engagements today, three legs
in Amsterdam, you remember, and an eye in Broek, and that tumor up the
canal."

"The tumor can wait," said the doctor reflectively. "That is another
beautiful case--a beautiful case! The woman has not lifted her head from
her shoulder for two months--magnificent tumor, sir!"

The doctor by this time was speaking aloud. He had quite forgotten where
he was.

Vollenhoven made another attempt.

"This poor fellow on the bed, mynheer. Do you think you can save him?"

"Ah, indeed, certainly," stammered the doctor, suddenly perceiving that
he had been talking rather off the point. "Certainly, that is--I hope
so."

"If anyone in Holland can, mynheer," murmured the assistant with honest
bluntness, "it is yourself."

The doctor looked displeased, growled out a tender request for t