ld stamp me as a regular war correspondent, except, of course,
my wrist watch; but I shall not wear it to another war. War is terrible
enough already; and, besides, I have parted with it. On my way home
through Holland I gave that suit to a couple of poor Belgian refugees,
and I presume they are still wearing it.

So far as I have been able to observe, the surgeons and the tailors of
these times share but one common instinct: If you go to a new surgeon or
to a new tailor he is morally certain, after looking you over, that
the last surgeon you had or the last tailor, did not do your cutting
properly. There, however, is where the resemblance ends. The tailor, as
I remarked in effect just now, wants an hour at least in which to decide
how he may best cover up and disguise the irregularities of the human
form; in much less time than that the surgeon has completely altered the
form itself.

With the surgeon it is very much as it is with those learned men
who write those large, impressive works of reference which should be
permanently in every library, and which we are forever buying from an
agent because we are so passionately addicted to payments. If the thing
he seeks does not appear in the contents proper he knows exactly where
to look for it. "See appendix," says the historian to you in a footnote.
"See appendix," says the surgeon to himself, the while humming a cheery
refrain. And so he does.

Well, I went home. This was Tuesday and the operation was not to be
performed until the coming Friday. By Wednesday I had calmed down
considerably. By Thursday morning I was practically normal again as
regards my nerves. You will understand that I was still in a blissful
state of ignorance concerning the actual methods of the surgical
profession as exemplified by its leading exponents of today. The
knowledge I have touched on in the pages immediately preceding was to
come to me later.

Likewise Doctor Z's manner had been deceiving. It could not be that he
meant to carve me to any really noticeable extent--his attitude had been
entirely too casual. At our house carving is a very serious matter. Any
time I take the head of the table and start in to carve it is fitting
women and children get to a place of safety, and onlookers should get
under the table. When we first began housekeeping and gave our first
small dinner-party we had a brace of ducks cooked in honor of the
company, and I, as host, undertook to carve them. I never kn