the further side, in front
of the window, there was a board which was strewed with glittering
instruments--forceps, tenacula, saws, canulas, and trocars. A line of
knives, with long, thin, delicate blades, lay at one side. Two young
men lounged in front of this, one threading needles, the other doing
something to a brass coffee-pot-like thing which hissed out puffs of
steam.

"That's Peterson," whispered the senior, "the big, bald man in the
front row. He's the skin-grafting man, you know. And that's Anthony
Browne, who took a larynx out successfully last winter. And there's
Murphy, the pathologist, and Stoddart, the eye-man. You'll come to
know them all soon."

"Who are the two men at the table?"

"Nobody--dressers. One has charge of the instruments and the other of
the puffing Billy. It's Lister's antiseptic spray, you know, and
Archer's one of the carbolic-acid men. Hayes is the leader of the
cleanliness-and-cold-water school, and they all hate each other like
poison."

A flutter of interest passed through the closely packed benches as a
woman in petticoat and bodice was led in by two nurses. A red woolen
shawl was draped over her head and round her neck. The face which
looked out from it was that of a woman in the prime of her years, but
drawn with suffering, and of a peculiar beeswax tint. Her head drooped
as she walked, and one of the nurses, with her arm round her waist, was
whispering consolation in her ear. She gave a quick side-glance at the
instrument table as she passed, but the nurses turned her away from it.

"What ails her?" asked the novice.

"Cancer of the parotid. It's the devil of a case; extends right away
back behind the carotids. There's hardly a man but Archer would dare
to follow it. Ah, here he is himself!"

As he spoke, a small, brisk, iron-grey man came striding into the room,
rubbing his hands together as he walked. He had a clean-shaven face,
of the naval officer type, with large, bright eyes, and a firm,
straight mouth. Behind him came his big house-surgeon, with his
gleaming pince-nez, and a trail of dressers, who grouped themselves
into the corners of the room.

"Gentlemen," cried the surgeon in a voice as hard and brisk as his
manner, "we have here an interesting case of tumour of the parotid,
originally cartilaginous but now assuming malignant characteristics,
and therefore requiring excision. On to the table, nurse! Thank you!
Chloroform, clerk! Thank yo