e usual sign of the general
practitioner in England.

CONTENTS.

BEHIND THE TIMES
HIS FIRST OPERATION
A STRAGGLER OF '15
THE THIRD GENERATION
A FALSE START
THE CURSE OF EVE
SWEETHEARTS
A PHYSIOLOGIST'S WIFE
THE CASE OF LADY SANNOX
A QUESTION OF DIPLOMACY
A MEDICAL DOCUMENT
LOT NO. 249
THE LOS AMIGOS FIASCO
THE DOCTORS OF HOYLAND
THE SURGEON TALKS

ROUND THE RED LAMP.

BEHIND THE TIMES.

My first interview with Dr. James Winter was under dramatic
circumstances. It occurred at two in the morning in the bedroom of an
old country house. I kicked him twice on the white waistcoat and
knocked off his gold spectacles, while he with the aid of a female
accomplice stifled my angry cries in a flannel petticoat and thrust me
into a warm bath. I am told that one of my parents, who happened to be
present, remarked in a whisper that there was nothing the matter with
my lungs. I cannot recall how Dr. Winter looked at the time, for I had
other things to think of, but his description of my own appearance is
far from flattering. A fluffy head, a body like a trussed goose, very
bandy legs, and feet with the soles turned inwards--those are the main
items which he can remember.

From this time onwards the epochs of my life were the periodical
assaults which Dr. Winter made upon me. He vaccinated me; he cut me
for an abscess; he blistered me for mumps. It was a world of peace and
he the one dark cloud that threatened. But at last there came a time
of real illness--a time when I lay for months together inside my
wickerwork-basket bed, and then it was that I learned that that hard
face could relax, that those country-made creaking boots could steal
very gently to a bedside, and that that rough voice could thin into a
whisper when it spoke to a sick child.

And now the child is himself a medical man, and yet Dr. Winter is the
same as ever. I can see no change since first I can remember him, save
that perhaps the brindled hair is a trifle whiter, and the huge
shoulders a little more bowed. He is a very tall man, though he loses
a couple of inches from his stoop. That big back of his has curved
itself over sick beds until it has set in that shape. His face is of a
walnut brown, and tells of long winter drives over bleak country roads,
with the wind and the rain in his teeth. It looks smooth at a little
distance, but as you approach him you see that it is shot with
inn