wn quietly on a chair in a dark corner. Porter drew down some
blinds, whereby we were plunged in semi-darkness, and turned on a
powerful light which strongly illumined a small circle of his patient's
face. I was sitting down on a sofa, rather close to Frieda. A few
moments later we were leaning on one another for support. One of her
good fat hands was trembling a little, in mine, which may possibly have
been similarly affected.

"We'll take lots of time," I heard Porter say. "Yes, this is novocaine.
Open wide now--breathe through your mouth--slowly. That's very good--now
rest a little. Once again, I want to get a thorough anaesthesia--another
little rest--we are in no hurry. Don't be afraid. You have the
finest throat to work on I ever saw, a superb control over it. That
comes from all the training I have given you--now the last touch of
novocaine--that's all right--you'll feel nothing--I'm very sure."

Frieda was digging her nails into my hand, excruciatingly, and we both
breathed hard as we saw Porter take up other long and shiny tools that
gleamed in the obscurity. He was doing something with them, quietly,
with a constant flow of encouraging language. I wondered how the man's
voice could remain so calm. Frieda's left heel rested for a moment on my
right big toe, crushingly, but she knew not what she was doing, and I
bore the torture without a cry, till I could push her away. I had not
realized that a man could suffer so much. And Porter was still working
away, looking ghostly in the penumbra. Then, suddenly, he let out an
ejaculation imitated from the Comanches, rose from his chair, ran to the
window and admitted a flood of light that nearly blinded us. Frieda,
shamefaced, lifted her head from my shoulder and rose with incredible
swiftness.

"Is--is it all over?" she asked, tremulously.

"Surest thing you know," replied our young friend. "The finest little
growth upon the right chord you ever saw. I had made up my mind not to
go at it halfcocked, and that's why I've taken so much time to get her
so that a fellow could do anything he wanted to her larynx. But it pays,
I can tell you!"

"And--and will I be able to sing again?" asked Frances, hoarsely.

"You will have to use your voice just as little as possible for a few
days," he answered. "Not a word more than you can help. I hope--I
believe that you will be able to sing again, after the chord heals up,
but you must not try for a long time. And then it will ta