Mr. Jones undertakes to buy some butter at a shop behind the hospital; and
Mr. Manhug, not being able to procure any flour, gets some starch from the
cabinet of the lecturer on Materia Medica, and powders it in a mortar
which he borrows from the laboratory.

"To revert to cats," observes Mr. Manhug, as he sets himself before the
fire to superintend the cooking; "it strikes me we could contrive no end
to fun if we each agreed to bring some here one day in carpet-bags. We
could drive in plenty of dogs, and cocks, and hens, out of the back
streets, and then let them all loose together in the dissecting-room."

"With a sprinkling of rats and ferrets," adds Mr. Rapp. "I know a man who
can let us have as many as we want. The skrimmage would be immense, only I
shouldn't much care to stay and see it."

"Oh that's nothing," replies Mr. Muff. "Of course, we must get on the roof
and look at it through the skylights. You may depend upon it, it would be
the finest card we ever played."

How gratifying to every philanthropist must be these proofs of the
elasticity of mind peculiar to a Medical Student! Surrounded by scenes of
the most impressive and deplorable nature--in constant association with
death and contact with disease--his noble spirit, in the ardour of his
search after professional information, still retains its buoyancy and
freshness; and he wreaths with roses the hours which he passes in the
dissecting-room, although the world in general looks upon it as a rather
unlikely locality for those flowers to shed their perfume over!

"By the way, Muff, where did you get to last night after we all cut?"
inquires Mr. Rapp.