his dead on the premises or had them removed by a secret passageway
in the rear, when a young woman in a nurse's costume tapped me
on the shoulder from behind.

I jumped. She hid a compassionate smile with her hand and told
me that the doctor would see me now.

As I rose to follow her--still clinging with the drowning man's
grip of desperation to my hat and my umbrella--I was astonished
to note by a glance at the calendar on the wall that this was
still the present date. I thought it would be Thursday of next
week at the very least.

Doctor Z also wore whiskers, carefully pointed up by an expert
hedge trimmer. He sat at his desk, surrounded by freewill offerings
from grateful patients and by glass cases containing other things
he had taken away from them when they were not in a condition to
object. I had expected, after all the preliminary ceremonies and
delays, that we should have a long skance together. Not so; not
at all. The modern expert in surgery charges as much for remembering
your name between visits as the family doctor used to expect for
staying up all night with you, but he does not waste any time when
you are in his presence.

I was about to find that out. And a little later on I was to find
out a lot of other things; in fact, that whole week was of immense
educational value to me.

I presume it was because he stood high in his profession, and was
almost constantly engaged in going into the best society that Doctor