left me, taking my other clothes and my shoes with him, but I
was not allowed to get lonely.

A little later a ward surgeon appeared, to put a few inquiries of
a pointed and personal nature. He particularly desired to know
what my trouble was. I explained to him that I couldn't tell him--
he would have to see Doctor X or Doctor Z; they probably knew,
but were keeping it a secret between themselves.

The answer apparently satisfied him, because immediately after
that he made me sign a paper in which I assumed all responsibility
for what was to take place the next morning.

This did not seem exactly fair. As I pointed out to him, it was
the surgeon's affair, not mine; and if the surgeon made a mistake
the joke would be on him and not on me, because in that case I
would not be here anyhow. But I signed, as requested, on the
dotted line, and he departed.

After that, at intervals, the chief house surgeon dropped in,
without knocking, and the head nurse came, and an interne or so,
and a ward nurse, and the special nurse who was to have direct
charge of me. It dawned on me that I was not having any more
privacy in that hospital than a goldfish.

About eleven o'clock an orderly came, and, without consulting my
wishes in the matter, he undressed me until I could have passed
almost anywhere for September Morn's father, and gave me a clean
shave, twice over, on one of my most prominent plane surfaces. I
must confess I enjoyed that part of it. So far as I am able to