befell us en route, no dropping back into the basement with a low,
grateful thud; no hitch; no delay of any kind. We were certainly
out of luck that trip. The demon of a joyrider who operated the
accursed device jerked a lever and up we soared at a distressingly
high rate of speed. If I could have had my way about that youth
he would have been arrested for speeding.

Now we were there! They rolled into a large room, all white, with
a rounded ceiling like the inside of an egg. Right away I knew
what the feelings of a poor, lonely little yolk are when the spoon
begins to chip the shell. If I had not been so busy feeling sorry
for myself I think I might have developed quite an active sympathy
for yolks.

My impression had been that this was to be in the nature of a
private affair, without invitations. I was astonished to note
that quite a crowd had assembled for the opening exercises. From
his attire and general deportment I judged that Doctor Z was going
to be the master of the revels, he being attired appropriately in
a white domino, with rubber gloves and a fancy cap of crash toweling.
There were present, also, my diagnostic friend, Doctor X, likewise
in fancy-dress costume, and a surgeon I had never met. From what
I could gather he was going over the course behind Doctor Z to
replace the divots.

And there was an interne in the background, playing caddy, as it
were, and a head nurse, who was going to keep the score, and two
other nurses, who were going to help her keep it. I only hoped
that they would show no partiality, but be as fair to me as they
were to Doctor Z, and that he would go round in par.