II.

Soon after midday the party broke up. Its members lunched early;
visiting surgeons and physicians went their rounds at half-past one.

George strolled to the Dean's office.

A woebegone-looking youth in spectacles stood before the table;
opposite sat the Dean. He looked up as George entered, and nodded: he
was fond of George.

"Come along in," he said; "I shan't be a minute."

He turned to the sad youth. "Now your case, Mr. Carter," he said, "is
quite unique. In the whole records of the Medical School"--he waved at
a shelf of fat volumes--"in the whole records of the Medical School we
have nothing in the remotest degree resembling it. You have actually
failed twice in--in--"

The Dean searched wildly among a litter of papers; baffled, threw out
an emphasising hand, and repeated, "_Twice_! Other hospitals, Mr.
Carter, may have room for slackers--we have not. We have a record and
a reputation of which we are proud. You are in your second year. How
old are you?"

A faint whisper said, "Nineteen."

The Dean started. "Nineteen! Oh, dear me, dear me! this is worse than
I thought--far worse. I am afraid, Mr. Carter, I shall have to write
to your father."