“This is my father, Garraway,” said Dimsdale.  “I hardly expected him so early.”

“I must offer you a thousand apologies, sir.  The fact is that I am rather short-sighted, and had no time to put my glasses on.  It seemed to me to be a most dangerous scuffle.”

“Don’t mention it, sir,” said Garraway, with great good humour.

“And you, Tom, you rogue, is this the way you spend your mornings?  I expected to find you deep in your books.  I told your landlady that I hardly liked to come up for fear of disturbing you at your work.  You go up for your first professional in a few weeks, I understand?”

“That will be all right, dad,” said his son demurely.  “Garraway and I usually take a little exercise of this sort as a preliminary to the labours of the day.  Try this armchair and have a cigarette.”

The doctor’s eye fell upon the medical works and the disarticulated skull, and his ill-humour departed.

“You have your tools close at hand, I see,” he remarked.

“Yes, dad, all ready.”

“Those bones bring back old memories to me.  I am rusty in my anatomy, but I dare say I could stump you yet.  Let me see now.  What are the different foramina of the sphenoid bone, and what structures pass through them?  Eh?”

“Coming!” yelled his son.  “Coming!” and dashed out of the room.

“I didn’t hear any one call,” observed the doctor.

“Didn’t you, sir?” said Garraway, pulling on his coat.  “I thought I heard a noise.”

“You read with my son, I believe?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then perhaps you can tell me what the structures are which pass through the foramina of the sphenoid?”

“Oh yes, sir.  There is the—­All right, Tom, all right!  Excuse me, sir!  He is calling me;” and Garraway vanished as precipitately as his friend had done.  The doctor sat alone, puffing at his cigarette, and brooding over his own dullness of hearing.

Presently the two students returned, looking just a little shame-faced, and plunged instantly into wild talk about the weather, the town, and the University—­anything and everything except the sphenoid bone.

“You have come in good time to see something of University life,” said young Dimsdale.  “To-day we elect our new Lord Rector.  Garraway and I will take you down and show you the sights.”

“I have often wished to see something of it,” his father answered.  “I was apprenticed to my profession, Mr. Garraway, in the old-fashioned way, and had few opportunities of attending college.”

“Indeed, sir.”

“But I can imagine it all.  What can be more charming than the sight of a community of young men all striving after knowledge, and emulating each other in the ardour of their studies?  Not that I would grudge them recreation.  I can fancy them strolling in bands round the classic precincts of their venerable University, and amusing themselves by discussing the rival theories of physiologists or the latest additions to the pharmacopoeia.”