“Would you?” said Dr. Tyrell.  “Well, that’s original at all events.  I don’t think we’ll be rash.”

This always made the students laugh, and with a twinkle of amusement at his own bright humour the physician prescribed some other drug than that which the student had suggested.  When there were two cases of exactly the same sort and the student proposed the treatment which the physician had ordered for the first, Dr. Tyrell exercised considerable ingenuity in thinking of something else.  Sometimes, knowing that in the dispensary they were worked off their legs and preferred to give the medicines which they had all ready, the good hospital mixtures which had been found by the experience of years to answer their purpose so well, he amused himself by writing an elaborate prescription.

“We’ll give the dispenser something to do.  If we go on prescribing mist:  alb:  he’ll lose his cunning.”

The students laughed, and the doctor gave them a circular glance of enjoyment in his joke.  Then he touched the bell and, when the porter poked his head in, said: 

“Old women, please.”

He leaned back in his chair, chatting with the H.P. while the porter herded along the old patients.  They came in, strings of anaemic girls, with large fringes and pallid lips, who could not digest their bad, insufficient food; old ladies, fat and thin, aged prematurely by frequent confinements, with winter coughs; women with this, that, and the other, the matter with them.  Dr. Tyrell and his house-physician got through them quickly.  Time was getting on, and the air in the small room was growing more sickly.  The physician looked at his watch.

“Are there many new women today?” he asked.

“A good few, I think,” said the H.P.

“We’d better have them in.  You can go on with the old ones.”

They entered.  With the men the most common ailments were due to the excessive use of alcohol, but with the women they were due to defective nourishment.  By about six o’clock they were finished.  Philip, exhausted by standing all the time, by the bad air, and by the attention he had given, strolled over with his fellow-clerks to the Medical School to have tea.  He found the work of absorbing interest.  There was humanity there in the rough, the materials the artist worked on; and Philip felt a curious thrill when it occurred to him that he was in the position of the artist and the patients were like clay in his hands.  He remembered with an amused shrug of the shoulders his life in Paris, absorbed in colour, tone, values, Heaven knows what, with the aim of producing beautiful things:  the directness of contact with men and women gave a thrill of power which he had never known.  He found an endless excitement in looking at their faces and hearing them speak; they came in each with his peculiarity, some shuffling uncouthly, some with a little trip, others with heavy, slow tread, some shyly.  Often you could guess