was a fine opportunity to carry my theories into practice. I sat still, encouraged without doubt by the composure of the other passenger.

After a mad race of a quarter of a mile or so, the horses turned into an alley, the pole of the carriage struck a telephone pole and broke off, the right fore wheel collided with a heavy curb, and the frenzied brutes, entangled in their broken harness, came to a standstill, snorting and trembling. When the crash came, the carriage careened like a sinking ship, then settled and came down on its four wheels intact. The other passenger opened the door; we alighted, both a little pale and pretty well shaken up. As familiar objects flashed past us in our flight, the events of my whole life did not pass before me, as they are commonly supposed to do in moments of deadly peril, nor did I make any solemn vow to repent of my sins and make fitting reparation in the future. I knew perfectly well, even in that somewhat incoherent frame of mind, that I should not really repent of my sins, and that I could not make reparation if I tried. My one thought was pre-eminently practical and sordid: "I shall be killed, and my accident insurance policy has lapsed!"

When I reached Chicago, I went without delay to the office, and took out another policy, a prudential measure that was destined to be rewarded. I did not get the policy under any sort of false pretences. I told the secretary that early in life I had formed the

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habit of breaking my bones, and up to that time the record stood one arm, and two knees, or rather one knee, twice; there was also a miscellaneous and unimportant list of semi-drownings, falls, and other hair-breadth escapes.

The secretary set the confession down to an attempt to be humorous, issued the policy, and I thought no more about it, except on such occasions as it became necessary for me to pay the too frequently recurring premium.

On Monday- to return to the main narrative after this divergence-the insurance company was notified, and that evening its surgeon called to see the extent of the accident, and to give them some idea as to what it was to cost them before they had done with it. When he came into the room, I saw a tall, handsome young man, with features of classical regularity, fair complexion, fair hair, and a pair of remarkable eyebrows, in that they were not only perfectly arched, but jet black. It was a singular combination, and one that I remembered to have seen but once before in my life. He came to the bedside, and sat down.

"What is your name?" I asked rather abruptly. It was familiarity that could be ventured without undue rashness in the case of a young examining surgeon of an accident insurance company, and I meanly took advantage of the opportunity.

"Dr. H," he replied.

I looked at him again, and the identity of the familiar face was identified.

"Ernest H-?" I asked again.

"Yes," he replied.

Years before he had been a pupil of mine, and I recalled him standing by my side, a white-haired urchin, eagerly receiving instruction in common fractions. I remembered him as a manly, honest, industrious, persevering lad; but I had not thought of him for years. His career had been one which the freedom and opportunity of the great Republic makes possible to those who are disposed to take advantage of them.

His father had been a plasterer a poor man. The lad was taken from school to help support the family. He became a potter, and went west — to Kansas, to Colorado, to California. In his ramblings

he lodged in a house with a young medical student, and became interested in medicine from hearing his friend read his text-books. He began to study himself, saved his money, entered a Chicago medical college, took his degree, and had just received his appointment while waiting to build up a city practice. We of course talked over the old days, and the strange chance that had brought him to my bedside after years of wandering and the thousand changes and dangers that had come to both.

At the time he was under my instruction I was enjoying one of my recurrent lamenesses; and I

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reminded him of this, and of the entire recovery that followed.

He remembered me as his teacher a dim and shadowy figure that had risen suddenly out of a dim and shadowy past; I was venerable, not to say archaic, in the estimate of his keen and merciless youth. The hideous foot was unrolled, displayed, examined. I waited desperately for his verdict. He looked at it critically, handled it gingerly and professionally.

"How long will it be before I can use it?" I at last managed to inquire. "You know I recovered from that second dislocation without much trouble."

He continued to prod and peer in silence. Then he looked up, and said, with the cruelty of the scientific devotee who under certain circumstances ceases to be human: "Yes, but you were younger then. Now" (a pause), "now your age is against you."

In my bruised and broken state revolt was useless. I bore it as I had borne all the untoward events, the deadly disappointment, the nerve-racking anguish of the preceding forty-eight hours, and I lay back on my pillow with a moan. In the weeks of tedious and painful convalescence that followed my one dread was that the revolution would come and I not be there to see. I had tormented the long-suffering managing editor to distraction, and wrested a promise, reluctantly and hesitatingly given - for he had had

more time in which to think about it—that I should go as soon as I was able to travel. I opened the morning paper every day with precisely the same emotion of dread and relief.

The crutches which had served me so faithfully in the two preceding engagements were sent for, and in due time the injured limb was encased in a silicate cast from the knee to the toes. The latter were exposed, and could be covered only by a man's sock, which was all that would go over the cast. Over this, to prevent the sock from becoming soiled and ragged, was worn a man's No. 10 india-rubber overshoe. A leather shoe of that size, with the weight of the cast, would have been a burden to carry, and a slipper would have been difficult to keep on. The only possible compensation that this structure offered was that it made the other foot look fairy-like by comparison.

The latter part of January the surgeon gave me permission to visit a friend in the West Side. My health by this time was seriously affected, and it was thought that the change of scene would be beneficial. A fortnight passed delightfully, with no evil tidings from the prospective seat of war. On Saturday evening, February 4th, when Mr. P-, the husband of my friend, returned from his office, his wife met him in the hall, carefully closing the door behind her. All this time, during the entire fortnight, I had talked of nothing but Hawaii, boring