on their own legs," said one of the
strangers, reproachfully. "He said he couldn't walk, and he wouldn't go
to a hospital."

"Wanted to die at home," declared the sufferer. "I ain't going to be
cut about at no 'ospitals."

The two strangers stood by watching him; then they looked at each other.

"I don't want--no--'ospitals," gasped Mr. Scutts, "I'm going to have my
own doctor."

"Of course the company will pay the doctor's bill," said one of the
strangers to Mrs. Scutts, "or they'll send their own doctor. I expect
he'll be all right to-morrow."

"I 'ope so," said Mr. Scutts, "but I don't think it. Thank you for
bringing of me 'ome."

He closed his eyes languidly, and kept them closed until the men had
departed.

"Can't you walk, Bill?" inquired the tearful Mrs. Scutts.

Her husband shook his head. "You go and fetch the doctor," he said,
slowly. "That new one round the corner."

"He looks such a boy," objected Mrs. Scutts.

"You go and fetch 'im," said Mr. Scutts, raising his voice. "D'ye
hear!"

"But--" began his wife.

"If I get up to you, my gal," said the forgetful Mr. Scutts, "you'll
know it."

"Why, I thought--" said his wife, in surprise.

Mr. Scutts raised himself on the sofa and shook his fist at her. Then,
as a tribute to appearances, he sank back and groaned again. Mrs.
Scutts, looking somewhat relieved, took her bonnet from a nail and
departed.

The examination was long and tedious, but Mr. Scutts, beyond remarking
that he felt chilly, made no complaint. He endeavoured, but in vain, to
perform the tests suggested, and even did his best to stand, supported
by his medical attendant. Self-preservation is the law of Nature, and
when Mr. Scutts's legs and back gave way he saw to it that the doctor
was underneath.

"We'll have to get you up to bed," said the latter, rising slowly and
dusting himself.

Mr. Scutts, who was lying full length on the floor, acquiesced, and sent
his wife for some neighbours. One of them was a professional furniture-
remover, and, half-way up the narrow stairs, the unfortunate had to
remind him that he was dealing with a British working man, and not a
piano. Four pairs of hands deposited Mr. Scutts with mathematical
precision in the centre of the bed and then proceeded to tuck him in,
while Mrs. Scutts drew the sheet in a straight line under his chin.

"Don't look much the matter with 'im," said one of the assistants.

"You can't tell with a face