it; feel you must do some silly thing just to show the men—quite unnecessary, but quite natural. Always—before some new big or strange occasion. Especially if you happen to be sensitive"
He ceased, and puffed steadily at his pipe, while Kit, drawing forward on his chair, with his elbows on his knees, seemed to absorb the warmth of the fire and another warmth that was his father's understanding sympathy.
"I had it badly last night."
"O," said Sorrell, "how's that?"
"Good for my conceit,—I suppose. Simply took me like an attack of gastric 'flu. It is my first big 'op.' to-morrow."
Sorrell nodded a slow, wise head.
"Yes,—Kennard is laid up,—and I have to do the thing for him. A pretty tricky case, a papilloma of the bladder,—apparently. Depends a bit on what you find,—and on your fingers. The idea did not worry me at first—and then—suddenly"
He bit hard on the stem of his pipe.
"Realized I should be the centre of everything, responsible, in the big theatre, full of students, critical, with that hard-eyed old tough of an instrument sister—Nurse Biggar—squinting at my hands. It came on me suddenly,—supposing I make a fumbling mess of it, get stage fright. Men do,—you know."
Again Sorrell nodded.
"Some. I suppose there is always this first test; elimination. The climber has to face his first nasty bit of flycrawling. But—you—will be all right."
He looked at his son.
"How do I know? Because I feel sure of it,—somehow. After all these years—it wouldn't be possible. Not for me"
"Pater!" said Kit suddenly,—and held a sidelong hand towards his father.
"Not for me—old chap. Impossible"
"To let you down."
"O,—not that—only."
He sat and stared at the fire, and his face seemed to grow luminous.
"I should like to be there."
