"If, Jim, you should find it necessary to approach another kind of relative----"
"I fear I shall find it necessary," sighed the Long 'Un.
"I was going to say," continued Koko, "that if you want to pawn anything, I'll pawn it for you. I can nip in easier than you." And with that he went quietly on his way.
Having shaved and dressed, Jim set out, as a matter of course, for the hospital. As he walked along he reviewed the situation, and the awkwardness of his present plight became clearly apparent to him.
Yesterday he was the heir to a fortune and a flourishing practice. (The asylum he left out of his calculations, as he was aware that a private institution of this kind can now--according to the law of the land--only descend from father to son, and on the death of the latter must cease to exist.) To-day he was a young man of four-and-twenty, with a medical qualification, various surgical implements, a small collection of well-thumbed works relating to his craft, a sufficient wardrobe, and some thirty shillings in cash. Thus provided, the world was before him, and he was wondering what sort of a job he and the world would make of it, when, as he blundered absent-mindedly round the corner of the street in which St Matthew's Hospital was situated, he ran plump into the stalwart form of Sir Savile Smart, the eminent specialist of whom mention has already been made.
"What--Mortimer!"
"How do you do, Sir Savile?"
The great man's moustache hid a smile as he observed: "And how many more policemen's helmets have you added to your collection?"
Jim blushed.
"You'll get a fine wigging from your grandfather if he hears of your latest adventure," added Sir Savile.