My mind
had been so centred upon the essentials for the practice,
that I had never given a thought to my own private wants.
I slept that night upon the irons of my bed, and rose up
like St. Lawrence from the gridiron. My second suit of
clothes with Bristowe's "Principles of Medicine" made an
excellent pillow, while on a warm June night a man
can do well wrapped in his overcoat. I had no fancy for
second-hand bed-clothes, and determined until I could buy
some new ones, to make myself a straw pillow, and to put
on both my suits of clothes on the colder nights. Two
days later, however, the problem was solved in more
luxurious style by the arrival of a big brown tin box
from my mother, which was as welcome to me, and as much
of a windfall, as the Spanish wreck to Robinson Crusoe.
There were too pairs of thick blankets, two sheets, a
counterpane, a pillow, a camp-stool, two stuffed bears'
paws (of all things in this world!), two terra-cotta
vases, a tea-cosy, two pictures in frames, several books,
an ornamental ink-pot, and a number of antimacassars and
coloured tablecloths. It is not until you own a table
with a deal top and mahogany legs, that you understand
what the true inner meaning of an ornamental cloth is.
Right on the top of this treasure came a huge hamper from
the Apothecaries' Society with the drugs which I had
ordered. When they were laid out in line, the bottles
extended right down one side of the dining-room and
half down the other.
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