He was such a noble, stalky, bony affair, his gold eyeglasses laid aside for the time being, his tweeds and carefully laundered linen all dispensed with during his stay here.  As he came, meticulously and gingerly and quite undone by his efforts, from under the water, where he had been most roughly urged by Culhane, I hoped that he and not I would continue to be seized upon by this savage who seemed to take infinite delight in disturbing the social and intellectual poise of us all.

“Soap yourself!” exclaimed the latter most harshly now that the bather was out in the room once more.  “Soap your chest!  Soap your stomach!  Soap your arms, damn it!  Soap your arms!  And don’t rub them all day either!  Now soap your legs, damn it!  Soap your legs!  Don’t you know how to soap your legs!  Don’t stand there all day!  Soap your legs!  Now turn round and soap your back—­soap your back!  For Christ’s sake, soap your back!  Do it quick—­quick!  Now come back under the water again and see if you can get it off.  Don’t act as though you were cold molasses!  Move!  Move!  Lord, you act as though you had all day—­as though you had never taken a bath in your life!  I never saw such an old poke.  You come up here and expect me to do some things for you, and then you stand around as though you were made of bone!  Quick now, move!”

The noble jurist did as demanded—­that is, as quickly as he could—­only the mental inadequacy and feebleness which he displayed before all the others, of course, was the worst of his cruel treatment here, and in this as in many instances it cut deep.  So often it was the shock to one’s dignity more than anything else which hurt so, to be called an old poke when one was perhaps a grave and reverent senior, or to be told that one was made of bone when one was a famous doctor or merchant.  Once under the water this particular specimen had begun by nervously rubbing his hands and face in order to get the soap off, and when shouted at and abused for that had then turned his attention to one other spot—­the back of his left forearm.

Mine host seemed enraged.  “Well, well!” he exclaimed irascibly, watching him as might a hawk.  “Are you going to spend all day rubbing that one spot?  For God’s sake, don’t you know enough to rub your whole body and get out from under the water?  Move!  Move!  Rub your chest!  Rub your belly!  Hell, rub your back!  Rub your toes and get out!”

When routed from the ludicrous effort of vigorously rubbing one spot he was continually being driven on to some other, as though his body were some vast complex machine which he had never rightly understood before.  He was very much flustered of course and seemed wholly unable to grasp how it was done, let alone please his exacting host.

“Come on!” insisted the latter finally and wearily.  “Get out from under the water.  A lot you know about washing yourself!  For a man who has been on the bench for fifteen years you’re the dullest person I ever met.  If you bathe like that at home, how do you keep clean?  Come on out and dry yourself!”