“Yes, I want to get qualified as soon as I can.”

“I’m taking it too, but I shall take the F. R. C. S. afterwards.  I’m going in for surgery.”

Most of the students took the curriculum of the Conjoint Board of the College of Surgeons and the College of Physicians; but the more ambitious or the more industrious added to this the longer studies which led to a degree from the University of London.  When Philip went to St. Luke’s changes had recently been made in the regulations, and the course took five years instead of four as it had done for those who registered before the autumn of 1892.  Dunsford was well up in his plans and told Philip the usual course of events.  The “first conjoint” examination consisted of biology, anatomy, and chemistry; but it could be taken in sections, and most fellows took their biology three months after entering the school.  This science had been recently added to the list of subjects upon which the student was obliged to inform himself, but the amount of knowledge required was very small.

When Philip went back to the dissecting-room, he was a few minutes late, since he had forgotten to buy the loose sleeves which they wore to protect their shirts, and he found a number of men already working.  His partner had started on the minute and was busy dissecting out cutaneous nerves.  Two others were engaged on the second leg, and more were occupied with the arms.

“You don’t mind my having started?”

“That’s all right, fire away,” said Philip.

He took the book, open at a diagram of the dissected part, and looked at what they had to find.

“You’re rather a dab at this,” said Philip.

“Oh, I’ve done a good deal of dissecting before, animals, you know, for the Pre Sci.”

There was a certain amount of conversation over the dissecting-table, partly about the work, partly about the prospects of the football season, the demonstrators, and the lectures.  Philip felt himself a great deal older than the others.  They were raw schoolboys.  But age is a matter of knowledge rather than of years; and Newson, the active young man who was dissecting with him, was very much at home with his subject.  He was perhaps not sorry to show off, and he explained very fully to Philip what he was about.  Philip, notwithstanding his hidden stores of wisdom, listened meekly.  Then Philip took up the scalpel and the tweezers and began working while the other looked on.

“Ripping to have him so thin,” said Newson, wiping his hands.  “The blighter can’t have had anything to eat for a month.”

“I wonder what he died of,” murmured Philip.

“Oh, I don’t know, any old thing, starvation chiefly, I suppose....  I say, look out, don’t cut that artery.”

“It’s all very fine to say, don’t cut that artery,” remarked one of the men working on the opposite leg.  “Silly old fool’s got an artery in the wrong place.”