“Do I amuse you?” he asked icily.

“I see you’re fond of books.  You can always tell by the way people handle them.”

 Doctor South put down the novel immediately.

“Breakfast at eight-thirty,” he said and left the room.

“What a funny old fellow!” thought Philip.

He soon discovered why Doctor South’s assistants found it difficult to get on with him.  In the first place, he set his face firmly against all the discoveries of the last thirty years:  he had no patience with the drugs which became modish, were thought to work marvellous cures, and in a few years were discarded; he had stock mixtures which he had brought from St. Luke’s where he had been a student, and had used all his life; he found them just as efficacious as anything that had come into fashion since.  Philip was startled at Doctor South’s suspicion of asepsis; he had accepted it in deference to universal opinion; but he used the precautions which Philip had known insisted upon so scrupulously at the hospital with the disdainful tolerance of a man playing at soldiers with children.

“I’ve seen antiseptics come along and sweep everything before them, and then I’ve seen asepsis take their place.  Bunkum!”

The young men who were sent down to him knew only hospital practice; and they came with the unconcealed scorn for the General Practitioner which they had absorbed in the air at the hospital; but they had seen only the complicated cases which appeared in the wards; they knew how to treat an obscure disease of the suprarenal bodies, but were helpless when consulted for a cold in the head.  Their knowledge was theoretical and their self-assurance unbounded.  Doctor South watched them with tightened lips; he took a savage pleasure in showing them how great was their ignorance and how unjustified their conceit.  It was a poor practice, of fishing folk, and the doctor made up his own prescriptions.  Doctor South asked his assistant how he expected to make both ends meet if he gave a fisherman with a stomach-ache a mixture consisting of half a dozen expensive drugs.  He complained too that the young medical men were uneducated:  their reading consisted of The Sporting Times and The British Medical Journal; they could neither write a legible hand nor spell correctly.  For two or three days Doctor South watched Philip closely, ready to fall on him with acid sarcasm if he gave him the opportunity; and Philip, aware of this, went about his work with a quiet sense of amusement.  He was pleased with the change of occupation.  He liked the feeling of independence and of responsibility.  All sorts of people came to the consulting-room.  He was gratified because he seemed able to inspire his patients with confidence; and it was entertaining to watch the process of cure which at a hospital necessarily could be watched only at distant intervals.  His rounds took him into low-roofed cottages in which were fishing tackle and sails and here and there mementoes of deep-sea travelling, a lacquer box from Japan, spears and oars from Melanesia, or daggers from the bazaars of Stamboul; there was an air of romance in the stuffy little rooms, and the salt of the sea gave them a bitter freshness.  Philip liked to talk to the sailor-men, and when they found that he was not supercilious they told him long yarns of the distant journeys of their youth.