the fact that he had obtained a place gave sam a new sense of importance. having drifted about the city streets for six months, never knowing in the morning where his meals were to come from during the day, or whether he was to have any, it was pleasant to think that he was to have regular wages. he presented himself in good season the next morning.

he was waiting outside when the doctor arrived.

"so you are on hand," said dr. graham.

"yes, sir."

"by the way, what is your name?"

"sam barker."

"very well, sam, come upstairs with me."

sam followed the doctor to his office.

the doctor surveyed his young assistant with critical eyes.

"where do you buy your clothes?" he asked.

"i haven't bought any," said sam. "i brought these from the country."

"they seem to be considerably the worse for wear. in fact, your appearance doesn't do credit to my establishment."

"i do look rather ragged," said sam; "but i haven't got enough money to buy any new clothes."

"i have a son two years older than you. he may have some old clothes that would suit you. i'll have a bundle made up, and brought down to the office to-morrow."

"thank you, sir," said sam.

the doctor kept his promise, and the next day our hero was enabled to throw aside his rags, and attire himself in a neat gray suit, which considerably improved his outward appearance.

"now," said the doctor, "i would suggest that a little more attention to washing would be of advantage to you."

"all right, sir; i'll remember."

sam scrubbed himself to a considerable degree of cleanness, and combed his hair. the ultimate result was a very creditable-looking office boy.

"now," said the doctor, "i expect you to be faithful to my interests."

sam readily promised this. already he formed glowing anticipations of learning the business, and succeeding the doctor; or, at any rate, being admitted to partnership at some future day.

several weeks passed by. considering his previous course of life, sam acquitted himself very well. he opened the office in the morning, swept it out, and got it in order before the doctor arrived. during the day he ran on errands, distributed circulars, in fact made himself generally useful. the doctor was rather irregular in coming in the morning, so that sam was sometimes obliged to wait for him two or three hours. one morning, when sitting at his ease reading the morning paper, he was aroused by a knock at the door.

he rose and opened it.

"is the doctor in?" asked a young man of irish extraction.

"hasn't come yet," said sam. "would you like to see him?"

"i would thin. he's the man that cures corns, isn't he?"

"yes," said sam. "he's the best corn-doctor in the city."

"thin i've come to the right place, sure."

"have you got one?"

"i've got a murtherin' big one. it almost kills me."

"step in and wait for the doctor. he'll be in soon."

"i'm in a great hurry," said the young man. "it's porter i am in a store down town, and i can't stay long. how much does the doctor charge?"

"a dollar for each corn."

"o murder! does he now?"

"isn't it worth that?"

"it's a mighty big price to pay."

"you see," said sam, "he's a famous doctor; that's why he charges so much."

"i don't care for that at all. i'm a poor man, and it's hard on me payin' that much."

here an idea struck sam. he had often witnessed the doctor's operations, and to his inexperienced mind they seemed easy enough to perform. why couldn't he operate a little on his own account before the doctor came? by so doing he would make a little money, and if successful he would have a future source of revenue, as patients often came when he was alone.

"i'm the doctor's assistant," he commenced.

"are you now? so you're the young doctor?"

"yes," said sam.

"then it's a mighty young doctor ye are."

"i know it," said sam. "i've learnt the trade of dr. graham."

"do you work at it much?" asked the patient.

"yes," said sam, "when the doctor's away. i aint as good as he is," he admitted candidly, "and that is why i work cheaper."

"you work cheaper, do yer?"

"yes," said sam. "i only charge half price."

"that's fifty cents."

"yes."

"and do you think you could cure me?"

"of course i could," said sam, confidently.

"then go ahead," said the irishman, in a fit of reckless confidence which he was destined to repent.

"sit down there," said sam, pointing out the patient's chair.

the patient obeyed.

"now take off your boots. you don't think i can cut through the boot, do you?"

he was obeyed.

sam began to fumble among the sharp instruments.

"what are you goin to do?" asked the patient, rather alarmed.

"oh, don't be afraid," said sam. "you won't feel it."

"won't feel the knife?"

"no, i'm goin to put on some liquid that'll take away the feeling."

"shure you ought to know," said the patient, his confidence returning.

"of course i do," said sam.

"now sit still."

thus far sam was perfectly self-possessed. he went about his preparations with an air that imposed upon the patient. but the difficulty was to come.

things which look easy often are found difficult when attempted. when sam began to wield the doctor's instruments he did so awkwardly. he lacked that delicacy of touch which can only be acquired by practice, and the result was tragical. the knife slipped, inflicting a deep gash, and causing a quick flow of blood.

"oh, murder, i'm kilt!" exclaimed the terrified patient, bounding to his feet, and rushing frantically round the room. "i'm bladin' to death."

sam was almost equally frightened. he stood, with the knife in his hand, panic-stricken.

"i'll have you up for murder, i will!" shouted mr. dennis o'brien, clutching the wounded member. "oh, why did i ever come to a boy doctor? oh, whirra, whirra!"

"i didn't mean to do it," said sam, frightened.

"you'll be hanged for killin' me, bad 'cess to you. go for a doctor, quick."

almost out of his wits sam was about to obey, when as he opened the door he confronted his employer. under ordinary circumstances he would have been sorry to have him come in so soon. now he was glad.

"what's the meaning of all this?" asked dr. graham, surveying with astonishment the irishman prancing around the office, and sam's scared face.

"he's kilt me, doctor," said dennis, groaning.

"he? who?"

"the young doctor, shure."

"who's he?"

"that's the one," said mr. o'brien, pointing to sam. "he's cut my toe off, and i'm bladin' to death."

"what does this mean, sam?" said the doctor, sternly.

"he was in a hurry," stammered sam, "and i didn't want him to go away, so i thought i'd try to cure him, but the knife slipped, and—"

"i'll attend to your case afterwards. sit down, sir."

"will i die?" asked dennis, lugubriously.

"no danger, now. you might, if i hadn't come just as i did."

matters were soon remedied, and dennis went away relieved, well satisfied because the doctor declined, under the circumstances, to receive any fee.

"now, sam," said the doctor, after he had gone, "what do you mean by such work as this?"

"i thought i could do it," said sam, abashed.

"i ought to turn you away for this."

"it was only a mistake," said sam.

"it came near being a very serious mistake. what would you have done if i had not come just as i did?"

"i don't know," said sam.

"never touch my instruments again. if you do i shall discharge you at once; that is, after giving you a sound flogging."

sam felt that he had got off easily, and determined not to set up again as doctor on his own account.