As the curtain rises, Dr. Palely is apprehended walking slowly in a circle within a bare, white-washed room. In the center of the circle upon a swivel chair sits a Wistful Youth. In his mouth is firmly embedded a large wooden bath thermometer. After a lapse of about three minutes Dr. Palely speaks.

Dr. Palely. Where does it hurt most?

Wistful Youth. Ummbgysh.

Immediately, with the acute perception of the medical profession, Dr. Palely grasps the situation and the thermometer.

Dr. P. Now you may speak freely.

W. Y. Well, Doc, it's just like I'm telling you--

At this point, Dr. Palely, with a catlike spring, bounds from the corner where he has been mixing his iodine and argyrol cocktall.

Dr. P. Here, you had better drink this. Now you had better undress.

W. Y. Why, Doctor!

Dr. P. Yes, I mean it. How do you expect me to examine your throat?

W. Y. But

Dr. P. Now, please, that other trouser leg.

W. Y. But Doctor, all I want is to he signed off.

Dr. P. My Secretary will see to that, if your condition warrants it.

W. Y. But Doctor, I'm not in condition . . .