I.

"If you give that handle a sharp turn to the left, she'll star," said the Doctor.

"That's all very well," I replied, "but for the last ten minutes I've been giving it turns to the left sharp enough to shave with."

I'm awfully sorry. I see I've forgotten to turn on the magneto. It's silly of you to expect her to go without the magneto. Try again now."

We started then, and had not been going long when a rooster crossed our bows some fifty yards ahead.

"If you run over that rooster," I said, in one of those unguarded moments that come to me on a fine day when I'm trying to forget all about Garrow, "you will be guilty of a tort, and his next of kin will sue you for damages."

"What is a tort?" asked the Doctor, and the tragedy was afoot.

"Surely you know what a tort is. If you don't, I shan't tell you, because it's already had far too much attention paid to it in a book by a man called Salmond, and I don't intend to make it more conceited than it is."

The Doctor laughed. It was a nasty laugh and I could tell from the key in which it was pitched that it was not at any joke of mine.

"I suppose you think that, because I got only 15 percent. In Garrow's last exam., I don't know what a tort is. You mustn't put too much faith in those marks, because it's only Johnny Morrison who corrects the papers, and he knows less about the law than most people. I'll show you: "A tort is"—and I gave him the full definition, just leaving out a few lines and some of the more important words for the sake of brevity.

"I see," he said. So if I catch a man in my house at the dead of night letting my pet stethoscope off the chain or some of my favourite pastilles out of their tin for a run, I catch him at a tort."

"You catch him at a very inopportune time. Perhaps my definition forgot to tell you that a tort is a civil page 37 wrong, and no civil wrong would disturb you at that time of the night. Your true tort, whatever else he may be, is always punctiliously polite."

"I see. Well, suppose I have a patient—"

"Hold on," I interrupted, "can't you find enough examples among the probabilities?'

"Suppose I have a patient," he continued, with a fine assumption of contempt, "who comes to me for examination. When I ask him for my fee he executes a simple parry and asks me for the loan of a bob. Do I sue him for a tort."

"No, you kick him for a retort. Stupid. If my definition did not mention that a tort is not a breach of contract, it was only because that is an open secret, known to all the best families."

"A very open definition, too; in fact, the quintessence of philanthropy. Don't you think, though, it overdoes it just a little on the generous side? But I see now. Suppose I leave—"

"Suppose you leave off. I'll buy you Salmond's pretty book for your next birthday. You'll find it most exciting and I don't want to spoil your pleasure by telling you the whole plot of the story now."

The Doctor laughed. It was a nasty laugh and I could tell from the key in which it was pitched that it was not at any joke of mine.