CHAPTER IV.
Letter from Professor Hamilton Spence to his friend, John Rogers, M.D.
DEAR Bones: Chortle if you want to--your worst prognostications have come true.

The unexpectedness of the sciatic nerve, as set forth in your parting discourse, has amply proved itself.

The dashed thing is all that you said of it--and more.

It did not even permit me to collapse gracefully--or to choose my public.

Your other man had a policeman, hadn't he?
Here I am, stranded upon a sofa from which I cannot get up and detained indefinitely upon a mountain from which I cannot get down.