I was placed in a chair around which were grouped powerful lights for examination purposes. Companion Yamamata, who was scrutinizing some notes, immediately stood up and introduced himself, peremptorily dismissing the Chinamen. He was young and good-looking in the intellectual Japanese manner; wore a long white coat having the sleeves rolled up; and as he rose from the table where he had been reading the notes, he laid down a pair of tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses and looked at me with humorous, penetrating eyes. He spoke perfect English. “I am glad that you are becoming a Companion, Mr. Sterling,” he said. “Your province of science is not mine, but I am given to understand by Trenck that you are a botanist of distinction. Your medical history”—he tapped the pages before him—“is good, except for malarial trouble.” I stared at him perhaps somewhat stupidly. His manner was utterly disarming. “How do you know that I have had malaria?” I asked. “I don’t think I display any symptoms at the moment.”
