I looked at the ragged tie knotted carefully over the frayed shirt collar, at the threadbare antiquity of the jacket. His trouser knees had been darned but on one side. I caught a pink glimpse of the flesh through the material.

"No, that's all right Mr. Bailey. Just see how he goes on."

"Eh?"

"There's no charge."

"But ..."

"Now don't worry about it-it's nothing, really. Just see he gets his tablets regularly."

"I will, sir, and it's very kind of you. I never expected ..."

"I know you didn't, Mr. Bailey. Goodbye for now and bring him back if he's not a lot better in a few days."

The sound of the old man's footsteps had hardly died away when Siegfried emerged from the cupboard. "God, I've been ages hunting these down. I'm sure you deliberately hide things from me, James."

I smiled but made no reply and as I was replacing my syringe on the trolley my colleague spoke again.

"James, I don't like to mention this, but aren't you rather rash, doing work for nothing?"

I looked at him in surprise. "He was an old-age pensioner. Pretty hard up I should think."

"Maybe so, but really, you know, you just cannot give your services free."

"Oh but surely occasionally, Siegfried-in a case like this ..."

"No, James, not even occasionally. It's just not practical."

"But I've seen you do it-time and time again!"

"Me?" His eyes widened in astonishment "Never! I'm too aware of the harsh realities of life for that. Everything has become so frightfully expensive. For instance, weren't those M&B 693 tablets you were dishing out? Heaven help us, do you know those things are threepence each? It's no good-you must never work without charging."

"But dammit you're always doing it!" I burst out. "Only last week there was that ..."

Siegfried held up a restraining hand, "Please, James, please. You imagine things, that's your trouble."

I must have given him one of my most exasperated stares because he reached out and patted my shoulder.

"Believe me, my boy, I do understand. You acted from the highest possible motives and I have often been tempted to do the same. But you must be firm. These are hard times and one must be hard to survive. So remember in future-no more Robin Hood stuff, we can't afford it."

I nodded and went on my way somewhat bemusedly, but I soon forgot the incident and would have thought no more about it had I not seen Mr. Bailey about a week later.

His dog was once more on the consulting room table and Siegfried was giving it an injection. I didn't want to interfere so I went back along the passage to the front office and sat down to write in the day book. It was a summer afternoon, the window was open and through a parting in the curtain I could see the front steps.

As I wrote I heard Siegfried and the old man passing on their way to the front door. They stopped on the steps. The little dog, still on the end of its string, looked much as it did before.

"All right, Mr. Bailey," my colleague said. "I can only tell you the same as Mr. Herriot. I'm afraid he's got that cough for life, but when it gets bad you must come and see us."

"Very good, sir," the old man put his hand in his pocket. "And what is the charge, please?"

"The charge, oh yes ... the charge ..." Siegfried cleared his throat a few times but seemed unable to articulate. He kept looking from the mongrel dog to the old man's tattered clothing and back again. Then he glanced furtively into the house and spoke in a hoarse whisper.

"It's nothing, Mr. Bailey."

"But Mr. Farnon, I can't let ye ..."

"Shh! Shh!" Siegfried waved a hand agitatedly in the old man's face. "Not a word now! I don't want to hear any more about it."

Having silenced Mr. Bailey he produced a large bag.

"There's about a hundred M&B tablets in here," he said, throwing an anxious glance over his shoulder. "He's going to keep needing them, so I've given you a good supply."

I could see my colleague had spotted the hole in the trouser knee because he gazed down at it for a long time before putting his hand in his jacket pocket.

"Hang on a minute." He extracted a handful of assorted chattels. A few coins fell and rolled down the steps as he prodded in his palm among scissors, thermometers, pieces of string, bottle openers. Finally his search was rewarded and he pulled out a bank note.

"Here's a quid," he whispered and again nervously shushed the man's attempts to speak.

Mr. Bailey, realising the futility of argument, pocketed the money.

"Well, thank ye, Mr. Farnon. Ah'll take t'missus to Scarborough wi' that."

"Good lad, good lad," muttered Siegfried, still looking around him guiltily. "Now off you go."

The old man solemnly raised his cap and began to shuffle painfully down the street.

"Hey, hold on, there," my colleague called after him. "What's the matter? You're not going very well."

"It's this dang arthritis. Ah go a long way in a long time."

"And you've got to walk all the way to the council houses?" Siegfried rubbed his chin irresolutely. "It's a fair step." He took a last wary peep down the passage then beckoned with his hand.

"Look, my car's right here," he whispered. "Nip in and I'll run you home."

Some of our disagreements were sharp and short.

I was sitting at the lunch table, rubbing and flexing my elbow. Siegfried, carving enthusiastically at a joint of roast mutton, looked up from his work.

"What's the trouble, James-rheumatism?"

"No, a cow belted me with her horn this morning. Right on the funny bone."

"Oh, bad luck. Were you trying to get hold of her nose?"

"No, giving her an injection."

My colleague, transporting a slice of mutton to my plate, paused in mid-air. "Injecting her? Up there?"

"Yes, in the neck."

"Is that where you do it?"

"Yes, always have done. Why?"

"Because if I may say so, it's rather a daft place. I always use the rump."

"Is that so?" I helped myself to mashed potatoes. "And what's wrong with the neck?"

"Well, you've illustrated it yourself, haven't you? It's too damn near the horns for a start."

"Okay, well the rump is too damn near the hind feet."

"Oh, come now, James, you know very well a cow very seldom kicks after a rump injection."

"Maybe so, but once is enough."

"And once is enough with a bloody horn, isn't it?"

I made no reply, Siegfried plied the gravy boat over both our plates and we started to eat. But he had hardly swallowed the first mouthful when he returned to the attack.

"Another thing, the rump is so handy. Your way you have to squeeze up between the cows."

"Well, so what?"

"Simply that you get your ribs squashed and your toes stood on, that's all."

"All right." I spooned some green beans from the tureen. "But your way you stand an excellent chance of receiving a faceful of cow shit."

"Oh rubbish, James, you're just making excuses!" He hacked violently at his mutton.

"Not at all," I said. "It's what I believe. And anyway, you haven't made out a case against the neck."

"Made out a case? I haven't started yet. I could go on indefinitely. For instance, the neck is more painful."

"The rump is more subject to contamination," I countered.

"The neck is often thinly muscled," snapped Siegfried. "You haven't got a nice pad there to stick your needle into."

"No, and you haven't got a tail either," I growled.

"Tail? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the bloody tail! It's all right if you have somebody holding it but otherwise it's a menace, lashing about."

Siegfried gave a few rapid chews and swallowed quickly. "Lashing about? What in God's name has that got to do with it?"

"Quite a lot," I replied. "I don't like a whack across the face from a shitty tail, even if you do."

There was a heavy-breathing lull then my colleague spoke in an ominously quiet voice. "Anything else about the tail?"

"Yes, there is. Some cows can whip a syringe out of your hand with their tails. The other day one caught my big fifty cc and smashed it against a wall. Broken glass everywhere."

Siegfried flushed slightly and put down his knife and fork. "James, I don't like to speak to you in these terms, but I am bound to tell you that you are talking the most unmitigated balls, bullshit and poppycock."

I gave him a sullen glare. "That's your opinion, is it?"

"It is indeed, James."'

"Right."

"Right."

"Okay."

"Very well."

We continued our meal in silence.

But over the next few days my mind kept returning to the conversation. Siegfried has always had a persuasive way with him and the thought kept recurring that there might be a lot in what he said.

It was a week later that I paused, syringe in hand, before pushing between two cows. The animals, divining my intent as they usually did, swung their craggy hind ends together and blocked my way. Yes, by God, Siegfried had a point. Why should I fight my way in there when the other end was ready and waiting?

I came to a decision. "Hold the tail, please," I said to the farmer and pushed my needle into the rump.

The cow never moved and as I completed the injection and pulled the needle out I was conscious of a faint sense of shame. That lovely pad of gluteal muscle, the easy availability of the site-my colleague had been dead right and I had been a pigheaded fool. I knew what to do in future.

The farmer laughed as he stepped back across the dung channel. "It's a funny thing how you fellers all have your different ways."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Mr. Farnon was 'ere yesterday, injecting that cow over there."

"He was?" A sudden light flashed in my mind. Could it be that Siegfried was not the only convincing talker in our practice ...? "What about it?"

"Just that 'e had a different system from you. Had savage good arguments 'gainst goin' near the rump. He injected into the neck."

Something in my expression must have conveyed a message to him. "There now, Mr. Herriot, ye mustn't let that bother ye." He touched my arm sympathetically. "You're still young. After all, Mr. Farnon is a man of experience."

CHAPTER 26.