They went to London and bought some cheap furniture, arranging to pay for this at the rate of a few pounds a month during the next year.

On Thursday morning Andrew began work at the west surgery. His first patient was a man with a bad knee, who wanted a doctor's note stating that he was not fit for work. Andrew examined his knee and gave him his note. But the next three patients also asked for doctor's notes.

Andrew got up, opened the door of the waiting room, and called out: 'How many more men want sick notes? Stand up, please.'

Forty men were waiting and they all stood up.

It was half past ten when Andrew finished his surgery. Then an old man with a red face walked into his room. This was Dr Urquhart.

'Heavens, man!' said Urquhart, without a word of introduction. 'Where have you been during these last two days? I had to do your work for you. Never mind! Never mind! I'll say no more about it. Come and meet Gadge. He's a miserable man, but he's good at his work.'

Andrew followed Urquhart into another room, where Gadge, a thin man with a sad expression, took hardly any notice of him.

'Well,' said Urquhart, after introducing them, 'is there anything that you would like to know?'

'I'm worried about the number of sick notes that I had to sign this morning.' Andrew told him. 'Some of the men seemed quite fit for work. A doctor shouldn't give sick notes for no reason.'

Urquhart looked at him quickly. 'Take care! The men will be annoyed if you refuse them their sick notes.'

For the only time that morning, Gadge made a remark: 'That's because there's nothing wrong with most of them!'

All that day, Andrew worried about the sick notes. He decided to give no more unless they were really necessary. He went to his evening surgery with an anxious but determined expression.

The crowd was larger than at the morning surgery. The first patient to enter was a big, fat man who looked as if he had never done an honest day's work in his life. His name was Ben Chenkin.

'Sick note!' he said roughly.

'What for?' Andrew asked.

Chenkin held out his hand. 'Skin disease. Look!'

Andrew could see at once that there was nothing seriously wrong with Chenkin. He rose from his seat. 'Take off your clothes,' he ordered him.

Chenkin now asked: 'What for?'

'I'm going to examine you.'

Chenkin, who had never been examined by the last doctor, undressed.

Andrew carried out a long examination. Then he said sharply: 'Dress again, Chenkin.' He sat down and began to write out a note.