expression. ‘Has he perforated, or something?’
‘I don’t know, sir. But he sounded proper worried when he gave me the message.’
‘Oh, it’s probably something about my moving in with them today.’ Sir Lancelot drained his coffee. ‘Very well, I’ll put him out of his misery.’
He found the dean alone in his room, bouncing agitatedly on the edge of his chair. ‘Ah! Lancelot. Thank God. Yes. Well. How are you feeling?’
The surgeon gave a broad grin. ‘I might say, my dear Dean, that I have never felt better in my life than at this particular moment.’
‘Splendid!’ said the dean heartily.
Sir Lancelot noisily whisked a pinch of snuff into his nostrils. ‘What’s splendid about it?’ he asked less cheerfully. ‘You told me yourself that’s exactly what I had to expect. A euphoric feeling of well-being – your exact words. Then in six months…woomph.’
‘Woomph,’ repeated the dean weakly, mopping his forehead with his handkerchief.
‘Though I suppose now it’s down to twenty-five weeks,’ Sir Lancelot calculated gloomily. ‘I say, Dean, are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes, I’ve just my usual worries–’
‘Perhaps my disease is catching?’ Sir Lancelot suggested with some enthusiasm. ‘You might have it, too.’
‘That would be impossible. From you, I mean. You see, you haven’t got it.’
‘My dear Dean,’ said Sir Lancelot gently. ‘I appreciate your humanity in trying to leave me with a little hope, but I assure you I am resigned to my fate. There is no need to pull the wool over my eyes – even if you could.’
‘But you haven’t got it. It was all a mistake. A clerical error.’
Sir Lancelot frowned. ‘Pray explain.’
‘The X-rays got muddled up.’ The dean miserably indicated two sets of radiographs on his desk. ‘I wanted a real stinker for the students in my class exam this morning. So I asked the X-ray department to look out something from the museum. I suggested Asiatic diseases. Rare ones.’
‘H’m,’ said Sir Lancelot.
‘But the girl in X-ray put the films in the wrong envelopes. I thought they were the ones I’d had specially taken of you.’ He drummed his fingers on his desk. ‘Mistakes will happen,’ he added in a faint voice.
‘Good God!’ roared Sir Lancelot. He sprang to his feet and started pacing the office. His expression, which a moment ago recalled a bear who had swallowed a honeypot, now indicated the creature had ingested the bees as well. ‘How in the name of sanity can such malpractice, such muddle, such a bleeding cock-up, occur in a well-organized place like St Swithin’s ? It’s as bad as cutting off the wrong leg.’
‘I suppose the girl was lackadaisical, as they all are in these times,’ the dean continued uncomfortably. ‘She’s the rather flighty sort, I understand from my house physician. And of course inexperienced, being one of the young radiography pupils.’
‘What’s this witless female’s name?’
The dean glanced at his desk-jotter. ‘A Miss Gray.’
Sir Lancelot grunted. ‘And she condemned me to death.’
‘She’ll have to go, of course. No doubt about that. I’ll see the senior radiologist directly.’
‘Then what was my blasted cough due to?’
The dean looked lost.
‘ I know!’ Sir Lancelot slapped his waistcoat pocket. ‘I was trying a new brand of snuff.’
‘Look on the bright side, Lancelot. You may have been condemned to death, but now you are reprieved. You will live, doubtless to the ripest of old ages. Surely that fills your heart with joy? Why, you have nothing else whatever to worry about in the world.’
Sir Lancelot stopped pacing. He stroked his beard. ‘I wouldn’t be too certain about that.’
‘But I don’t follow? You’re perfectly healthy. Quite as fit as the entire St Swithin’s rugger team.’
‘Do you know where I’ve been this past week?’
‘With your solicitors.’
‘No. With the matron in Le Touquet.’
Sir Lancelot sat down
‘I don’t know, sir. But he sounded proper worried when he gave me the message.’
‘Oh, it’s probably something about my moving in with them today.’ Sir Lancelot drained his coffee. ‘Very well, I’ll put him out of his misery.’
He found the dean alone in his room, bouncing agitatedly on the edge of his chair. ‘Ah! Lancelot. Thank God. Yes. Well. How are you feeling?’
The surgeon gave a broad grin. ‘I might say, my dear Dean, that I have never felt better in my life than at this particular moment.’
‘Splendid!’ said the dean heartily.
Sir Lancelot noisily whisked a pinch of snuff into his nostrils. ‘What’s splendid about it?’ he asked less cheerfully. ‘You told me yourself that’s exactly what I had to expect. A euphoric feeling of well-being – your exact words. Then in six months…woomph.’
‘Woomph,’ repeated the dean weakly, mopping his forehead with his handkerchief.
‘Though I suppose now it’s down to twenty-five weeks,’ Sir Lancelot calculated gloomily. ‘I say, Dean, are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes, I’ve just my usual worries–’
‘Perhaps my disease is catching?’ Sir Lancelot suggested with some enthusiasm. ‘You might have it, too.’
‘That would be impossible. From you, I mean. You see, you haven’t got it.’
‘My dear Dean,’ said Sir Lancelot gently. ‘I appreciate your humanity in trying to leave me with a little hope, but I assure you I am resigned to my fate. There is no need to pull the wool over my eyes – even if you could.’
‘But you haven’t got it. It was all a mistake. A clerical error.’
Sir Lancelot frowned. ‘Pray explain.’
‘The X-rays got muddled up.’ The dean miserably indicated two sets of radiographs on his desk. ‘I wanted a real stinker for the students in my class exam this morning. So I asked the X-ray department to look out something from the museum. I suggested Asiatic diseases. Rare ones.’
‘H’m,’ said Sir Lancelot.
‘But the girl in X-ray put the films in the wrong envelopes. I thought they were the ones I’d had specially taken of you.’ He drummed his fingers on his desk. ‘Mistakes will happen,’ he added in a faint voice.
‘Good God!’ roared Sir Lancelot. He sprang to his feet and started pacing the office. His expression, which a moment ago recalled a bear who had swallowed a honeypot, now indicated the creature had ingested the bees as well. ‘How in the name of sanity can such malpractice, such muddle, such a bleeding cock-up, occur in a well-organized place like St Swithin’s ? It’s as bad as cutting off the wrong leg.’
‘I suppose the girl was lackadaisical, as they all are in these times,’ the dean continued uncomfortably. ‘She’s the rather flighty sort, I understand from my house physician. And of course inexperienced, being one of the young radiography pupils.’
‘What’s this witless female’s name?’
The dean glanced at his desk-jotter. ‘A Miss Gray.’
Sir Lancelot grunted. ‘And she condemned me to death.’
‘She’ll have to go, of course. No doubt about that. I’ll see the senior radiologist directly.’
‘Then what was my blasted cough due to?’
The dean looked lost.
‘ I know!’ Sir Lancelot slapped his waistcoat pocket. ‘I was trying a new brand of snuff.’
‘Look on the bright side, Lancelot. You may have been condemned to death, but now you are reprieved. You will live, doubtless to the ripest of old ages. Surely that fills your heart with joy? Why, you have nothing else whatever to worry about in the world.’
Sir Lancelot stopped pacing. He stroked his beard. ‘I wouldn’t be too certain about that.’
‘But I don’t follow? You’re perfectly healthy. Quite as fit as the entire St Swithin’s rugger team.’
‘Do you know where I’ve been this past week?’
‘With your solicitors.’
‘No. With the matron in Le Touquet.’
Sir Lancelot sat down
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