down, and tell me what is the matter.”
She took the chair nearest her, and he sat down in a swivel office chair
behind a pedestal desk and fingered a pencil.
“I’m not feeling very—great just at present,” she began,
hesitatingly.
He answered briskly: “I should think not. You oughtn’t to expect to feel
great the day after you’ve been half drowned.”
The opportunity came. She lurched forward to take it “By the way, I ought
to tell you—I’m I’m sorry for the way I behaved yesterday. It was
very—ungrateful of me—to—to—”
He held up his hand imperiously. “No, no, you mustn’t do that. I’m not
here to receive apologies. So far as I’m concerned, none are needed…I’m
here to attend to your physical ailments. Tell me exactly what they are.”
She was floundering. She said the first thing that came into her head. “I
get—palpitation. Here.” She touched her heart. Some sudden perception
of comedy assailed her for the moment, so that she was hard put to it to
prevent herself from bursting into peals of laughter.
“Probably due to your adventure yesterday. Or else indigestion…I’ll
sound your heart if you like.”
He reached out his hand and was on the point of pressing the bell-knob to
summon the nurse. Panic seized her. “No—it—it doesn’t matter. I’m
sure my heart’s all right.”
“In the right place, for instance?”
She stared at him and saw the narrow slits of his eyes screwed round into
the tiniest of wrinkles. He was laughing at her. That drove away her panic
and made her righteously indignant. What right had a doctor to poke fun at
his patients?
“I’ll write you out a prescription,” he went on, opening a note-book. “It
is what we call ‘the usual.’ It is for people who suffer from the distressing
complaint of having nothing at all the matter with them. Quite an epidemic of
it in Chassingford since I came.”
“Then perhaps it’s a good thing you’re going. You are going, aren’t
you?”
“Yes, I am going.”
He put down his pencil with an air of finality and handed her the
scribbled prescription.
She took it and crumpled it into her handbag. “Are you going to the South
Pole?” she asked with uncompromising abruptness.
“I hope so…”
“You hope you are going?”
“I hope I get there.”
She rose from her chair and held out her hand. The interview had to be
finished somehow, and the thought of the crowded waiting-room urged her to be
brief, now that she had found out what she wanted.
“Well—good-bye. I wish you luck…When are you going?”
“Monday week…Thank you for your good wishes. By the way, did you come in
your car?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like to do somebody a good turn?”
“It depends.”
He went on “My last patient before you was a little boy brought by his
mother. He has a bad ankle, and no doubt his mother will be carrying him all
the way home. They live at Firs Cottages, on your way back. If you should
overtake them it would be an act of kindness to—”
“Of course I’ll give them a lift,” she said eagerly.
“You will?—Good.”
His eyes widened and his face became less severe. “Give my best wishes to
Philip,” he added, opening the door for her and ringing for the maid. “I
shall call to see him before I go…Good-bye…”
“Good-bye…”
She walked out briskly to her car. In the middle of the High Street she
overtook the mother carrying her little boy, and only her promise to Ward
made her pull in at the kerb and offer them a lift. She saw people staring
curiously, especially when the woman, surprised out of her senses, had to
have the offer shouted at her several times. In the end she accepted
suspiciously, as if she had fears of being kidnapped with her offspring. The
latter meanwhile was sucking sweets and making sticky finger-marks on the
upholstery of the car. When Firs Cottages were reached the whole population
turned out en masse to
She took the chair nearest her, and he sat down in a swivel office chair
behind a pedestal desk and fingered a pencil.
“I’m not feeling very—great just at present,” she began,
hesitatingly.
He answered briskly: “I should think not. You oughtn’t to expect to feel
great the day after you’ve been half drowned.”
The opportunity came. She lurched forward to take it “By the way, I ought
to tell you—I’m I’m sorry for the way I behaved yesterday. It was
very—ungrateful of me—to—to—”
He held up his hand imperiously. “No, no, you mustn’t do that. I’m not
here to receive apologies. So far as I’m concerned, none are needed…I’m
here to attend to your physical ailments. Tell me exactly what they are.”
She was floundering. She said the first thing that came into her head. “I
get—palpitation. Here.” She touched her heart. Some sudden perception
of comedy assailed her for the moment, so that she was hard put to it to
prevent herself from bursting into peals of laughter.
“Probably due to your adventure yesterday. Or else indigestion…I’ll
sound your heart if you like.”
He reached out his hand and was on the point of pressing the bell-knob to
summon the nurse. Panic seized her. “No—it—it doesn’t matter. I’m
sure my heart’s all right.”
“In the right place, for instance?”
She stared at him and saw the narrow slits of his eyes screwed round into
the tiniest of wrinkles. He was laughing at her. That drove away her panic
and made her righteously indignant. What right had a doctor to poke fun at
his patients?
“I’ll write you out a prescription,” he went on, opening a note-book. “It
is what we call ‘the usual.’ It is for people who suffer from the distressing
complaint of having nothing at all the matter with them. Quite an epidemic of
it in Chassingford since I came.”
“Then perhaps it’s a good thing you’re going. You are going, aren’t
you?”
“Yes, I am going.”
He put down his pencil with an air of finality and handed her the
scribbled prescription.
She took it and crumpled it into her handbag. “Are you going to the South
Pole?” she asked with uncompromising abruptness.
“I hope so…”
“You hope you are going?”
“I hope I get there.”
She rose from her chair and held out her hand. The interview had to be
finished somehow, and the thought of the crowded waiting-room urged her to be
brief, now that she had found out what she wanted.
“Well—good-bye. I wish you luck…When are you going?”
“Monday week…Thank you for your good wishes. By the way, did you come in
your car?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like to do somebody a good turn?”
“It depends.”
He went on “My last patient before you was a little boy brought by his
mother. He has a bad ankle, and no doubt his mother will be carrying him all
the way home. They live at Firs Cottages, on your way back. If you should
overtake them it would be an act of kindness to—”
“Of course I’ll give them a lift,” she said eagerly.
“You will?—Good.”
His eyes widened and his face became less severe. “Give my best wishes to
Philip,” he added, opening the door for her and ringing for the maid. “I
shall call to see him before I go…Good-bye…”
“Good-bye…”
She walked out briskly to her car. In the middle of the High Street she
overtook the mother carrying her little boy, and only her promise to Ward
made her pull in at the kerb and offer them a lift. She saw people staring
curiously, especially when the woman, surprised out of her senses, had to
have the offer shouted at her several times. In the end she accepted
suspiciously, as if she had fears of being kidnapped with her offspring. The
latter meanwhile was sucking sweets and making sticky finger-marks on the
upholstery of the car. When Firs Cottages were reached the whole population
turned out en masse to
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