don’t we pick you up on the way across town? I’ll phone before we leave.”
O’Donnell murmured his thanks as, nodding pleasantly, the chairman went out.
The door had scarcely closed on Orden Brown when tall, slim Kathy Cohen, Tomaselli’s secretary, came in. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said.
“What is it, Kathy?”
She told the administrator, “There’s a man on the phone who insists on talking to you. A Mr. Bryan.”
“I’m busy with Dr. O’Donnell now. I’ll call him back.” Tomaselli sounded surprised. Normally he would not have to tell Kathy anything so elementary.
“I told him that, Mr. Tomaselli.” She sounded doubtful. “But he’s very insistent. He says he’s the husband of a patient. I thought you ought to know.”
“Maybe you should talk with him, Harry.” O’Donnell smiled at the girl. “Take him off Kathy’s mind. I don’t mind waiting.”
“All right.” The administrator reached for one of his two telephones.
“It’s line four.” The girl waited until the connection was made, then went back to the outer office.
“Administrator speaking.” Tomaselli’s tone was friendly. Then he frowned slightly, listening to what was coming from the other end of the line.
O’Donnell could hear the receiver diaphragm rattling sharply. He caught the words, “Disgraceful situation . . . imposition on a family . . . should be an inquiry.”
Tomaselli put his hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. He told O’Donnell, “He’s really boiling. Something about his wife. I can’t quite make put . . .” He listened for a moment more, then said, “Now, Mr. Bryan, supposing you start at the beginning. Tell me what this is all about.” He reached for a pad and pencil, then said, “Yes, sir.” A pause. “Now tell me, please, when was your wife admitted to hospital?” The phone rattled again and the administrator made a swift note. “And who was your physician?” Again a note. “And the date of discharge?” A pause. “Yes, I see.”
O’Donnell heard the words, “Can’t get any satisfaction,” then Tomaselli was talking again.
“No, Mr. Bryan, I don’t remember the particular case. But I will make some inquiries. I promise you that.” He listened, then answered, “Yes, sir, I do know what a hospital bill means to a family. But the hospital doesn’t make any profit, you know.”
O’Donnell could still hear the voice on the telephone, but it sounded calmer, responding to Tomaselli’s conciliatory approach. Now the administrator said, “Well, sir, it’s the physician who decides how long a patient remains in hospital. I think you should have another talk with your wife’s physician, and what I’ll do meanwhile is have our treasurer go over your bill, item by item.” He listened briefly, then, “Thank you, Mr. Bryan. Good-by.”
He hung up the phone, tore off the page of notes, and put it in a tray marked “Dictation.”
“What was the trouble?” O’Donnell asked the question casually. In a busy hospital complaints about service and charges were not unique.
“He claims his wife was kept in too long. Now he has to go into debt to pay the bill.”
O’Donnell said sharply, “How does he know she was in too long?”
“He says he’s checked around—whatever that means.” Tomaselli said thoughtfully, “It may have been necessary, of course, but she was here nearly three weeks.”
“So?”
“Normally I wouldn’t think much about it. But we’ve had an unusual number of these complaints. They’re not always as strong as this—but on the same lines.”
Something flashed through O’Donnell’s mind: the word Pathology. Aloud he said: “Who was the attending physician?”
Tomaselli glanced at his notes. “Reubens.”
“Let’s see if we can get him and clear this up now.”
Tomaselli touched an intercom set. “Kathy,” he said, “see if you can locate Dr. Reubens.”
They waited in silence. From the corridor outside they could
O’Donnell murmured his thanks as, nodding pleasantly, the chairman went out.
The door had scarcely closed on Orden Brown when tall, slim Kathy Cohen, Tomaselli’s secretary, came in. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said.
“What is it, Kathy?”
She told the administrator, “There’s a man on the phone who insists on talking to you. A Mr. Bryan.”
“I’m busy with Dr. O’Donnell now. I’ll call him back.” Tomaselli sounded surprised. Normally he would not have to tell Kathy anything so elementary.
“I told him that, Mr. Tomaselli.” She sounded doubtful. “But he’s very insistent. He says he’s the husband of a patient. I thought you ought to know.”
“Maybe you should talk with him, Harry.” O’Donnell smiled at the girl. “Take him off Kathy’s mind. I don’t mind waiting.”
“All right.” The administrator reached for one of his two telephones.
“It’s line four.” The girl waited until the connection was made, then went back to the outer office.
“Administrator speaking.” Tomaselli’s tone was friendly. Then he frowned slightly, listening to what was coming from the other end of the line.
O’Donnell could hear the receiver diaphragm rattling sharply. He caught the words, “Disgraceful situation . . . imposition on a family . . . should be an inquiry.”
Tomaselli put his hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. He told O’Donnell, “He’s really boiling. Something about his wife. I can’t quite make put . . .” He listened for a moment more, then said, “Now, Mr. Bryan, supposing you start at the beginning. Tell me what this is all about.” He reached for a pad and pencil, then said, “Yes, sir.” A pause. “Now tell me, please, when was your wife admitted to hospital?” The phone rattled again and the administrator made a swift note. “And who was your physician?” Again a note. “And the date of discharge?” A pause. “Yes, I see.”
O’Donnell heard the words, “Can’t get any satisfaction,” then Tomaselli was talking again.
“No, Mr. Bryan, I don’t remember the particular case. But I will make some inquiries. I promise you that.” He listened, then answered, “Yes, sir, I do know what a hospital bill means to a family. But the hospital doesn’t make any profit, you know.”
O’Donnell could still hear the voice on the telephone, but it sounded calmer, responding to Tomaselli’s conciliatory approach. Now the administrator said, “Well, sir, it’s the physician who decides how long a patient remains in hospital. I think you should have another talk with your wife’s physician, and what I’ll do meanwhile is have our treasurer go over your bill, item by item.” He listened briefly, then, “Thank you, Mr. Bryan. Good-by.”
He hung up the phone, tore off the page of notes, and put it in a tray marked “Dictation.”
“What was the trouble?” O’Donnell asked the question casually. In a busy hospital complaints about service and charges were not unique.
“He claims his wife was kept in too long. Now he has to go into debt to pay the bill.”
O’Donnell said sharply, “How does he know she was in too long?”
“He says he’s checked around—whatever that means.” Tomaselli said thoughtfully, “It may have been necessary, of course, but she was here nearly three weeks.”
“So?”
“Normally I wouldn’t think much about it. But we’ve had an unusual number of these complaints. They’re not always as strong as this—but on the same lines.”
Something flashed through O’Donnell’s mind: the word Pathology. Aloud he said: “Who was the attending physician?”
Tomaselli glanced at his notes. “Reubens.”
“Let’s see if we can get him and clear this up now.”
Tomaselli touched an intercom set. “Kathy,” he said, “see if you can locate Dr. Reubens.”
They waited in silence. From the corridor outside they could
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