Wednesday the Rabbi Got Wet by Harry Kemelman

suit.”
    “What makes you think so?” Cohen asked quickly-Well, partly from just knowing the type, he’s the sort of guy who automatically looks around for someone to sue when anything happens.”
    Cohen nodded grimly. “I know what you mean, he comes by it honestly, though, he inherited it from his father.”
    “He kept insisting his father was all right until he took the pill you prescribed.”
    “If he was all right, why did he call me in? What did he need a doctor for?”
    “Of course, but –”
    “Look, John, the guy was eighty years old or more, he had a hundred and two temperature, he was having difficulty in urinating and when he passed he complained of a burning sensation. So it sounds like a bacterial infection. Right? It could have been viral, in which case the medication wouldn’t have done any good, but it wouldn’t have done any harm either. Now get this: he had much the same symptoms about six months back. I gave him the same medication, and it cleared up right away. So naturally, same person, same symptoms, I gave the same medication. It’s good conservative medicine. Ninety-nine doctors out of a hundred would have treated him the same way, maybe they would have used some other tetracycline, but essentially they’re the same thing. So where’s the grounds for a malpractice suit?”
    “You don’t have to convince me, Dan. But you know how it is, he can always get some shyster to bring suit. I tried to talk to him, explained that with a man that age almost anything could happen, but that kind –” He shook his head. “That’s why I suggested that the police sergeant who came along with the ambulance should take charge of the pills, to make it part of the official record.”
    Cohen nodded. “That was good thinking, and if he does sue, well, that’s why we carry insurance.”
    DiFrancesca hesitated. “It could be a little stickier than that. For one thing, this Kestler is the sort of guy who shoots off his mouth, that could do you some damage.”
    “Yeah, I see what you mean.”
    “And Al Muntz is quite upset. Of course he called me at the house when he got home from Kaplan’s, he wanted all the details.”
    “How’s he concerned?”
    DiFrancesca was embarrassed. “He seems to feel that in a matter of this kind, the clinic could be hurt; that if there’s mud flying around, some of it could stick to the rest of us, as a matter of fact. Kestler accused me of trying to cover up for you because we were from the same office – you know, colleagues.”
    “That’s a crock, John,” Cohen said hotly. “How about the doctors at the hospital? They’re my colleagues, too, are they affected?”
    “You know how it is, Dan. When you’ve worked yourself up to the kind of spread Al Muntz has on Beachcroft Road and you drive a Cadillac that you trade in every couple of years, you get awfully sensitive, maybe even a mite paranoid.”
    “Well, he has no cause,” Cohen said shortly. But he was worried.
    Both Muntz and Kantrovitz were at the hospital all morning, but they got back in time for lunch, the four doctors went out to eat together, but no one alluded to the case, neither on their way to the restaurant nor while they ate. However, when they were sipping their coffee, Muntz began. “About this Kestler business, Dan, John thinks there might have been an allergic reaction. What did you prescribe?”
    “Limpidine. 250’s. Four times a day for five days.”
    “Is that what it said on the bottle. John?” Kantrovitz asked.
    “Uh-huh.”
    “For infection of the urinary tract?” Kantrovitz considered and nodded. “Did you ask if he was sensitive to it?”
    “Aw, come on. Ed.”
    “Well, did you?”
    “No, I didn’t,” Cohen said. “I didn’t have to. I’d treated him with it some months before.”
    “Still, it’s always a good practice to ask, just for the record.”
    “I wasn’t interested in a record.” Cohen retorted. “I was just interested in taking care of my