The Doctor Takes a Wife (11 page)

Within the first week, Phil had moved from the downtown hotel to one near the Group. His apartment was small, just a pleasant sitting room with the bed letting down from the paneled wall. There was a fireplace with gas logs which glowed red, a good sized bathroom which provided an ironing board and iron, and a tiny cupboard kitchenette with a refrigerator. It was comfortable, though not especially cheap, that handicap being balanced by its nearness to the center. The hotel provided maid service and garage space for his car, a dining room where he could eat or entertain friends if he chose.

He wasn
’
t in the place too much, and he
’
d been living there for over a month when, one rainy evening, he literally bumped into Page
Arning
who came hurrying into the lobby, a Coat hood shadowing her face.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he asked, steadying her after the encounter.

She moved away from his touch, and did not smile when he shook his hand and said, “Sorry
!
”

“I could better ask what you are doing,” she said briskly. “After all, I happen to live here.”

A smile split his face. “You do? Why, that
’
s wonderful!”

“Why?”

He was getting a little used to her scientific way of asking questions in order to get an answer—and for no other reason. “Well, because I live here, too. And it
’
s going to be pretty cozy
...”

“Dr. Scoles!” She drew herself erect, and shrugged her head clear of the hood, the better to glare at him. “I
’
ve endeavored to be kind to you—”

Kind,
she sez, thought Phil, watching her. A spot of color in either cheek was becoming to Page.

“I realize you Westerners count on more friendliness than ordinarily is available—but I must tell you that I resent your taking advantage of my—my—”

“Kindness.” Phil fed the word to her, his own cheeks darkening. Why, the dame was mad!

“Yes!” Page accepted the term. “I am not amused at your following me. I consider it unforgivable presumption.”

The shine in her eyes, the color—even when it was due to anger—was just what this ice-maiden needed to turn her pale loveliness into exciting beauty.

“Hey, hey,” said Phil softly.
‘
Take it easy, Doc
...”

“I do not like to be called
‘
Doc!
’
”

He chuckled. “I reckon most folks know that, too,” he drawled. She
’
d called him a Westerner, and no compliment intended! He
’
d play the part to the hilt.

“I
’
m in a hurry; will you excuse me?” The color was gone, but her eyes still flashed sparks.

“I won
’
t detain you longer than it will take to point out that I hadn
’
t the slightest idea you lived in this joint. For all I knew, you holed-in at the lab. Of course, it
’
s not surprising. I don
’
t have the statistics—though you do, in all probability.” His own eyes sparked a bit. “But I
’
d estimate there are about two hundred guests in this hotel, just as I figure at least half of
’
em are connected with the Group. The place is close; the hotel is good. I reckon we all of us live here on
that
account, Miss
Arning
.”

If she
’
d known how, she might have apologized. As it was, she blushed furiously—a real blush, now—and in plain and simple confusion, she hurried toward the elevators.

Phil didn
’
t say anything else, nor did he move from where he
’
d been standing when she
’
d plunged in through the doors, but he did turn enough to look after her, thoughtfully, while he lit a cigarette.

He was grinning when he went outside. It appeared to him—
Pardner
—that a little cloudy water filled that-there test-tube. Miss
Arning
might resent his projected scientific examination of the matter, but she was a darned good
-
looking girl when she got riled up.

CHAPTER
8

Time
went on, of course, and Phil became steadily more involved in the hospital busyness around him. He was a likable guy, and became popular with the patients as well as the personnel. His skill was understandable in the prenatal clinic, but the old folks in the urology department were just as enthusiastic about the new doctor.

He had a quick understanding of the fears and doubts which could complicate an old person
’
s illness. This was unique in a young doctor, and his patients praised him so often that the good word went swiftly through the Staff ranks: “That Dr. Scoles is a good man.”

By this time, Phil had got down to work on his project of comparative histories and arterial records, but he continued to take a warm interest in every patient who sat on the clinic benches, especially those who were directed into his cubicle for examination and advice. It came to be told around the Group that Dr. Scoles would take exceeding pains with the fears of an old woman, faced at seventy-nine with her first hospital experience. She might have had five children, but she
’
d had them at home with a practical nurse or a midwife to care for her.

This hospital affair would be different. Recognizing her unhappiness as a possible complication, Phil saw to it that she became acquainted with the nurses and the doctor who would take care of her. He insisted that that doctor take
a little time to visit with her. Garrulous as she was, undoubtedly, she had the nerve and heart complications of all older people, and the little operation which she faced would remain little if the patient was relaxed and unafraid. He urged the nurses to consider the modesty of old people
—
both in his clinic, where he insisted on that consideration, and in the wards where he advised it. There is no pride of body in the old; young Dr. Scoles sensed this important fact, and respected his old patients to the point where their own self-respect was restored.

Most of their ills would not promise cure, but Phil argued that any restoration of seemingly normal activity was a worthwhile goal. So he carefully examined every old man and woman who came to the clinic, endeavored to stop such pain as they had, and restore enough activity so that the men could take short walks, and the women could visit their friends or do a little housework. Phil was pleased with his work in the urology clinic; it gave him material for his “research” record, and he began to plan the paper which he would write.

The Urology Head said Scoles should make that field his specialty. This was hotly debated by the Obstetrics Head; Phil was entirely too good in his own field. Dr. Urology should see him, and hear him advise couples who
’
d been disappointed in their wish for a family. And then—how quick he was to spot an abnormality in a pregnancy! The young mothers adored him—and the young husbands liked him, too, which certainly was an accomplishment!

Both Dr. Urology and Dr. Obstetrics deplored Scoles
’
prepossession with research.

But Phil remained steadfast. He
’
d started on this thing; he meant to give it a whir
l.
McNaire had arranged for the autopsies he wanted; he clung to his hours of lab work. He was busy, and he made a few friends—no girl attachments, however.

But, with and without effort, he continued to see something of Page
Arning
. Away from her, the memory of her still beauty and the pearly quality of her w
h
ite skin intrigued his thoughts, stirred his imagination. But when he was with her, her blunt indifference to him as a man
—
and to herself as a woman—quenched his interest.

He
’
d been in the city for about three months, had known Page that long, before she encouraged any interest on his part in her work. Up to then, she had put off any mention of it as one might discourage a child
’
s endeavor to understand the abstractions of philosophy or the complexities of nuclear physics. Appreciating her attitude, Phil had pretended to be as dumb as she wanted him to be—on all subjects.

But one afternoon he saw her coming out of a lab in the pathology building, and called to her. She waited, a frown on her face, and when he asked what was wrong, she said she didn
’
t see why they allowed smoking in the building to such a point that the place became saturated with nicotine.

“You
’
re just conditioned to the purity of your own building.”

“Don
’
t you notice the heavy tobacco smell?” she demanded with her single-minded attention to the question at hand.

He laughed. “Of course! But it
’
s not a matter of individual smokers. It
’
s Dr. McNaire
’
s machine. He is making year-round tests of tobacco smoke residue. He finds a close connection between persistent smoking and the development of lung cancer.”

“Yes, I knew of that work—though one would think he
’
d be too busy, as Chief Surgeon, to make an adequate inquiry.”

Phil found himself bristling to McNaire
’
s defense. “If he can find a way to prevent lung cancer—every surgeon would like to see himself worked out of his job!”

“You don
’
t understand,” said Page warmly. “I just happen to know that research is a full time job if it
’
s to be worth very much
...”

“Research should not be an end in itself!” Phil countered hotly. “That end should be the benefit to the individual patient—and it would seem to me that McNaire is your answer. He does both—and well!”

“Yes, he seems to,” Page agreed, returning to her manner of aloof superiority. “But I wish he
’
d blow his smoke up the chimney instead of out into the halls.”

“There is a blower-system, but a certain amount seeps out—”

“He could hood it, the way we do our work tables.”

“How is that managed?”

She frowned. “You haven
’
t been over to our labs? Would you like to see them?”

“Do you think I
’
m worthy?” His smile twinkled at her.

“Don
’
t be silly!” she said tartly. “Come on—I
’
ll take you over now.”

On the way to the germ-proof lab building, Page explained to the excited Dr. Scoles that each of the three floors of the building-wings was one complete laboratory unit, sealed off from all the others, and from the outside world. Air was pumped into each unit, and into the central administrative section. The pressure in the central section was kept greater than that in the labs so that no germ-laden air could flow out of them and into the administrative center.

Each unit was entered through an air lock—he
’
d see
—
and the air inside each lab unit sought only the avenues of escape which were open to it through variations in pressure.

All organisms were handled in protective enclosures, or under the hoods she
’
d spoken of. A steady stream of air was kept flowing into these enclosures, preventing any flow outward of germ-laden air. Outlet ducts from the hoods were equipped with electric grills where organisms were killed before going out of the lab building through “chimneys” on the roof.

At this point in her lecture—it was no less!—they entered the building, and Dr.
Arning
requested a visitor
-
permit for Dr. Scoles. She identified him, and he signed the card which the clerk gave him.

His eyes bright, his curiosity at a peak, he followed his slender guide into the elevator and up to the second floor, and stepped into a tiled hall which rang hollowly to their steps and their voices. Page indicated a room to his right. He would find clean coveralls in there; he must change all his garments for them, retaining only his shoes. Beyond a further door, he would have to change again into sterile work coveralls and shoes.

“That
’
s all necessary?”

“We think so. It
’
s a bad thing to have an experienced microbiologist die of his own experiments.”

“I can see that. I didn
’
t mean to be flip. What about a bath?”

“You
’
ll be well violet-rayed as you change. I
’
ll see you—” She turned into a similar room at the left. Phil found an attendant ready to offer him coveralls adequate to his size and height. The young man attached Phil
’
s visitor
’
s permit to his worldly effects.

When he came out, he found Page waiting (that evidence of dispatch in a woman was as much of a surprise as anything he was to see in this place!) and they passed through a second air lock to the third room. “Off hours,” she explained, “a restricted number of us have keys to these doors.” Again they changed their clothes. Phil found the coveralls much like a surgeon
’
s scrub suit—and just about as becoming.

Then, at last, they were admitted to the laboratory proper. Page introduced Phil to the technicians at work, and to the young man in charge of the sterilizing vaults where instruments and containers were decontaminated after use. She pointed out the sealed-in dumb waiter by which refuse from each lab was carried to basement incinerators. A technologist, pretty even in her shapeless white garments, was standing at a showcase-like window watching what looked to Dr. Scoles like a Waring blender.

“It is a Waring blender,” Page confirmed. “She
’
s grinding tissue.”

“Germ-laden, of course?”

The pretty girl smiled at him.

“More ultra-violet rays, I suppose.”

Page introduced Dr. Scoles, and he explained deprecatingly that he was a medical doctor. He
’
d felt like a Baptist going through the air locks, and now, in these awesome surroundings, he knew how a chiropractor or an optometrist must feel among physicians.

“How do you get your stuff out of the case?” he asked Miss Young.

“I raise the window.”

“Show him,” said Dr.
Arning
.

She obeyed, and Phil watched, open-mouthed. The lights went off, the mixer stopped running—and against his hand he could feel the suck of air
into
the contaminated enclosure, not out of it.

“Gee whiz!” he said softly. “Who thought up all these gadgets?”

“Oh—a lot of people. It was built before I came. Arnold Reichert of the mechanic shop is usually credited.”

“A
rn
ie.” Phil recognized the name. “Yes, he is good. As a matter of fact, I think he rigged McNaire
’
s smoke machine.”

“Probably. Well, he should have equipped it with a hood.” She had opened another heavy door, and now she gestured to the Fiberglas hood over her steel work table. A gle
am
ing
pipe led upward to a grill in the ceiling which glowed red when she lifted the door of the case. Again Phil felt air pressure sucking inward.

“But A
rn
ie would have to take the smoke clear out of the building. It
’
s the smell that bothers there, and no electric grill would cook that,” Phil protested.

“I still think he could find a way. You only have to tell him
what
you want, not how to do it.”

“Yes,” Phil laughed. “I saw a psychologist telling him about a mouse feeder he wanted. He just waved his arms, with A
rn
ie watching him, and the doctor said the feeder should do something here, and something else there, and when it got through doing those things, the result should be thus and so—and I presume it will turn out just like that, from the way A
rn
ie went off to start work on it.”

“Yes. He
’
s been with the Group for forty years; he
’
s pioneered a lot of physiological machines—from bone pins to basic metabolism records. So I
’
m sure he
’
ll get rid of the smoke if you ask him to.”

“Me?” asked Phil, turning from his examination of the glassed cabinets in the small room. “You
’
re the one that
’
s bothered.”

“But—” A cap covered her hair; a smock came up to the base of her throat. This left the pure oval of her face blandly exposed for his study—and admiration. Not many girls, he thought, could stand that sort of test
.

He pressed his eyes to a microscope; it was a very fine Zeiss, but Page said apologetically that the electronic outlet was not in her private lab. She stepped to a door, opened it to indicate four benches in a larger room and the instrument panel which she had mentioned.

Phil couldn
’
t t
hink
of anything to say. It seemed
handy
enough to
him
—but he avoided use of the colloquialism. “Could you give me an idea of the sort of work you
’
re doing?” he asked.