The Doctor Takes a Wife (9 page)

Phil stood there, trying to look intelligent, and thought about fuzzy cotton rats—pink ones—in a child
’
s play pen
...

The talk got deeper and deeper. Terms he had never even heard buzzed against his ears. He
’
d better get out of that forest! Should they ask him for an opinion, he
might
be able to say that penicillin was a wonderful discovery!

He lingered just long enough to look once more at Page
Arning
. Doggone, she was beautiful! Her figure, her skin
—
pearly was the only word for it!—and her dovelike voice—that should have been used to caress a man
’
s name, not to talk of cystosomes and some guy revoltingly named Binswanger.

He shook his head. A girl who could flush-up over an encephalitozoon, and smile with enthusiasm at an ugly little—

Phil caught himself up short and walked away. He knew that no regretful look touched his broad, departing shoulders. And he plainly was not used to that sort of treatment!

He found Geno without difficulty, and the Captain lifted questioning eyebrows. “Got absolutely nowhere,” Phil admitted. “My male appeal didn
’
t make a dent.”

“Think nothing of it,
”
said Geno laughing. “No man
’
s appeal reaches
Arning
. If that
’
s any comfort to you.”

“But why?” asked Phil, honestly bewildered.

Geno laughed again. “This won
’
t do a thing for your vanity, Doctor, but that dame is all brain and no heart.”

“You mean I
’
d have got farther if I
’
d been a humpbacked authority on leukocytes?”

“Whatever they are—yes.”

‘
Well, what do you know?” breathed Phil. I
’
ll venture to say it was his first experience with a female—of any age—who had shown no interest in him.

The McNaires asked Phil to drive back to the city with them; Jane had observed his arrival by taxi. And unless his name was Rockfeller
...

He laughed and disclaimed any connection.

They were leaving a bit earlier than he might want to do, but Mrs. McNaire tired easily—being three months “that way.”

Phil said he
’
d enjoy their company, as well as the lift, and the farewells were made. Dr. Lowry urged him to return whenever inclined, and to keep in touch with him. He came in to the Group three times a week.

A blanket-wrapped, sleeping little boy of three was brought down from an upstairs bedroom and solicitously bedded down in the back seat with Jane. The two doctors sat in front, and McNaire talked with pleasant and earnest interest about Phil
’
s plans.

What sort of idea, he asked, did Dr. Scoles have concerning embolisms?

“My main idea,” Phil confessed, “is that I
’
m against the things.”

Dr. McNaire nodded grimly. “Just where are you starting?”

“At the very bottom of the heap,” Phil admitted.

“At your own expense,” murmured Dr. McNaire thoughtfully.

“Oh, sure,” said Phil. “My work wouldn
’
t be worth a dime to anyone. Not at first, certainly. You see—” He laughed with embarrassment “My project sounds pretty naive and innocent here in your Group, sir. Out west, I thought I was doing something bravely unselfish. My only definite plan is to serve in the urology and pre-natal clinics; I
’
m to be assigned, lab space. But if you pin me down, I
’
ll have to tell you that I don
’
t know just what use I
’
ll make of it
.
”

“You
’
ve never done any research, then?”

“No, sir. My lab work has been strictly on the histology, and medical school biology basis.”

“Hmmmmm,” said McNaire.

“Do you
think
I
’
m crazy?”

“Well, we have some work already being done on embolisms—you could get advice from those folks, or perhaps work with them
...”

“I came here because I knew I
’
d need direction.”

“That was very sensible.”

“I do have one small plan
...
”

“Yes?” In another person—in Page
Arning
! Phil thought, wincing—that “Yes?” could have sounded supercilious. But with McNaire it held interest and encouragement, a willingness to be persuaded.

“I thought I might be permitted to do some work with people who
’
d died of embolisms—do necropsies, perhaps, and compare the medical histories rather exhaustively. I
’
d also go back into the files of such death records, and compare those histories
...
seek causes, you know. Compare physical types, and so on.”

“That
’
s good,” said McNaire.

“Of course, I
’
d like to do the necropsies myself.”

“If you
’
re a surgeon
...”

“I am.”

“I think I could arrange for you to do that sort of work. There isn
’
t too much competition for the job, and as Chief, I could
.
..
”

“I
’
d forgotten that you were Chief,” said Phil honestly, and Jane laughed aloud.

He turned his head to grin at he
r
. “Dr. Miller told me to use him,” he confessed. “But I
’
d forgotten that advice, too.”

“An honest man, Janie,” chuckled McNaire.
“
An honest man
!”

“I hope it compensates for my emerald-green hue as a researcher,” Phil suggested.

“We all start green,” McNaire reminded him. “But what I can
’
t see is your reason for going all-out into research. What line of surgery did you do?”

“I
’
m qualified in—”

“
Qualified
?”
The car gave a jump, and Jane said, “Renny!” in soft protest.

“I
’
m sorry,” he murmured, and slowed down again. “But, Scoles, tell me—go on and
tell
me what you
’
ve worked in long enough and well enough to pass the College of Surgeon
’
s requirements.”

Phil looked sheepish, and sounded so. “Obstetrics and Gynecology.”

“I
’
ll bet the women hated your giving it up,” said Jane. McNaire cast another glance at their guest. “Mhmmm,” he agreed. “Red hair, and that smile—if you were
any
good—”

“I was fair,” said Phil.

“You were out west, weren
’
t you? What sort of set-up did you have?”

Phil told him a good bit about Berry and Chappell; Dr. McNaire had heard of it, favorably. Phil told the number and sort of cases he
’
d handled in the eighteen months he
’
d been attached to the Clinic and Hospital.

“I
’
ve still got an explanation coming,” said McNaire. “Or an excuse—”

“Well, this may be your answer. It
’
s my reason, Doctor. You see, I got rather badly hurt last winter. For a time I thought I was going to die. In that time I examined what promised to be my short life for what it was worth. I also took a look at my dreams, which seemed destined to go unrealized
...”

“And those, of course, included research.”

“Yes. As opposed to the sort of surgery I
’
d been doing. Caesareans and hysterectomies, biopsies and curettments
—
all done in a smallish hospital in a smallish city—without any personal contribution on my part. And then
—
when I didn
’
t die—it seemed to me that I was obligated to do the things I
’
d dreamed of doing.”

“So you cut loose,” said McNaire with unexpected bluntness, “and came here to do necropsies.”

“That, I hope, will be only a start,” said Phil stiffly. Then he turned in the seat to look directly at McNaire. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said in his warmly sincere manner. “Eighteen months has been long enough to get me away from the discipline and regulation of a big hospital set-up.”

Renny growled something in his throat. “Did you like the West?”

“Oh, yes, I did. It
—
Have you ever been in Idaho?”

“No. Just California.”

“I don
’
t believe I
’
m up to describing the place. The mountains, for one thing, are more awesome, more terrific than I could describe. They frightened. me, at first The city lies in a valley, with the foothills—of considerable size—coming right to the ends of the streets. Berilo prides itself on its trees, its fine homes and boulevards. Then, there are sports of every kind available. Skiing in the winter—clear up till April—and close at hand. Less than an hour
’
s drive to good runs. Hunting, of course, and fishing. Beautiful, rushing rivers—” Good Lord, what he had left behind!

Jane asked if the West was still wild, and Phil said it was, but only in spots. He went on to tell, amusingly, of the vagaries which developed from our local option law on gambling. “It
’
s not permitted in Berilo, but right beyond the city limits we have Garden City, a flourishing municipality made up exclusively of chuck-a-luck and craps games. It is a rigid test of their sense of virtue for the Berilo city fathers to watch so much money being taken to Garden City and—er—left there.” He chuckled reminiscently. “I liked all the people; they
’
re friendly and alert. They have more—well, vision, I guess it is—than Easterners. The climate, of course, especially in the valley, is wonderful.”

“And your hospital
—
Is it a state hospital, or privately owned?”

“Private—the doctors own it
.
”

“Did you?” McNaire
’
s voice was shocked. Phil was too absorbed in a belated recognition of his active nostalgia for the charms of Idaho
...

“Yes,” he said casually. “I have stock in it.”

“Well,” decided McNaire, “if you
’
re telling the truth about the place—your work, the people, the country—I, for the life of me, cannot see why you
’
ve come here!”

“
To do necropsies?” chuckled Phil.

“Yes. Or any research. Of course, there is a chance that you may discover something really important about embolisms, and that would be exceedingly fine. But, in any case, Scoles, I do not believe you are entirely right in thinking you
’
re taking a step up—or even forward—to choose research instead of the work you
’
ve been doing. You must be a good surgeon—out of the ordinary—to have qualified at your age. That would be
...”

“Almost thirty-three, sir.”

“We can skip the
‘
sir.
’
I
’
m talking to you as a friend—I hope.”

“Thank you.”

“And as a surgeon,” said Jane
’
s soft voice behind them. The men glanced at each other. “His research would benefit all surgeons,” said her husband quickly, “but I
’
ll concede favoritism to my own department
.
”

“I
’
ve had discouragement from many sides,” Phil admitted. They were in the city by then.
“Don
’
t take me clear downtown,” he suggested.

“It won
’
t take twenty minutes longer—and I
’
ve about twenty minutes
’
worth of arguments left.”

“All right
...
” Phil got out cigarettes, not offering his case to Jane, and she laughed.

“You are o.b., aren
’
t you?”

“Yes. I truly am.”

“Were you kept busy out in Idaho?” asked McNaire.

“Oh, yes. I did gynecology, too.”