'He's out for the night, sir.' I felt this was truthful, as I had seen him carried to bed. I steadfastly gave the Professor a brief clinical history of the case.
'It's perfectly possible, I suppose,' he admitted. I could tell that he was worried. 'I can't remember the case offhand, but six months ago I certainly had a new theatre sister…You're sure it's bits of a retractor?'
'Oh, definitely, sir.'
There was a pause.
'Very well,' he decided grudgingly. 'I'll drive in. The Lord only knows how I'll manage it this weather. Admit him to Faith, and get the theatre ready for an emergency laparotomy.'
'Yes, sir.'
'And-er, Gordon.'
'Sir?'
'It was quite right of you to phone me.'
'Thank you, sir!' I said in delight.
But he had already rung off.
I spent the next half hour organizing the operation. I woke the theatre sister and her staff, brought the night sisters and porters from their suppers, and ordered the night nurses on Faith Ward to prepare a bed with hot-water bottles and electric blankets. Then I went back to the patient, who was now lying quietly on the couch
'Don't worry, old man,' I said heartily, slapping him on the shoulder. 'Everything's under control.' I glanced at my watch. 'The Professor will be here any moment, and he'll fix you up in no time.'
'Thank you, Doctor,' he said, with a sigh of gratitude. He took my hand touchingly. 'I'm real pleased with the way you've looked after me, Doctor.'
'Oh, it's nothing. Just part of the service.'
'No, honest I am, Doctor. Real pleased. Mind you, I've got a soft spot for doctors. Especially young doctors trying to get on in the world like you.'
'That's very kind of you.'
'As a matter of fact, Doctor,' he said more cheerfully, 'I'd like to meet you again when all this is over. Socially, you know.'
'Perhaps we will,' I said with an indulgent smile. 'Who knows?'
'I'd like you to come and stay with me for a week-end. I've got quite a nice little place in the country. Down by the river. It's an old castle I picked up cheap. There's a bit of shooting and fishing if you care for it. Private golf links, of course. So bring your clubs along, Doctor, if you play.'
'I don't think I quite-'
'Tell you what I'll do. 'I'll send the Rolls for you on the Friday afternoon. The chauffeur can pick you up here. You can't miss it, it's solid gold all the way through, even the piston-rings. Just looking at me now, Doctor,' he said proudly, 'you wouldn't think I owned the Bank of England, would you?'
I met Bingham in the lift.
'Hello, old chap.' He grinned. 'Sorry you didn't get the senior H.S. job and all that.'
'Yes, I'm sorry, too.'
'You had hard cheese rather, old chap, didn't you? About that loony, I mean. You ought to have had him X- rayed before calling the Prof. Or asked 'patient's occupation' as your first question. I'd have done.'
'I suppose I ought.'
'Now you're going to look for a job in the provinces, aren't you? There's some jolly good hospitals outside London, so they tell me. Not up to St Swithin's standards, of course, but you might do pretty well in time. Do you want me to say good-bye to the Prof. for you? I don't suppose you'll want to see him again, will you-after that.'
'It happens I've just been to him. For my testimonial.'
'Any time I can be of help to you, old chap, just let me know.'
'Thanks.'
We reached the ground floor, and I got out.
'I'm going to the basement,' Bingham explained. 'Going to have a dekko at some slides in the lab. Now I'm senior H.S. I thought I'd better run over my path. and bact.' I slammed the gates. 'Don't expect I'll see you before you go, old chap. Got to give a talk to the new cas. H.S.-they don't seem to know a thing, you know, these chaps who've just qualified. Toodle pip!'
He pressed the button. The lift moved six inches and stopped. Bingham pressed all the other buttons in turn. Nothing happened. He rattled the gate. It wouldn't open.
'I say, old chap,' he called after me anxiously, 'I'm stuck in the lift.'
'So I see, Bingham.'
'Absolutely bally well stuck.' He gave a nervous laugh and rattled the lattice again. Several nurses, porters, and patients had gathered round to watch. Passengers were often stuck in the St Swithin's lift, which provided a regular diversion to the otherwise monotonous aspect of the corridors.
'I say, old chap.' His voice wavered. 'Get me out, will you?'
'But I don't think I know how.' Some of the nurses began to titter. 'Do you mean I ought to send for the fire brigade, or something?'
'No, dash it, old man. This is beyond a joke.' He rattled the gate loudly, terrified that his dignity was slipping away from him. 'Be a sport, old chap,' he implored. 'Get some help. You can't leave a pal like this, can you?'
'Oh, all right,' I said testily. I supposed even Bingham had human rights. 'Wait a minute.'
'Thanks, old chap. I knew you'd do the decent.'
As I strolled away as slowly as possible to fetch a porter, I noticed a loaded food trolley moving down the corridor with the patients' lunch. An idea struck me. When I returned to the lift I was pleased to see the crowd had doubled and Bingham was rattling the bars again.
'Ah, there you are, old chap!' he said with relief. 'You've been pretty nippy, I must-here! What's the idea?'
I slowly peeled half a bunch of bananas and poked them one after another through the bars. This simple pantomime delighted the audience, which had now been joined by a party of convalescents from the children's wards and blocked the corridor. Bingham himself became mildly maniacal.
'I won't forget this!' he spat at me. 'I won't bally well forget it! You wait and see!'
I left him still in the lift and walked straight out of the hospital, for the first time in my qualified career feeling reasonably contented.
On the bus I opened the Professor's testimonial. It was short:
_To Whom It May Concern
Dr Gordon has been my Casualty House Surgeon for the past three months, in which time he has performed his duties entirely to his satisfaction._
3
I began to open the _British Medical Journal_ as the Chinese open their newspapers, from the back: the last twenty pages are filled with advertisements for jobs, and I suddenly found myself less concerned over the progress of medical science as a whole than the next source of my own bread and butter.
There were plenty of hospitals advertising for house surgeons in the provinces, so I bought a book of stamps and wrote a dozen elegantly-phrased applications. As I would receive free third-class tickets to attend the interviews I felt that at least I would see something of the country at the National Health Service's expense.
I soon found that I was not a success at interviews. First of all, the waiting-rooms upset me. Before an oral examination, a group of students enjoy the deep, sad comradeship of a bunch of prisoners awaiting the firing squad, but when a job is being decided the atmosphere in the ante-room is more like a lifeboat with the food and water
