Doctor in Love by Richard Gordon Page B

the rest of the day.
    The next morning he unexpectedly wandered into my consulting-room as I was about to start the morning surgery. “Hello, old lad,” he asked. “Seen the Medical Observer anywhere yet? It’s out this morning, isn’t it?”
    “It usually comes second post,” I explained. I was surprised at this eagerness to get his hands on the weekly medical press.
    “Oh, does it? Be a good lad and put it aside for me, will you?”
    The Medical Observer happened to arrive just as I was starting my rounds. I tore open the wrapper wondering what item was likely to have interested Grimsdyke so keenly. I found it in the correspondence columns.
     
    “To the Editor,
    “Dear Sir,
    “We feel we should bring to your notice our remarkable success treating osteoarthritis with massive weekly injections of Vitamin B. In a series of two thousand cases seen in our practice we have obtained lasting relief with this treatment in no less than ninety-eight per cent of patients. The effectiveness of this therapy in our hands leads us to bring it to the notice of your readers, and we should be interested if others have achieved comparable results. Yours, etc .”
     
    The letter was signed:
     
    “ Richard Gordon,
    G S F Grimsdyke,
    4 Monks Walk,
    Hampden Cross, Herts.”
     
    “My dear fellow, don’t work up so much steam about it,” Grimsdyke said, when I waved the Medical Observer in his face. “Of course I wrote it.”
    “But it’s advertising!” I said in horror.
    “And damn good advertising, too.”
    “But what the hell! It’s unethical.”
    “Oh, come off it, Richard. Surely you don’t believe the old idea that doctors never beat the drum? Why, that’s how half Harley Street keeps going. I admit they don’t put cards in their windows like the Egyptians saying, ‘Dr Bloggings Good For Everything Especially Diarrhoea.’ They write to the medical journals pointing out such things in a helpful way. It soon gets to the ears of the general public.” He sat down in the surgery chair and put his feet on the desk. “Why, the world will be hobbling a path to our door in a week’s time. Just think of it! We’re made, old man.”
    “I’m damn well going to write to the Editor and tell him it’s a forgery.”
    “Steady on, old lad! No need to get excited.”
    “I’ve never come across such a piece of flagrant dishonesty”
    “Dishonesty? That’s not dishonesty, that’s good business.”
    “In your mind they seem to be one and the same thing.”
    He rose to his feet. “Are you making reflections on my morals, old man?”
    “Yes, I am. You’re nothing but a dyed-in-the-wool inconsiderate rogue.”
    “Oh, I am, am I? Well you’re nothing but a stick-in-the-mud old maid.”
    On this note the two doctors separated to attend to their patients.

10
    Grimsdyke and I did not speak for some days after that. We communicated only by notes passed between our consulting-rooms by Miss Wildewinde:
    “Dr Grimsdyke presents his compliments to Dr Gordon, and will he refresh Dr Grimsdyke’s memory as to the dose of Tinct. Belladonnae ?”
    “Dr Gordon presents his compliments to Dr Grimsdyke. It’s five to thirty minims, and what have you done with the auroscope?”
    “Dr Grimsdyke hasn’t got the bloody auroscope.”
    “Dr Gordon also wants the multivite tablets back, if you please.”
    “Dr Grimsdyke has finished the bottle.”
    “My God, what are you treating in there? A horse?” My worries were increased through the commotion of changing digs. It had seemed reasonable for Grimsdyke to move into his uncle’s flat, and as two new regulars had arrived at the Crypt and Mr Tuppy had started to tell his stories about doctors all over again I had to go.
    Feeling that I could not face another boarding-house, I looked down the Personal column of the local newspaper until I saw an advertisement saying: “Lady of Refinement shares her lovely home with a few similar as donating guests. Write Miss Ashworth, ‘The