Dr Finlay's Casebook by AJ Cronin Page B

house that only fell into my hands by a series of accidents, sanctioned by the kindness and goodwill of the Town Council?’
    She seemed about to speak but instead smiled and pressed his hand.
    ‘So now,’ Finlay went on, ‘may I regard you as a dear friend?’
    Her smile deepened and, as she had not relinquished his hand she pressed it again.
    ‘How can I say “no” to a gentleman who has seen me in my drawers?’
    The alliance between Finlay and the new matron prospered rapidly. All the rugs and precious china were stored and locked in the little side room once intended for Finlay’s consultations.
Coconut matting was laid on the beautiful polished-oak floors and half a dozen hospital beds were set up in the big drawing-room for those children not yet able to walk.
    ‘Does that suit you, matron?’ asked Finlay as they finished a tour of inspection together. To which she replied, ‘Could not be better, doctor.’
    Then on a lovely sunny day the ambulance started to run between Barton Hills and the new convalescent home. At the same time a flood of photographers descended upon the house and would not be
denied. Shots were taken of everything and everyone, inside and outside the converted house. Finlay was photographed in his shirt-sleeves carrying the children from the ambulance. One absolutely
marvellous shot portrayed him with a little crippled girl of five in his arms while the child, leg irons dangling, raised her head to kiss him on the cheek.
    This photograph was a ‘natural’ for the Press. It appeared in all the Scottish papers, then in the London dailies and finally found its way into the pictorial magazines – the Sphere and the Sketch . Accompanying the photograph was a heart-warming account of the young Scottish doctor who had sacrificed his fine house for that most worthy of all charities,
the treatment and care of crippled children. Finally the climax was reached when a well-known journalist, noted for his acid ability to denigrate the rich and the famous, strolled unannounced into
the home where Finlay, stripped to the waist, was giving the children, two by two, their weekly bath in an atmosphere of steam, splashing, soap suds and general merriment. What he saw caused him to
stay, not only for all of that day, but for the entire week. He then returned to London and wrote, from the heart, an article entitled ‘My Selection for the Man of the Year’.
    Although this remained unread by Finlay and his matron, its general effect was profound. The Caledonian Hotel began to fill up with visitors whose main purpose was to see or at least catch a
glimpse of this young Highland doctor, a Scottish paragon who had given up his fine house to the treatment and care of crippled and disabled children whom he personally fed, bathed, carried about,
massaged and exercised, with the help of a young and supremely beautiful matron.
    Taking advantage of this influx, Finlay fixed a big collection box on the gate with three simple words emblazoned on it: FOR THE CHILDREN.
    ‘What a good turn that journalist chap has done us,’ Finlay remarked to his matron as they took tea in the kitchen, one of the few moments of the day they were alone together.
‘You know I was beginning to run out of money.’
    ‘Your own money?’
    ‘Certainly, and why not? This is my show! Sorry, Alice dear, our show.’
    She thought for a moment. ‘I wonder how much we’ve been given by those kind people. Twenty pounds perhaps?’
    ‘You’re joking, child! These most generous visitors gave, all in all, over five hundred pounds!’
    ‘Now you are joking, surely?’
    ‘Come on down with me to the bank and see for yourself then.’
    Together, arm in arm, they set off for the town, leaving Janet to keep an eye on the children. Firmly clasped in his right hand Finlay carried his historic black bag, now emptied of instruments
but even heavier than before. As they walked down Church Street every eye was directed towards them – the