The Final Diagnosis by Arthur Hailey Page B

something to hear.”
    O’Donnell had listened quietly. Now he said, “Finished, Joe?”
    “Yeah.” Pearson seemed chastened, half ashamed at his outburst.
    “It wasn’t technicians or office staff I was thinking about,” O’Donnell told him. “When I meant help I meant another pathologist. Someone to help you run the department. Maybe modernize it here and there.”
    “Now look here!” at the word “modernize” Pearson had bridled, but O’Donnell brushed the objection aside. “I listened to you , Joe. Now you hear me out. Please.” He paused. “I was thinking of maybe some bright young fellow who could relieve you of some duties.”
    “I don’t need another pathologist.” It was a flat statement, vehement and uncompromising. “Why, Joe?”
    “Because there’s not enough work for two qualified men. I can handle all the pathology myself—without any help. Besides, I’ve already got a resident in the department.”
    O’Donnell was quietly persistent. “A resident is with us for training, Joe, and usually for just a short time. Sure, a resident can carry some of the work. But you can’t give him responsibility and we can’t use him for administration. That’s where you need some help right now.”
    “Let me be the judge of that. Give me a few days and we’ll be caught up in surgicals.”
    It was obvious that Joe Pearson had no intention of giving way. O’Donnell had expected resistance to bringing in a new pathologist, but he wondered about the other man’s forcefulness. Was it because he was unwilling to divide his personal empire, or was he simply protecting his job—fearful that a new and younger man might undermine him? Actually the idea of removing Pearson had not occurred to O’Donnell. In the field of pathological anatomy alone Joe Pearson’s long experience would be hard to replace. O’Donnell’s objective was to strengthen the department and thereby the hospital organization. Perhaps he should make this clear.
    “Joe, there’s no question of any major change. No one has suggested it. You’d still be in charge . . .”
    “In that case let me run Pathology my own way.”
    O’Donnell found his patience ebbing. He decided that perhaps he had pressed the point enough for now. He would let it go for a day or two, then try again. He wanted to avoid a showdown if he could. He said quietly, “I’d think it over if I were you.”
    “There’s nothing to think over.” Pearson was at the door. He nodded curtly and went out.
    So there it is, O’Donnell thought. We’ve laid the lines of battle. He stood there, considering thoughtfully what the next move should be.
     
    Five
     
    The cafeteria of Three Counties Hospital was a traditional meeting place for most of the hospital grapevine, its stems and branches extending tenuously to every section and department within Three Counties’ walls. Few events occurred in the hospital—promotions, scandals, firings, and hirings—which were not known and discussed in the cafeteria long before official word was ever published.
    Medical staff frequently used the cafeteria for “curbstone consultations” with colleagues whom they seldom saw except at a meal or coffee break. Indeed, a good deal of serious medical business was transacted over its tables, and weighty specialist opinions, which at other times would be followed by a substantial bill, were often tossed out freely, sometimes to the great advantage of a patient who, recovering later from some ailment which at first had proven troublesome, would never suspect the somewhat casual channels through which his eventual course of treatment had come.
    There were exceptions. A few staff physicians now and then resented this informal use of their arduously acquired talénts and resisted attempts by colleagues to draw them out in the discussion of specific cases. In such instances the usual rejoinder was, “I think we’d better set up a consultation in my office. I’ll have the meter