Yankee Surgeon by Elizabeth Gilzean Page B

superintendent and she—”
    “—would have read you the riot act. I see. So I ’ ve been too democratic ... upsetting sacred protocol ... the lot.” He was silent for a moment and then burst out, “Which way do you want it? M an to man and no hard feeling or via the theater super who, unless I miss my guess, would enjoy making you squirm?”
    Sally was thoughtful. “I would prefer your way but I think the other might be ... safer.”
    “Safer? Oh, I get you. It ’ s more impersonal because it ’ s part of a system. Right?” A grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “Now that we ’ re being sort of democratic, do you think you could risk telling me why your theater super hates my guts? I don ’ t always reckon to be someone ’ s blue-eyed boy, but I guess I ’ ve never been looked at quite so much as if I were a bad smell and, funnily enough, as if I were way beneath her notice all in the same look. It gets me.”
    Sally ’ s eyes twinkled. “If you promise to be like one of your New England clam...”
    “Say, how do you know about the clams? Well, skip it and give me the low-down on those chilly looks. Could it be that she doesn ’ t like Americans?”
    Sally hesitated. “No, it isn ’ t really that. It ’ s because you ’ re ... you ’ re not part of the regular St. Bride ’ s pattern.” She looked at him earnestly. “Don ’ t take that the wrong way. It isn ’ t that we haven ’ t had ... colonials before. We have, but they came when they were housemen grade or at the most, registrars, and they took their turn with the rest.” She became apologetic. “They don ’ t get special privileges, special sessions, and so on.”
    He was silent for so long that she began to be afraid that she had been too outspoken.
    “I get it,” he said slowly. “I should have come here a bit sooner. Stepped out of my place in the rat race back home and taken a chance on having something later on, just so as not to upset the precious system over here.” He was almost bitter for a moment, and then he grinned ruefully. “If there was only some way of mixing English know-how with American push, the sky would be the limit. Trouble with you English is that you allow yourselves to be strangled with your own traditions and you can ’ t see it or else maybe you don ’ t want to see it. There ’ s just no future in it ... none at all.”
    Sally glanced at him with a touch of mischief in her eyes. “Does that mean you ’ re sorry you came already ?”
    “Gosh, no. I ’ ve learned a lot already. You see, your surgeons do the job and even when they find a new and better way they talk about it among themselves maybe, and they may go so far as to show a case at one of the clinical meetings—but they don ’ t publish. They like to wait ... five years ... ten years ... to be sure it is a better way. In that time I could have reached my operating peak and be on the way down and not get to know about it. I could have used that new method maybe hundreds of times. Oh, I know it ’ s a bit risky. But that ’ s progress, honey.”
    “What about the patients?” Sally asked very softly.
    But there was no time for a reply.
    “So this is where you ’ ve got to, Dr. Tremayne.” There was ice underneath the playful tone in Claris Stornoway ’ s voice ... ice that hardened further as she turned to address Sally.
    “I suppose it is a mark of your efficiency that the theater phone doesn ’ t get answered when you are otherwise engaged, Nurse!”
    Sally glanced up at the little green signal light over the door. “I ’ ll have it checked right away, Dr. Stornoway. Did you want the theater?” she asked very quietly.
    “I did not!” the house surgeon snapped. “I was looking for Dr. Tremayne. Dr. Brown was sure he had left the theater an hour ago.”
    Sally was swift to realize that any attempt at conciliation would be futile. She glanced at the clock. “Dr. Brown didn ’ t leave until nine ... he was waiting to be