Read Online The Summer of Sir Lancelot by Richard Gordon - Free Book Online
Authors: Richard Gordon
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suggested Simon quickly. ‘This is indeed an unexpected pleasure, sir.‘
‘One which I fear I am unable to share. Where‘s Cambridge?‘
‘He‘s gone to lunch with some Russians and Ghanaians and Americans, and people,‘ explained Simon in confusion. ‘I can easily get him - ‘
‘No, you‘ll do. It‘s only a minor spasm, thank God.‘ He rose stiffly from his wheelchair, the fires of anger now turned to ashes of exasperation. ‘That stupid woman with the overdeveloped maternal instinct insisted on this conveyance. I have only come for an X-ray. How's my godson?‘ he asked gruffly, suddenly remembering. ‘Put him down for a decent school and the MCC, I hope?‘
Simon managed a smile. ‘I‘m afraid all that rather depends on my chances in the staff election this autumn.‘
Sir Lancelot grunted. ‘I wish to have a little talk with you about that some time.‘
With that frightful female propensity for returning to the point, Lady Spratt had been reminding him of it for the previous three weeks.
‘I now want to get my back X-rayed before the radiological department knocks off for lunch. You will kindly sign the necessary form.‘
Simon raised an eyebrow.
‘I don‘t want to be tedious, Sir Lancelot, but don‘t you think I should take the history and perform an examination first?‘
‘Don‘t be impertinent!‘ The embers of Sir Lancelot‘s wrath flared up. ‘Are you suggesting I don‘t know my own mind?‘
‘No,‘ returned Simon calmly, ‘I‘m only suggesting the decision to have you X-rayed or not should be your doctor‘s responsibility. If you‘d like me to get Mr Cambridge — ‘
‘Good God, have you gone as insane as everyone else in the hospital? Who the devil put ideas like that into your head?‘
‘You did,‘ nodded Simon. ‘For years you drummed into us that every patient had to he thoroughly examined, even if it meant stripping a duchess to the buff in a horsebox — ‘
‘All right, all right,‘ snapped Sir Lancelot, taking off his jacket. ‘But by George! You‘d better be bloody good.‘
‘I think our next step should be an X-ray,‘ announced Simon a few minutes later.
‘I am extremely gratified,‘ declared Sir Lancelot, doing up his cuff-links, ‘that your exhaustive history and examination should have brought you to the conclusion I already provided.‘
‘I‘ll take you down to X-ray myself,‘ continued Simon calmly, signing the form. ‘Yes, Crimes?‘
‘Thought you‘d like to know 7 , Mr Sparrow, we‘re making quite a stand at Lord‘s. Eighty-six for one, sir, and his Reverence has got his fifty. Sorry to see you‘ve lost the use of your legs, sir,‘ he added to Sir Lancelot from the door.
‘You keep a civil tongue in your head, you pantomime Dracula,‘ snapped the surgeon. ‘No, I do not want that beastly pink shawl! Get a move on, Simon man, for God‘s sake. Can‘t you see I‘ve already had more than enough to put up with this morning?‘
The X-ray Department at St Swithin‘s was a cellar under Out Patients, originally designed for the storage of such hospital necessities as splints, strait-jackets, coal, and the Governors‘ port. About the start of the century one of the younger surgeons acquired a machine for emitting the Röntgen rays, and was given a corner down there to play with it — the fellow was clearly a mug for passing fads, having already bought himself one of those motor cars.
Since the nineteen-hundreds X-ray apparatus has flourished in the cellar like mushrooms, into a frightening jungle of clicking and sparking machinery which certainly alarmed the pretty little girl alone in the tiny waiting-room — she was perhaps a sister of Miss Fernlove‘s — who thought it all as spooky as the Ghost Train at Battersea Fun Fair. Having an X-ray was pretty silly anyway, she reflected, because everyone knew she caught her cough when the mingy office turned off the central heating prompt on the first of April. But it was a
‘One which I fear I am unable to share. Where‘s Cambridge?‘
‘He‘s gone to lunch with some Russians and Ghanaians and Americans, and people,‘ explained Simon in confusion. ‘I can easily get him - ‘
‘No, you‘ll do. It‘s only a minor spasm, thank God.‘ He rose stiffly from his wheelchair, the fires of anger now turned to ashes of exasperation. ‘That stupid woman with the overdeveloped maternal instinct insisted on this conveyance. I have only come for an X-ray. How's my godson?‘ he asked gruffly, suddenly remembering. ‘Put him down for a decent school and the MCC, I hope?‘
Simon managed a smile. ‘I‘m afraid all that rather depends on my chances in the staff election this autumn.‘
Sir Lancelot grunted. ‘I wish to have a little talk with you about that some time.‘
With that frightful female propensity for returning to the point, Lady Spratt had been reminding him of it for the previous three weeks.
‘I now want to get my back X-rayed before the radiological department knocks off for lunch. You will kindly sign the necessary form.‘
Simon raised an eyebrow.
‘I don‘t want to be tedious, Sir Lancelot, but don‘t you think I should take the history and perform an examination first?‘
‘Don‘t be impertinent!‘ The embers of Sir Lancelot‘s wrath flared up. ‘Are you suggesting I don‘t know my own mind?‘
‘No,‘ returned Simon calmly, ‘I‘m only suggesting the decision to have you X-rayed or not should be your doctor‘s responsibility. If you‘d like me to get Mr Cambridge — ‘
‘Good God, have you gone as insane as everyone else in the hospital? Who the devil put ideas like that into your head?‘
‘You did,‘ nodded Simon. ‘For years you drummed into us that every patient had to he thoroughly examined, even if it meant stripping a duchess to the buff in a horsebox — ‘
‘All right, all right,‘ snapped Sir Lancelot, taking off his jacket. ‘But by George! You‘d better be bloody good.‘
‘I think our next step should be an X-ray,‘ announced Simon a few minutes later.
‘I am extremely gratified,‘ declared Sir Lancelot, doing up his cuff-links, ‘that your exhaustive history and examination should have brought you to the conclusion I already provided.‘
‘I‘ll take you down to X-ray myself,‘ continued Simon calmly, signing the form. ‘Yes, Crimes?‘
‘Thought you‘d like to know 7 , Mr Sparrow, we‘re making quite a stand at Lord‘s. Eighty-six for one, sir, and his Reverence has got his fifty. Sorry to see you‘ve lost the use of your legs, sir,‘ he added to Sir Lancelot from the door.
‘You keep a civil tongue in your head, you pantomime Dracula,‘ snapped the surgeon. ‘No, I do not want that beastly pink shawl! Get a move on, Simon man, for God‘s sake. Can‘t you see I‘ve already had more than enough to put up with this morning?‘
The X-ray Department at St Swithin‘s was a cellar under Out Patients, originally designed for the storage of such hospital necessities as splints, strait-jackets, coal, and the Governors‘ port. About the start of the century one of the younger surgeons acquired a machine for emitting the Röntgen rays, and was given a corner down there to play with it — the fellow was clearly a mug for passing fads, having already bought himself one of those motor cars.
Since the nineteen-hundreds X-ray apparatus has flourished in the cellar like mushrooms, into a frightening jungle of clicking and sparking machinery which certainly alarmed the pretty little girl alone in the tiny waiting-room — she was perhaps a sister of Miss Fernlove‘s — who thought it all as spooky as the Ghost Train at Battersea Fun Fair. Having an X-ray was pretty silly anyway, she reflected, because everyone knew she caught her cough when the mingy office turned off the central heating prompt on the first of April. But it was a
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