"What about your patella?" Six-foot-two inquired after a pause.
"My what?"
"Your patella. Do you mean to say the doctors didn't talk about that?"
"I dare say they may have done, but I don't remember. Still, our doctors don't talk much—they act."
"Well, so do ours. There aren't better doctors in the world than at our place, I can tell you. It's common knowledge. Why, Sir Rashleigh Hewitt is there every day—the great Sir Rashleigh Hewitt, the King's doctor."
"Well, the King has more than one. Sir Frank Carver is another, and he's at our place day and night. He's a masterpiece."
"I've always understood," said Six-foot-two, "that Sir Rashleigh is at the very head of his profession. The nurses say so."
"He may be for some things," Ginger conceded. "But not the knee. Sir Frank Carver is the crack knee man. Now if you'd been at our place I dare say that one operation would have been enough for you."
"Enough? What rot! How could it be enough, with all the complications? I tell you it's a unique, my case."
"Yes, it may be. But what I'm getting at is that it might not be if you'd had Sir Frank Carver, the great knee specialist, at it at once."