Dr. Thorne (moves more naturally and rapidly; stands by the cot of No. 21; speaks). Good-morning, Mrs. True. I meant to have seen you last night. I was—unavoidably detained. I hope you’re not worse this morning?
Patient (with tears). I’ve cried half the night.
Dr. Thorne. That’s a pity. But you won’t cry any more. I’ll take care of you now.
Patient (looks up wearily; turns her face on her pillow and sobs).
Dr. Thorne. Clearly aphasia. She does not understand a word I say. Dr. Gazell! Gazell! Dr. Carver?
(The two physicians murmur together.)
Dr. Thorne. Gazell? What’s that? The knife? For Mrs. True? Excuse me, but I cannot permit it.
Dr. Carver. It would be such a pretty little operation. The students are getting restless for something. I told them—
Dr. Gazell. It is well-defined appendicitis.
Dr. Thorne. Well-defined appendi—fiddlesticks! It is nothing but pleurisy. I tell you, Gazell, I will not have it!