We pulled up in front of the hospital. I said pointedly to Bertha, “This will be strictly a family affair.”
Arthur Whitewell looked across at his son. “I think, Philip, you’d better go up alone,” he said. “If the shock of seeing you doesn’t clear things up, don’t let it discourage you too much. We’ll have Dr. Hinderkeld come up, and he’ll get results.”
“And if seeing me does clear things up for her?” Philip asked.
His father dropped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be waiting.”
Bertha Cool looked at me.
I said, “It gives me the creeps to wait around a hospital. I’ll be back in an hour. That will be early enough in case I can do anything to help, and if I can’t, it will give you time enough to get adjusted.”
Bertha asked, “Where are you going?”
“Oh, there are some things I want to do,” I said. “I’ll keep the cab.”
Whitewell said to Bertha, “It looks as though you and I were going to be left to pace the floor in the expectant fathers department.”
“Not me,” Bertha said. “I’ll ride uptown with Donald. We’ll be back here in an hour. And then breakfast?”