She went out, hugging the child in both arms, and a pale woman, respectably dressed, who had sat through her tirades in silence, took her place in the doctor’s consulting room. Dr. Altrincham-Harris didn’t keep her long. She came out, like the rest of them, after an interview that lasted perhaps two minutes, carrying a bottle of medicine wrapped up in one of the papers that are called comic. Again the bell rang.
“Good God,” Edwin thought, “and this is general practice!” It was evident that he had entered a world in which the academic methods of diagnosis and prescription with which he had been educated were not followed. On the surface it was quite clear that the physician could not have given an eighth part of the usual time or care to the consideration of any single case. He remembered instances of hospital patients who had affected to despise the perfunctoriness of the methods of the Prince’s out-patient department, and had boasted that they would receive better attention from the hands of a “private doctor.” He hoped to goodness that none of these unfortunate people would drift into the hands of Dr. Altrincham-Harris.
His own turn came, and relieved to be rid of the stink of the waiting-room, he entered the surgery. Dr. Harris was sitting in an attitude of impatience behind a desk littered with papers. He was a little man, with grey, untidy hair and a drooping moustache. He held a pencil in his hand, as if he were itching to dash off another prescription, and an open drawer in the desk at his right hand was full of small silver. When he saw that Edwin was better dressed than the majority of his patients, his manner changed at once. “Please sit down,” he said. “Now, what can I do for you?”
Edwin hesitated, for he found it difficult to begin. Dr. Harris encouraged him with a wink, and a grip of his left arm.
“Now, my boy, you needn’t be frightened of me. You’ll find the doctor’s your best friend. Had a bit of bad luck, eh? Well, you’re not the first, and you won’t be the last.”
The wink was the most disgusting part of this performance, but Edwin, quickly recovering his sense of humour, pulled out Edmondson’s letter and handed it to the doctor.
“Well, now, why didn’t you say so at first,” said Dr. Harris, scratching a bristly grey chin. “Yes . . . I did mention to their manager that I was in want of some one to do a bit of rough dispensing and keep this place tidy. You see I don’t live here. It’s what we call a lock-up, and the work’s so pressing that I’ve really no time to do my own dispensing. I suppose you hold the Apothecaries’ Hall Diploma—passed your exams and that?”
“No . . . I’m a medical student. I took pharmacology in my last exam. I’m in my final year.”
“Hm . . . I shouldn’t have thought it. You look very young. Final year . . .” Then his eyes brightened. “Have you done your midwifery yet?”
“No, I shall do that later in the year.”