"But I've done my part to get rid of human miseries," Dr. Needzak said, nodding toward a filing cabinet. "I can show you the data on hundreds of my patients. Old folks, who just got tired of living; I helped them die legally. Even younger people, who had a genuine reason for being tired of life. I couldn't have my fine home or pay rent in this building, if I went around curing every patient. There's no money in that."
"You wouldn't keep a filing cabinet for the times you disobeyed the medical code," Dr. Carson broke in. "But we have some of those cases on tape. You didn't refuse to handle the cases. You went ahead and played God, going directly against the direct will of your patients. Did you follow up all of the patients who aren't in your file cabinets? We traced the later records of some of them. Several suicided right out in the open. Their families haven't gotten back on their feet from the disgrace yet."
Dr. Needzak took two more deep swallows from the bottle. He looked glumly at the low level of the liquid through its dark side, saying:
"You fellows are enjoying this conversation more than old friends should enjoy the job of taking action against a fellow-doctor. And I'll tell you why you aren't too unhappy about it. You're jealous of me. You're jealous of the fact that I've been following a physician's natural instincts and healing people. You're angry with me for doing the things that you'd really love to do yourselves, if you had the guts. You aren't worried about that girl; you're peeved because you'd give your shirts for a chance to take out a genuine tumor yourself."
"Admitted," Dr. Carson said cheerfully. "I haven't seen a live tumor in three or four years. They're scarce. But we can't sit here chatting. We don't want to end up arguing."
Dr. Needzak rose. "What do I do, then?"
"The best action would be to come along with us to the association headquarters," Dr. Manville advised, avoiding Dr. Needzak's eyes. "In a half-hour or so, you can sign enough statements to avoid weeks of hearings. Otherwise, we'll be forced to bother lots of other physicians, hunt up your old patients, endure newspaper publicity, and have a general mess."
"After that, I start pounding the pavements, hunting a job." Dr. Needzak flexed his long, lean fingers. "Is it hard to learn how to operate ditch diggers?"
Dr. Carson stood up and slapped him on the back. "It isn't that bad. You can find a place in any pharmacy in the country, if we get through this disbarment without publicity. You'll never be rich, handing out irritants and hyper-stimulants, but—"
Dr. Needzak was already striding toward the street. The other two doctors trailed after him, waiting while he locked up carefully. They glanced at one another significantly, noting that he had unconsciously brought along his little black bag. Dr. Needzak explained as they began the two-block walk to association headquarters: