“Here’s one we caught just in time,” Dr. Barsch sighed. He spoke so low that Gene couldn’t hear him. “Look at that appendix. I’ll be lucky if I can get it out without breaking it. When, in heaven’s name, did you first see this boy?” he asked Ted.
Ted bit his lip. “Ten minutes before we came over. I didn’t even stop to do a blood count on him. Let’s not talk about it. I get cold shivers up and down my back when I think of how close his mother came to giving him something for his stomach ache instead of calling a doctor.”
Jean shuddered at the thought.
“It still tickles, doctor,” Gene said in a piping voice. “I’ll tell you when it stops.”
Jean grinned as she bent over her sketch.
“Something just stopped her,” Ted continued. “She called me instead. A hunch, she said.”
“God loves His small creatures,” Dr. Barsch replied. “All right, here we go.” He lifted the swollen appendix from the wound with great care. With a sigh of relief, he placed it carefully in a receptacle on the table. The distended organ broke as he laid it down.
“Ye Gods!” Ted said, turning white. “That’s the closest one I’ve ever seen!”
Dr. Barsch grinned as he started to sew up the incision. “It’s all over now, doctor. Gene, does it still tickle?”
“A little bit,” the boy answered. “Not much.”