Numbly I seized the telephone book and looked up the number of one of the town's three doctors. There was no answer when I dialed his number. I dialed the number of another; he was, a crisp feminine voice informed me, out on a call. I dialed the number of the residence of the third doctor. I heard a ringing sound, and I prayed that this doctor would be avail able. The suspense of waiting for someone to lift the receiver at the other end of the line was terrible, and I tried feverishly to occupy my mind. Doctors ... doctors . .. how many famous ones could I think off? I kept my mind off what was happening in cabin 3, and concentrated on doctors. Famous doctors; well, there were the Mayo brothers, of course, and Dr. Kildare. He's pretty famous, I mused, even though he is just a figment of someone's imagination.
Imagination .. . some philosophers think everything is a figment of people's imagination--or would it be figments? Figments, pigments, pudding and pie; babies are cute, but they sure do cry. And here I was back on the subject of babies again.
The ringing at the other end of the line stopped (although the ringing in my head continued) and the doctor himself answered. I said,
"I'm calling Dr. Kildare! I mean--" I laughed apologetically, "I'm calling Dr. Adams. Is this Dr. Adams?"
When he gave me a curt, affirmative reply, obviously bored with what he considered my facetiousness, I told him what was going on; and he said he'd be over at once.
By that time Grant, having convinced the man that we hadn't found his toupee, came back into the living room, and I told him about the impending blessed event. His complexion took on a hue to match mine and that of the skinny boy.
"I've called the doctor," I said. "What do we do in the meantime?"
Grant, the ever resourceful, the maddeningly efficient, was stymied for once.
"Well..." he said uncertainly.
"That's how I feel about it," I said. "But we can't just--sit here."