A short ape plucked at his lower lip and grinned at the Governor. "Lucky you," he wheezed in a stage whisper. "He never discharges the interesting ones."
The other apes laughed; even the head doctor had trouble suppressing his smile. "Now, gentle-pithecanthropes," he said, "I'd like to have your opinions."
An emaciated ape with a hearing-aid adjusted an ophthalmoscope and squinted at the Governor. "What's its case-history?" he asked gruffly.
"The usual thing: congenital logophilia, the ordinary childhood disorders—inflammation of the gizzard, febrile larynx, minor pyromania, swollen presence—distention of the id, a liberal murmur, optical inversion, pathological increment of the epidermis, cancer of the body politic. Nothing to corruscate a clinician."
"Mmmmm," muttered a muscular ape, balancing himself on his knuckles and shaking his head soberly. "I don't dig these non-arboreal climbers. Smacks of delusion."
"Now Doctor," admonished the head physician, "are you making a diagnosis before all the returns are in? We haven't even started to count the ballots."
"The polls aren't closed yet," the nurse raised her head to point out. "That's a joke, see?"
A fat ape-doctor removed her cap and stuck it on one side of his head. "How's his colostrum?"
"What about his colophon?" inquired an old, stooped, graying ape.