be up there.”
“Of course,” Grady said, “I’ll get by. Thanks for your help.”
“Any time,” the seaman lied automatically, and hurried off. Grady opened the door.
Once again he was impressed initially by size. His knowledge of sickbays was confined to brief sojourns in warships on active service, where only emergency surgery was performed; a couple of bunks, a narrow operating table which could be bolted to the deck.
Here there were at least a dozen bunks, ranged in tiers of three, supported at each end by strong steel stanchions, swinging in gimbals so that the ship would roll round them, leaving the patient comparatively stable. He closed the door quietly behind him, and stared.
Astonished, then pleased, he took in the accouterments of a compartment which any small-town hospital would envy: sterilizers, anesthetic machine secured to a bulkhead, cupboards fully equipped—one of them boasting a coldly gleaming array of surgical instruments—carpet on the deck, individual lights for each bunk, curtains on the portholes, and—damn it, it was!—in one corner a small X-ray machine.
“Good God!” he said, involuntarily and aloud.
As if in answer to this claim on the Deity a woman appeared in a doorway at the end of the room. She saw him, and frowned. Then understanding cleared her face and she came toward him.
“Dr. Grady?”
“Yes,” he acknowledged, smiling, his eyes examining. She was a middle-aged, plump and matronly woman in nurse’s uniform; her hair gray, her face lined and friendly. Carried on board more for handling fractious children than a pair of forceps, Grady judged, quite without irritation—it was unlikely there would be any operative procedures, let alone major surgery.
“I’m your nurse, Dorothy Talbot. Welcome aboard, Doctor.”
Suddenly, after the superiority of Faulkner and Bedloe, he found it pleasant to be called by his title, and in his own inviolate domain—his bridge. Grady owned a warm smile, and now it sparkled at her.
“Nice to see I’ve got help, Miss Talbot.” His hand moved in a small embracing arc. “But this . . .”
She matched his smile. “Don’t worry, Doctor, you won’t be using it.”
“Then why . . . ?”
She shrugged. “No reason, except that it helps them to know it’s here. This is no ordinary vessel, Doctor,” she pronounced in a sepulchral voice, and Grady’s eyes squinted at her. It could not be, of course, a good imitation, but there was another difference—Miss Talbot’s smile was glinting in her eyes. “No ordinary vessel, at all, Doctor, and its appointments must match the wallets of those who sail in it. Ah . . .” she broke off. “You have seen, the captain?”
“Twice.” Grady laughed. This feeling was clearly defined—he was going to like Miss Talbot.
“Swell,” she said, “now come see the rest of it.”
“There’s more?”
“This way, sir.” She moved off, obviously pleased at his surprise. “Up forrard here,” halting in the doorway from which she had emerged, and repeating his hand gesture, “we have the operating room.”
Grady stared; his eyes squinted and his mouth opened. He did not speak. Frank—yes, Frank, he thought in his wonderment—would not turn up his Cornellian nose at this. Even to his first swift stare it was obvious that this was a real operating room, and superbly equipped.
Miss Talbot looked up at him from her short height, sidelong humor mixed a little with irony in the lift of her eyebrow.
“We can inspect it fully later, Doctor,” she said. “Now if you’ll kindly come down aft . . .”
Obediently Grady followed her through the sickbay between the empty bunks. In the cream-painted bulkhead there was another door. With a gesture Miss Talbot threw it open. Grady stepped in.
“Holy mackerel!” he exclaimed.
It was all there, beautifully appointed. Desk with swivel chair, two large leather armchairs, padded examination table, scales, screen, a cupboard of instruments—he could see the blood-pressure apparatus—even a bookcase in which heavy medical tomes gleamed their gold-lettered spines at him.
“Consulting room!”
“Nothing but, Doctor.” She moved in beside him, needlessly straightening on the otherwise virgin desk a crested ash tray. “You’ll do most of your medicine in here. Mostly, all it requires is a patient and sympathetic ear.”
Wonderingly Grady examined the instrument cupboard, while the nurse stood back near the door, smiling, her eyes on the clean and manly size of him, noting the dark auburn hair and the rugged face and the look of competence about him which sat easily and naturally on his bigness. Shrewdly mature, she judged the long straight nose and the jutting jaw which was relieved by the sensitivity of his mouth. Strong, she thought—and probably understanding with women and kids. He’d need to be.
Unaware of this other examination, Grady wandered past the bookcase. Toxicology, surgery, pathology, anatomy, dietetics, physical therapy—there was even Ponsford’s Textbook of Obstetrics. They were all modern volumes, brand-new, and, by the look of them, unopened. He came back to Miss Talbot.
“Satisfied?” She smiled.
“No—envious.” He glanced keenly at the nurse. “Pity it has to be wasted. Without much effort I could think of twenty surgeries where this stuff would be a godsend.”
She nodded, then she said flatly:
“I wouldn’t concern myself too much with other surgeries’ lack of equipment, Doctor.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just this. You’ve got a fully equipped set-up. If we do run into serious trouble, you’ll be expected to fix it, right here. The captain and the company won’t take any excuses.”
Her voice was casual but her eyes were shrewd. She knew that she would learn a good deal about this new man in the next few seconds.
“Fair enough,” Grady answered easily. “Don’t wish anyone any harm, but a neat little adrenalectomy might liven things up a bit on the bounding main.”
“Adrenalectomy,” she snorted, satisfied. “I should hope not! Ah—you like surgery?”
“Specialized in it.”
“I see. How come you take a berth like this then?”
“I can see I’d better satisfy your curiosity right off,” he said and grinned. “But let’s consult in my consulting room. That chair please, madam.”
She sat down in the armchair and he went behind the desk. She shook her head at the proffered cigarette and he lit one himself.
“Let’s say I’m a perennial and peregrinating locum tenens. Thought this would be a new experience.”
“It certainly will be.
