༽
BY
CHINA MAIL
FRIDAY SUPPLEMENT, JUNE 17, 1938
ORDER OF THE
THE COUNCIL
FLICKER of humour show was as sure of it as he was of
A FLICK the studious face of
Dr. William Carey's counsel as he watched his client play the game of life and death with a fly on the blotting pad.
Carey's face was unrevealing of any emotion he might be enduring as his long fingers stalked the mo- tionless insect. Counsel checked a smile and shook his head sharp- ly as though to rid himself of this frivolity. His averted gaze cry- stallized into a frown as he bent over the papers before him and began to annotate for his final speech for the defence to the grave-faced Medical Council who had called his client to judgment.
And while Carey hunted a fly, Sir George Sefton K.C., his hands locked behind his back, spoke suavely, conversationally, striving with his forensic skill to take away Dr. Carey's professional honour. Listening almost absent- mindedly, Carey remembered with a sudden spate of bitterness that this was just a 'job of work to Sefton. To him it meant some- thing more it meant every- thing. In an attempt to banish the sound of that bland, hateful voice, he pursued his fly-chase afresh, but there was no respite for his ears.
At that moment of reclaiming Dr. Carey's reluctant attention Sir
George Sefton had allowed himself a burst of dignified pas- sion.
▸
This woman's life was
in Dr. Carey's hands. Those who held her dear had trusted impli- citly in his professional ability. For him there was a solemn duty to do his best to justify that trust. But did he do that best? The rea- sons, I submit, which he may have had for doing as he did are im- that material. The fact remains four independent medical author- ities have affirmed that, in their opinion, Dr. Carey left undone things which may well have saved this poor woman's life. He...
Carey bent his iron-grey head doggedly, under the injustice of it. He held his eyes almost sav- agely upon the fly on the blotting pad. His tensed fingers crept up to it deliberately.
**
The insect hopped a few inches along the pad Carey followed he it. In that fleeting moment
those was beyond the reach of eminent medicos, rowed like ala- of baster busts along the base
wall, that solid and respectable under the portrait of some aged and revered medical dignitary of yesterday. Sefton's voice was no longer a dagger-thrust to Carey. It was merely an echo, as remote as the roaring of an animal on some distant jungle hill-side.
a
At the edge of the pad his quarry stirred uneasily, prepar- Carey's atory to taking wing. gaze quickened, but before he could swoop upon the insect sudden certitude came into his heart. He glanced up and be came aware that something Sef. ton had said struck a responsive chord in the minds of his judges. He knew then instinctively what would be the verdict of the Coun- cil, He was to be struck off. He
death.
A thrill of panic stirred in his breast, so real that he glanced up and about anxiously to ascertain if anyone were watching him. His own counsel wrote steadily with downcast face, wasting his time, as Carey knew. That muted row of living busts, the Council, lis- tened raptly to Sir George Sefton K.C: The fly darted its tongue in and out with incredible rapid- ity. Half-heartedly Carey scoop- ed at it.
The brusque movement of his hand seemed to have caught the attention of the entire room. Carey sensed indignant surprise from Sefton, bewilderment from his own counsel, and stern disappro val from the judges. But none of these things mattered to him. He moved his clenched fingers elated satia- carefully and with faction felt the tickle of impri- soned wings against the palm of his hand. Then life propounded to him the eternal query: "A great victory, but what are you going to do with it?"
He answered by opening his fingers and allowing the captive to soar to safety. Watching the the tiny thing speed away into stuffmess of the Council Chamber, he tried hard to regard it as symbolic.
Carey's counsel
Short Story
was up now.
and He was
young and eager, brought a swift sincerity into his pleadings. Flatigue was the mo- tif of his defence.
65
. For two days and nights Dr. Carey had been without sleep. This is an extremely im- portant point. An extenuating circumstance which you must re- member when you weigh the conse- mistake quences of my client's against him. For it was a mis- take. But it was neither negli- gence nor dereliction of duty.
The youngster tripped on brave- ly, but Dr. Carey knew that it was useless. The Medical Coun- cil listened politely until the end.
Their all-important delibera- tions did not take long; not so long as Carey had anticipated. Within thirty minutes the chair- man gave judgement. He was struck off.
Unbewildered but stunned, he reviewed himself. His operation book bulging his pocket had sud- denly become a joke, a grim joke a grim joke of Sefton's. His instruments, all so carefully se- lected, the specials studiously de- signed and suited to his facile fin- gers, just so much metal. Highly. polished metal in a handsome black case. with worthless gilt initials. The formulae he. had considered so. priceless were waste paper.
As from a great distance in the subdued murmur of the dwindling assembly, he heard his counsel pouring out condolences,
“Too bad..... jolly hard lines:" In Wimpole-street a newsboy was shouting: "West End doctor struck off!" Carey winced at the the sound of it and crossed to other side of the street. The news- boy's cries followed him derisive- ly.
At his chambers his man admit- ted him impassively. Carey un- derstood the meaning of the swiftly lowered eyelids and brush- ed past as quickly as he could on his way to his surgery. The fam- iliarity of the place struck him like a blow in the face. Then and there he decided that he would get out of the country. Get away from everything and submerge his identity completely; but that, he knew, would not be an easy job. The decision to leave gave him & new interest, a new courage. He pressed the buzzer for his man with something of the old
surance.
as-
"Carter," he announced when the man made his appearance, "I am going away from here very. shortly. Things have rather changed for me, and I shall have to dispense with your services. I'm sorry. You were an excel- lent servant, No one could have had a better.”
Carter inclined his head. "Thank you, sir." He hesitat- ed briefly, then went on defident- ly: "And, if I may say so, sir.
By
Keith Ayling
The lights were gleaming the streets by the time he had finished. Looking through the window, he felt a desire to walk in the friendly mist of a London even. It might be his last walk of the kind for a long time.
He put on a light coat and let himself out of the surgery door into the subdued roar of London, In the street he sniffed at the mist gratefully as he sped rapidly away, going as fancy willed.
His fancy drew him down the incline to the city, towards the river. It was only after he had covered about half a mile that in something weighed heavily his hand. He was carrying his instruments in the old familiar bag; a treasured relic of his fam- ous father.
оп.
It gave him rather a start to realise the force of habit gained through the years. But there too for him to many people about yield to a sudden urge to throw the bag away, so he went Swinging it in his right hand, he headed towards the river until, a by-way near the Houses of Par- liament, he was confronted by a squat man who loomed out of the mist like a small mountain. His manner was reminiscent of a tor- nado.
"Blimey!" he howled drunken- ly, "it's adoc! Blimey if it ain't. What yer got in there, doc? Baby?!.
The man's compact bulk block- ed the footpath.
"Excuse me," said Carey fros- tily.
“S'all ri,” “doc.
Have a drink?"
"No, thank you””S
"Aw-c'mon, 'ave a drink,"
pleaded the inebriate.
Carey adjusted
I am sorry to leave you.. were a good master, sir."
You
the
for me.
Carey's heart warmed at genuine feeling in the man's voice. "You know why I am giving "you up, don't you, Carter?"-he
inquired.
"Indeed I do, sir,” replied the servant in a low voice, "It was in but the papers, sir. But none of us here believe it, sir.”
That's "Thank you, Carter. decent of you.” Carey,pondered a moment. "I shan't want dinner to-night, as I shall be working in the surgery for a time. Before you lock up you might come in to my desk. I shall leave cheques for two months' money here for you and the other servants, and references if they're any good. I hope that you will all find other situations quickly.”
"Thank you, sir,” replied Car- ter, and he turned mournfully
away.
Carey sat at his desk and busied himself at putting his affairs in order. He wrote the cheques for the servants, and a note with each of them. He left cheques for the household bills, and wrote four. letters which required immédiate attention. Then he piled them neatly, with the cheques, at the side of the gleaming silver ink- stand, a present from a grateful patient. All the while he was thinking of far and strange coun- tries with an enthusiasm he thought had departed with his youth.
his pince-nez
and answered severely: "Not
And you appear to have
had enough yourself.”
never
The other shook his head.- "Never got enough. got enough!" He placed a hand on Carey's shoulder and peered
sodden up at him with
eyes. "You're goo1 feller for a doc. You know me?”
Carey denied acquaintance im- patiently.
"Don' know me? Good then you ain't a police doc. Well, I'm a sailor. Goo' sailor, too."
"Really?" answered Carey, and he made another effort to pass. But the man seized his arm affec- tionately.
"Don't go 'way. ler. I got money. you a drink."
You goo' fel- I'm goin' buy
Carey bit his lip. "All right," he said resignedly, "we'll have a drink. You come along to a place I know.
"RI yer are, doc. I'll come along anywhere. Good ol' doc."
With the seafaring man on his arm, Carey resumed his walk. It should be simple to get rid of his incubus once they got into the crowd, he reflected.
“Mustn't drink too much, yer know, "the sailorman whispered hoarsely to Carey. "Sailin' away in the mornin'-Sailin' away on the ol Pembrokeshire Octopod." She's
But a_rum 'un, she is. what's a chap to do? No money! (Continued on Page 7)