"Your thyroid, sir. Did a remarkable basal. Pulse is down to 110. Lowest ... so far...."
"Fine! I'll operate tomorrow if you advise. Drop around later and give her a final once-over. Be there in half an hour."
"But Father, I'm hungry ... I missed...."
"All right. All right! You always were! Go get your supper. I don't need you dancing attendance on me! Still know an operative patient when I see one. Don't interrupt me! You talk too much! Always did! Goodnight, son!"
His gruff affection blacked out the illustration. Cub placed his right foot against the center drawer of his desk and began wondering what he wanted to eat. Shad roe? Lamb chops? Roast beef?
He propped open a recent copy of the _New Yorker_ and read four passable cartoons, turned the page, then lifted the receiver.
"Yes, sir. Yes, Dr. Barton. Been trying to get you all evening, sir. Think she's all right. Pull through. Can't tell for a certainty yet. Mostly shock. What's that? Aw, she's average. Kinda tinselly. By the way, better say none of those paper people can see her for a week. No beaus and no flowers. Righto! Not at all! See you tomorrow, sir."
Cub replaced the receiver, rose, straightened his tie, changed to a blue serge coat, tore three wedding invitations on his desk to shreds, slung the shreds into the waste basket, slammed the door and slouched up the stairs, whistling.
The jingling of a telephone bell followed him. That's why he whistled.
Five minutes later, the woman in the Admitting Office wrote Thursday, May 12th for the fourth time, and Sophie Merriweather, Newark, N. J., for the tenth time, and Cub Sterling barged into Weber's deserted restaurant and said, pathetically:
Then he lifted the hose of a talking tube and ordered:
"Three-minut-steak-two-vrench-vrys-asparaggus-on-toas-celler-y- an'- ollivs- VRIGH-TER-VAY!"
He slid the tube onto its hook, filled two steins with Schlitz, blew the foam, carefully refilled them, and with a "from the heart" motion, pushed them across the counter and soothed:
Otto eased it away, refilled it and stood it beside the full one. Then he lifted his belly onto a stool, leaned his arms against the bar and said, earnestly:
"Fut you need, son ... iss to get marriet.... Tonight you see you haf vent viddout your supper. No vivfe allows dat.... No! Fut you need iss...."