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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..464d645 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66360 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66360) diff --git a/old/66360-0.txt b/old/66360-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 24f81bf..0000000 --- a/old/66360-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1026 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of John's Other Practice, by Winston Marks - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: John's Other Practice - -Author: Winston Marks - -Release Date: September 22, 2021 [eBook #66360] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN'S OTHER PRACTICE *** - - - - - John's Other Practice - - By Winston Marks - - Slot machines usually give you a big pain - in the wallet. But Cunningham's Symptometer was - more considerate--it also diagnosed the pain.... - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy - July 1954 - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -I knew that John Cunningham had been warned on graduation day that no -man with a romantic nature should specialize in gynecology. John was -not only a romanticist; he was also the best looking intern north of -the equator. - -The laws of probability functioned. Within three years, John Cunningham -was married, divorced, disgraced and flat broke. And so it was that the -winsome, six-foot, blonde-headed nurse's idol of the flashing smile and -brilliant mind, approached life with three strangely related goals, -namely: (1) To practice medicine successfully without (2) coming in -contact with his patients, and yet (3) make back the family fortune he -had squandered mixing potions with poetry. - -In a much less interesting way, I, too, was diverted from an otherwise -promising career in the practice of conventional 21st Century -medicine. My final exam before the board revealed an aptitude that -landed me a fat offer from the International Medical Association. The -job was Special Investigator on the Malpractice Board of Control. -My apparent immunity to emotional disturbances from the other sex, -ironically, was the deciding factor of my appointment. - -My first intimation of John Cunningham's vicarious practice came in -the form of an order to check on a complaint from the Hotel Celt in -New York. I bussed over to the 48-story hostelry and questioned the -manager, a fat, bald man of some forty-two years and no arches. - -"A lady doctor," he mourned, "has served warning she will sue unless I -take out the slot machines from our mezzanine powder rooms." - -"I know," I said. "She filed the complaint that brought me here. What -I want to know is what does a slot machine violate by being in the -ladies' room?" I meant, what violation beyond the usual federal, state -and county restrictions whose ineffectual enforcement rendered them -anachronisms in this age of device-gambling. - -"Why does this remotely concern the medical profession?" - -Mr. Dennithy, the manager plucked an imperfect petal from his -buttonhole carnation and reluctantly pointed out. "These machines -are vending, not gambling devices. They issue medical advice--on a -limited scale," he added hurriedly. - -"What!" I yelled in his face. "Let's go see this." - -The tastefully decorated lounge was jammed with females, many of whom -were bunched in little chirping bevies along the west wall. Stubby -queues of women gave the place the look of a pari-mutuel stand, but the -cheerful, tinkly chatter had nothing of the grim spirit of betting. - -The three women attendants threw up their hands in despair when I told -them to clear the room. "We can hardly get them to leave at night so we -can clean up the place," one complained. - -Impatiently I barged in, flashed my gold and platinum serpent-and-staff -badge, and shouted. "These machines are illegal. This is a raid! Stand -where you are, every last one of you!" - - * * * * * - -That did it. I almost got trampled in the stampede of high heels. Score -one for my specialty in applied psychology and semantics. I learned -later that, compared to one John Cunningham, I was a babe in the -maternity ward. - -Of this I got my first inkling when I examined one of the ten machines -along the wall. It had a slot for a quarter. It was only two feet -across by seven feet high and one foot thick. A circular mirror at eye -level drew the female attention, and alongside was the slogan in large -orange print: - -"_DO YOU REALLY FEEL WELL? Have you pains in your abdomen? Answer -correctly the following questions and learn the truth from the -Appendicitis Symptometer._" - -The next machine was named a "Kidney Stone Symptometer." The next -advised about allergies, the next, pulmonary tuberculosis, and so on -down to the one on the far end. Before this somewhat larger machine -was the densest litter of carmine-tipped cigarette butts, some still -smoldering on the carpet. This evident number-one favorite on the -Symptometer Hit Parade asked disturbingly: - -"COULD IT BE YOU ARE PREGNANT?" - -Each machine had a bank of detailed questions to answer, each so -couched that it could be satisfied by pressing one of three buttons. -The instruction read: "Push the Red Button to answer YES, the White -Button for NO, and the Yellow Button for SORT OF." This machine -required a dollar. - -To say that I was intrigued would only be searching for words. Having -no change I demanded a silver dollar from Dennithy. He shifted from one -foot to the other, and never before have I seen a genuine hotel man -blush. - -"Really, Mr. Klinghammer--" - -"Doctor Klinghammer," I reminded him. - -"Oh, yes. But--actually, I hadn't realized the exact nature of these -devices. The, er, diseases which they purport to diagnose, I mean. My -engineer, Mr. Shiftin merely said--" - -"We do not prosecute innocently victimized business-men," I told him. -"Now, that dollar, please." - -"But wouldn't one of the quarter machines--" he trailed off under my -best scowl and produced a silver disc from his fawn-colored vest. - -I sent him out for more coins and set about inserting negative -symptomatic answers. Upon examination the questions appeared to be -remarkably phrased. Several of them seemed unrelated to the condition -of pregnancy, but it turned out that Cunningham knew what he was doing. - -When the last button was depressed a soft, melodic chime disguised the -click of the mechanism which ejected the cardboard tab. It read: - -"IF YOU HAVE ANSWERED THESE QUESTIONS HONESTLY THE SYMPTOMETER OBSERVES -THAT IT IS EXTREMELY UNLIKELY THAT YOU ARE PREGNANT. YOU ARE URGED TO -CONSULT A COMPETENT OBSTETRICIAN. VERIFY THIS OPINION." - -Next, I set into the machine the proper answers to describe an -ambiguous condition with contradictory symptoms. Dennithy came back -with more change, and this time the tab read: - -"THERE IS A POSSIBILITY OF PREGNANCY INDICATED. A COMPETENT PHYSICIAN -CAN DETERMINE AT ONCE. THERE IS ALSO AN INDICATION THAT YOUR ANSWERS -MIGHT BE EITHER INSINCERE OR FACETIOUS. THE INVENTOR OF THE SYMPTOMETER -WISHES TO POINT OUT THAT IT'S YOUR DOLLAR YOU JUST SPENT, LADY." - -I could imagine the chuckle this would get from the old dowager, -wise in the ways of such matters and smugly secure from any such -contingency; the woman who would be most likely to feed in such -confusing data. - -I snatched another coin from Dennithy and pushed in the buttons which -should give symptoms of pregnancy in the last week of the last month. -The card read: - -"MADAME CALL AN AMBULANCE. YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS DOWN TOWN!" - -At first I was plain furious. The inventor was selling not only medical -diagnoses, but providing penny arcade entertainment as well. Then the -impossibility of reporting the results of my investigation to the -board struck me. In what conceivable manner could I phrase my findings -and still maintain the dignity of our profession? And, worse yet, -when you got right down to it, on what grounds could we outlaw and -confiscate these machines? - - * * * * * - -Twenty-four quarters later I confirmed this suspicion. All ten -machines were paragons of discretion. Each urged the patient to visit -her doctor, or bore some other innocuous medical platitude. They -were designed to painlessly accommodate the confirmed hypochondriac -without wasting a busy doctor's time. And yet when a truly sick person -indicated genuine symptoms, the diagnosis was general but accurate. The -instruction to see a physician at once was urgently definite. - -I was back before the dollar machine musing at my ugly expression in -the mirror, when a light female voice behind me said, "I believe you -have the wrong room, gentlemen." - -She had short, bronzed, curly hair. She wore trim flannel slacks of -dead white. Across her immaculate blouse was slung a pair of straps, -one supporting a small tool kit, the other a stout leather pouch which -rested on one shapely hip. She looked, to my first embarrassed glance, -cute, feminine, intelligent and quite amused. - -"We, ah, we were not intruding, Miss," Dennithy spluttered. "I cleared -the room so I could show this equipment to--" I kicked him in the shin -"--to _Mister_ Klinghammer. He--has a hotel on the west coast. He is -interested." - -The reason for this evasion was the fact that emblazoned in red over -her left breast was the legend: - - "JAYSEE SYMPTOMETER SERVICE" - -"Clever machines," I flattered. "Well based in feminine psychology," I -added, entirely overlooking that she might reasonably be expected to -have the same psychology. - -"I only service them," she said shortly. "Please step aside so I can -operate." She gave me a long, searching look before she swung open -the first top panel. Apparently satisfied I was merely a prospective -customer, she let me look on. - -A swift look inside gave me a virulent case of the quim-quim. Here was -no simple coin-snatcher. The answer buttons were switches. From each -one ran leads to a panel which bristled with tiny vacuum tubes. It was -uncomfortably remindful of the latest in electronic calculators which -were rapidly gaining the reputation of being, "man's other brain." - -"Tell me, Miss--" - -"_Doctor_ Calicoo," she prompted me pleasantly, as she slipped the tiny -test prods of a miniature meter into the machine's mercenary heart. - -"Tell me, Dr. Calicoo, how may I get in touch with the supplier of this -equipment?" - -She handed me a card and with it a slightly interested look that -dropped my stability quotient at least three points. - -The card was less interesting than the expression in her provocative -blue eyes. I broke down and asked, "Doctor of what?" - -"Philosophy. Electronics and Mathematics. You don't run a hotel," she -said shrewdly. - -"Make a liar out of Mr. Dennithy if you choose," I told her, "but would -you be kind enough to take me to," I glanced at the card, "to Dr. John -Cunningham?" - -"I'll take you," she nodded, then her voice hardened a little, "but if -you are just a snooper or a patent-jumper it will be no favor." - -She invited candor, so she got it. I showed her my badge. Her mouth -pulled into a startled little "o," like an oversized, pitted cherry. - -We left Dennithy clinking quarters, trying to determine how he might -figure into a possible scandal. In the elevator to the basement garage -I commented acidly, "You must have known this was inevitable, of -course?" - -"To the contrary," she parried, "I had a notion that a genuine M.P. -sleuth would be ninety-two years old and wear a white coat with a -stethoscope in his side pocket. You seem to have youth and a rather -charming virility, Doctor." - -"Cut the flattery," I said. "Let's find your car." - - * * * * * - -The address was over in New Brooklyn. She slipped the light blue sedan -into the proper cross-town tunnel entrance, adjusted the automatics -and turned upon me suddenly. The dim reflection of the headlights from -the dull-painted walls of the one-way tunnel gave her face a ghostly -loveliness. I had just become sharply aware of this phenomenon, when -she brushed a light, experimental kiss across my lips. - -Volume II, of Dr. Bankawaya's "Twenty-First Century Emotional -Reactions to the Love Stimulus" notwithstanding, my socially-adjusted, -medically-trained and professionally-restrained instincts played a -rotten trick on me. Instead of staring at her with a cool eye and -calming her with a proper, chilling remark, I responded like a frog's -leg to an electric shock. - -My chin jerked out to follow the sweetest sensation I could remember. -It didn't have far to go. She had retreated only three inches. - -The tunnel curved right there, and the car lurched. I made a bad -connection with only half her mouth, but a slight correction on her -part squared us off to what is outrageously described in the texts as a -basic, or primary, wooing gesture. - -After the first, delirious second I knew it was a frame. After the -second moment, I didn't care. But it wasn't until several minutes had -elapsed that Doctor Calicoo's cool resolve collapsed, and I learned -what a kiss could really mean from a woman who meant it, herself. - -She tore out of my arms with a little cry. "Look out!" Then I became -aware that the warning light had been flashing unnoticed. We were -coming to the tunnel's exit where manual vehicle control became -necessary. With trembling hands she gripped the controls until her -knuckles were white knobs. - -As we flashed past the patrol station and two alert faces checked the -interior of our car, I said, "I think I know what you had in mind. -You had me hooked on but good. Why didn't you go through with it?" I -referred to the easy possibility of our shooting from the tube in each -other's arms and thereby violating the safety code for tube passage. -Such a simple frame would have put M.P. Investigator Klinghammer on -the tabloid front page, if his feminine companion had chosen to file -a complaint--with police witnesses to the act. Exit Klinghammer to a -hobby of his own, probably less lucrative than building phantom symptom -machines. - -"I guess I overdid it," she said simply. She began to cry. Her white -blouse quivered. - - * * * * * - -All I did was pat her gently on the shoulder, and the tears ran like -mercury from a retort. "Let us not assume that we are enemies," I said, -regaining a portion of my composure and all of my stuffiness. "So you -_are_ the frustrated Mata Hari; perhaps I'm on your side. Were you -acting on orders? Was this a set up?" - -She shook her head. "When we went into the tunnel I was in love with -John Cunningham. I kissed you to frame you, all right, but it was my -own idea. I'm impulsive, I guess." The only part I caught was the past -tense of her first sentence. - -"You mean you can change loves in the middle of a tunnel?" I blurted. -Whereupon I learned one more "don't" that was never mentioned in -lecture. The car slewed to the curb. She jabbed the emergency stop -switch, leaned across me and slapped open my door. - -"Walk!" she commanded. The remaining tears were fairly steaming from -her red cheeks. I was smart enough not to fumble for an apology. I -walked. - -When I found a cab, I had no chance to think clearly. The cabby bored -me the whole way with the excited news of the opening of the Brooklyn -Centennial Celebration. Brooklyn in the spring meant baseball, and the -Bums were celebrating their one-hundredth year in the league. - -"Only we're changing the name from 'de Bums' to 'de Boids.' 'De -Blueboids' woulda been prettier, but a hockey team got to that name -foist." - -Brooklyn in the spring. Baseball. Love out of the blue. Blueboids. -Platitudinous slot-machines. - -When I stood before the gray, translucent door of Dr. John Cunningham's -penthouse apartment, I was something less than the eager, efficient, -young Dr. Klinghammer of the remarkable stability. From bed-rock to -quicksand in one easy tunnel. - - * * * * * - -A man answered. He was at least one cut above the most adored idol of -video and movie screen, his slacks even more unpressed and his beach -shirt even gaudier. He looked me in the eye for a moment and said, "Dr. -Sledgehammer, I presume?" - -"Klinghammer," I corrected. - -"Sorry. Sue seemed a little confused on several details. Come in, -please." - -Sue. Sue Calicoo. Out of the blue. Blueboids. John Cunningham. This was -a disrupting thought. So this is the guy she's really in love with. -Malpractice? Without a doubt. - -I followed him into a spacious, skylighted room, a corner of which -instantly caught my eye, first, because it contained Sue, and second, -because it was the only orderly spot in the whole littered place. -Sue sat in the tiny office-space at a small desk, furiously filing a -fingernail over a blue wastebasket. She didn't look up. - -The look of tidiness ended there. The balance of the chamber gave a -fair impression of a wholesale video-repair shop on moving day. Benches -and racks were spaced at random, and each was loaded with electronic -gear, meters, cable and tools. Unassembled units squatted in a -semicircle before a large framework at the far end of the laboratory. - -"May we be alone?" I asked. - -"Alone?" - -"Your girl friend, there," I said bitterly. - -Cunningham tossed his blond head back and laughed. "Girl friend? That -little fiend who calls herself my partner? Huh-uh! My girl friends are -in there. Let's go introduce you." He started through a side door, and -the unmistakable revelry of a cocktail party burst into the room. - -Cunningham, himself, was not sober. I looked at Dr. Sue Calicoo. She -hissed, "If you mention anything about the tunnel I'll brain you! -Anything! Do you understand?" - -I chased after Cunningham, hauled back with one hand and clipped him -carefully with the other. I slammed the door and told Sue, "Help me -sober him up." - -She whistled softly. "He's not that drunk. Bring him to and you'll find -out." - -I worked on his heavy neck for a moment until his eyes flickered. I was -in no mood to make him comfortable, so I just propped his back against -a packing-case and took off on him. "What kind of a travesty on the -practice of medicine do you call this?" I began. - -Sue yawned and went to join the party. "Call me when the patty-cake is -baked," she said as she closed the door. - -The glare of hostility gradually vanished from Cunningham's handsome -face. Without it he looked better. He lit a cigarette, thought for a -moment and smiled at me. "Have you been kissing my partner?" - -I blurbled in my throat. - -He went on, "You are acting as strangely as Sue did. I have often -conjectured that if you could bottle Sue's kisses adrenalin would be -obsolete." - -"You--kiss her--often?" I asked against my will. - -"Only twice. The day she came to work, and two weeks later when they -took the stitches out of my head. The second one was just to show there -were no hard feelings." - -"She loves you," I said with inane persistence. - -He shrugged, "Could be. But she means matrimony. I flunked that once. -Won't take the test again. But now, Doctor, you didn't come here to -make a match, surely. Sue reports that the M.P. board takes a dim view -of my Symptometers. Have you filed a report yet?" he asked warily. - -"Not quite yet," I admitted. Blueboids. Sue Calicoo. Brooklyn in the -Spring. - -"And when your respiration becomes normal again," Cunningham assured -me, "I think you will realize that such a report will be difficult to -file. Am I right?" He hoisted himself from the carpet. "You know," he -went on, "this investigation was sure to come. I knew it. And I guess -it threw me a little more than I thought it would. Now that it's here -I'm relieved. I think they sent the right man, Doctor Klinghammer." - - * * * * * - -He fished a bottle from the debris on one of the benches and offered it -to me. He did it in such a neighborly manner that in my preoccupation -I accepted and tilted down at least a deciliter before coming to my -senses. Then it was too late. A remarkable thing happened when that -liquefied plutonium hit bottom. I twanged like a sixty-pound bow, and -I began laughing. I felt sorry for this poor, misguided Romeo. The -solution to his whole problem spread before me like an atlas. - -Slowly his smile vanished. "Before we discuss this further, I'd like -to impress a point or two. Those coin machines are only a means to an -end." He pulled heavily at the bottle, took me by the arm and led me -over to the huge, half-created machine at the end of the lab. - -"This is my life's work," he said solemnly. "Between my exwife and -this mechanical monster, I ran through a rather substantial family -fortune. I had to have funds. So I excised a few of the simple circuits -from this contraption, threw on some window dressing and turned them -loose in a few key locations where women congregate. Yesterday, after -three weeks of operation, sixty of those gadgets coughed up $82,000. -Unfortunately, I had to borrow almost a hundred thousand dollars to -build them. In another week I'll show a profit." - -"In another week," I told him, "you'll be held for malpractice and -indicted for fraud--unless--" - -"Unless I cut you in, I suppose," he sneered. - -"Unless you give me another drink," I said after a suitable dramatic -pause. - -Cunningham pulled one eyebrow down, nonplussed, but he handed over the -liquor. I choked on a swallow as Sue's voice cut over my shoulder, "I -left you to play patty-cake, and now it's spin-the-bottle. Are you down -to business, or shall I leave again?" - -John said, "Stay here, kid, Doctor Hammerhead has an idea." - -She came over and deliberately leaned up against him. He put his arm -around her waist in what I tried to believe was a fraternal gesture. - -"The name is Klinghammer," I said. "Don't antagonize me. I'm trying to -help you." - -Doctor Calicoo had recovered any selfcomposure she may have mislaid in -the tunnel. She said sarcastically, "It couldn't be that you are trying -to figure a way out of this for yourself, could it?" - -"Quit patronizing, both of you," I snapped. "You both know this will -be embarrassing to the Board. But all I face is a big blush and an -international horse-laugh. I'll grant you, we probably can't confiscate -the machines. But my testimony could easily damn you for unethical -practices if nothing else. With luck I might get you for fraud, too." - -A look of synthetic concern passed between them. I took another -drink. "I would like to know what possible justification you have for -retaining the right to call yourself a medical man, Cunningham." - -"What's wrong with research?" he demanded. - -"In your case," I cracked, "nothing that a few scruples wouldn't -improve." - -Dr. Calicoo stamped her small foot at me. "Don't you make fun of us. -John has a wonderful idea. His big general diagnosing correlator has -some of the finest memory and calculating control circuits in it that -exist anywhere." She nodded to herself. "I built them myself." - -Cunningham explained earnestly, "It will assimilate and coordinate -over a thousand separate symptoms, including every known particle of -clinical data on a patient. Why it will reduce physician error to -practically zero." - -"If it works," I said sourly. - -"It will, it will!" he assured me. "Of course I have probably a year or -more to spend in quantitative calibration of the input circuits, and -maybe a couple or three years on the qualitative differentiations of -the output." - -"I see," I said. "And you want to calibrate and differentiate without -the necessity of practicing on the side to provide funds. So you -invented the one-armed bandit with the Johns Hopkins accent to tide you -over. Right?" - -"Right!" - -"You have made one mistake in the means to your end," I told him. "Now -I have a plan." They both leaned forward, a little too far, I realize -now. - - * * * * * - -My report caused quite a sensation. The ten-man board read it and -called me almost at once to clarify verbally what I had hinted to be -a likely solution to our dilemma, namely: A desirable alternative to -facing a mortifying legal action in restraining the present use of the -Symptometer. - -When I entered the rich, old mahogany chambers, the chairman pointed to -the lecture stand. He was goateed and morbidly curious. Before I could -clear my throat he urged impatiently, "Get at it, boy. What's this -business of skinning a cat you mentioned?" - -"Honorable Doctors," I began self-consciously, "you all realize the -legal difficulties with which we are faced. Before we face them, I give -you the suggestion that we prevail upon the inventor of the Symptometer -to license its manufacture for use only in medical clinics. Having -operated the machines I can testify that the results of the questioning -of these devices can be definitely informational and could assist a -physician in more rapid diagnosis and treatment." - -I held up my hand to silence the horrified grunts of disapproval. "Let -me continue, please. A few minor changes in the recording mechanism -would enable the equipment to produce a coded card. This, without a -physician's attention, would direct the clinical staff to perform the -necessary laboratory functions to verify or disprove the indicated -symptoms. With this card and the results of the clinical examination -in his possession, the physician then meets the patient for the first -time. He has been spared the preliminary examination, the redundant, -lengthy interview in which madame hypochondriac recapitulates the -history of her hives or biliousness. - -"Naturally, the coin operation of the machine would be eliminated. But -there is no need for a doctor to adjust his fees downward because -he performs his work more efficiently, now is there? And with the -Symptometer at his disposal, a physician should be able to easily -double the number of office calls per hour. - -"What does this do for the doctor? It frees him from so much of the -annoying drudgery of patient interviewing. It eliminates the wait from -first interview to final consultation. It keeps the laboratory details -in their proper place. In short, it makes a true executive of the -physician." - -My eloquence was beginning to tell. All these men had long practices -behind them. The practical advantages were undeniable. The important -point, however, was that my radical suggestion did offer a less -distressing alternative to bringing this into court. - -The gray-fringed bald heads bobbled before me, and I knew from the -higher pitch of their grunts and mutters that I was making my point. I -was sweating, but then so were they. - - * * * * * - -That evening I phoned Cunningham. "You're in like Flynn," I told him. -"Whether you like it or not, get those machines back and the changes -made within a week. If we give them too much time to think about it -they might change their minds." - -I thought I caught laughter in the background, but I hadn't made a -video connection. I did so at once, and there was Cunningham with a -suspiciously smug smirk on his face. "Thanks, old man," he said softly. - -"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "I thought you were reluctant about -this idea?" - -A babble of feminine voices and a background blur on the visor -distracted him from my words. He turned away, then back to the screen. -"Sue is on her way over to your suite to pick you up. Tonight we -celebrate. My girl friends are here. Gotta go now." - -The idea of a party just then was repugnant, but the thought of another -cross-town ride with Sue was not. As I dressed I achieved an almost -gala mood. - -It persisted until I was beside Sue again, same car, same tunnel, same -Spring in Brooklyn, but the Blueboids went fluttering when I identified -the same smug smirk on her face that John Cunningham had betrayed a -half hour ago. - -"What," I demanded, "have you invented now?" She looked long into my -eyes, and the amused look slowly left her. She leaned over to me. - -With a perversity I was growing to hate I refused to accept this -perfectly good answer. "I sold your Symptometer to the Board, but I -want you to know," I told her loftily, "that I'm not subscribing to -your fantastic general diagnoser." - -"Nooooo?" she said softly. She kept looking up into my eyes in a way, I -am told, that women have of concentrating while pretending to listen. - -"It's absurd," I pointed out. "Why, he needs five years just to -calibrate the thing. It has no possibilities of mass-production. And -even if it did, the cost would be so outrageous that the average -hospital could hire a whole staff of physicians for the price of one -machine. And figure one thing more: What medical man would welcome into -his heart a gadget that would leave him nothing to do but stand around -with a voltmeter and an oilcan?" - -"Good point," Sue nodded with an exaggerated flounce of her auburn halo. - -"Of course," I conceded, "if John wants to fiddle around with that pile -of junk as a hobby, that's his business." - -"Darrrrrrrling, you've been had," she said lazily. "That pile of junk -we told you was a super-gadget was nothing more than an assembly jig -and test rack for the Symptometer units." - -"You misled me!" I exploded. - -"That is the understatement of the week," she smiled sweetly. "But we -couldn't have chosen a better Symptometer salesman if we'd had our pick -when I phoned in that complaint to the Board and the Hotel Celt." - -"You--you?" I stammered, my pulse loud in my ears. - -"Yes, darling. And you were so sweet to get the solution so quickly. -We didn't even have to suggest it to you." Somehow her arm had crept -up behind me, and her fingers got inside the back of my over-heated -collar. "Don't you understand? With John's trouble, what chance do -you suppose he would have had peddling those gadgets directly to any -clinic? Anyway, what product ever started out in life with a better -endorsement than that of the International Medical Association? Now -SHEDDUP!" - -I could have resisted the pressure of her arm, being a strong man. But -a bega-volt thought hit me. She had everything out of me she had come -for, so why did she want to kiss me unless--anyhow, we hit the tunnel -curve just then. - -Once again I didn't notice the warning signal light. And this time we -got a ticket. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN'S OTHER PRACTICE *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: John's Other Practice</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Winston Marks</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 22, 2021 [eBook #66360]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN'S OTHER PRACTICE ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>John's Other Practice</h1> - -<h2>By Winston Marks</h2> - -<p>Slot machines usually give you a big pain<br /> -in the wallet. But Cunningham's Symptometer was<br /> -more considerate—it also diagnosed the pain....</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy<br /> -July 1954<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>I knew that John Cunningham had been warned on graduation day that no -man with a romantic nature should specialize in gynecology. John was -not only a romanticist; he was also the best looking intern north of -the equator.</p> - -<p>The laws of probability functioned. Within three years, John Cunningham -was married, divorced, disgraced and flat broke. And so it was that the -winsome, six-foot, blonde-headed nurse's idol of the flashing smile and -brilliant mind, approached life with three strangely related goals, -namely: (1) To practice medicine successfully without (2) coming in -contact with his patients, and yet (3) make back the family fortune he -had squandered mixing potions with poetry.</p> - -<p>In a much less interesting way, I, too, was diverted from an otherwise -promising career in the practice of conventional 21st Century -medicine. My final exam before the board revealed an aptitude that -landed me a fat offer from the International Medical Association. The -job was Special Investigator on the Malpractice Board of Control. -My apparent immunity to emotional disturbances from the other sex, -ironically, was the deciding factor of my appointment.</p> - -<p>My first intimation of John Cunningham's vicarious practice came in -the form of an order to check on a complaint from the Hotel Celt in -New York. I bussed over to the 48-story hostelry and questioned the -manager, a fat, bald man of some forty-two years and no arches.</p> - -<p>"A lady doctor," he mourned, "has served warning she will sue unless I -take out the slot machines from our mezzanine powder rooms."</p> - -<p>"I know," I said. "She filed the complaint that brought me here. What -I want to know is what does a slot machine violate by being in the -ladies' room?" I meant, what violation beyond the usual federal, state -and county restrictions whose ineffectual enforcement rendered them -anachronisms in this age of device-gambling.</p> - -<p>"Why does this remotely concern the medical profession?"</p> - -<p>Mr. Dennithy, the manager plucked an imperfect petal from his -buttonhole carnation and reluctantly pointed out. "These machines -are vending, not gambling devices. They issue medical advice—on a -limited scale," he added hurriedly.</p> - -<p>"What!" I yelled in his face. "Let's go see this."</p> - -<p>The tastefully decorated lounge was jammed with females, many of whom -were bunched in little chirping bevies along the west wall. Stubby -queues of women gave the place the look of a pari-mutuel stand, but the -cheerful, tinkly chatter had nothing of the grim spirit of betting.</p> - -<p>The three women attendants threw up their hands in despair when I told -them to clear the room. "We can hardly get them to leave at night so we -can clean up the place," one complained.</p> - -<p>Impatiently I barged in, flashed my gold and platinum serpent-and-staff -badge, and shouted. "These machines are illegal. This is a raid! Stand -where you are, every last one of you!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That did it. I almost got trampled in the stampede of high heels. Score -one for my specialty in applied psychology and semantics. I learned -later that, compared to one John Cunningham, I was a babe in the -maternity ward.</p> - -<p>Of this I got my first inkling when I examined one of the ten machines -along the wall. It had a slot for a quarter. It was only two feet -across by seven feet high and one foot thick. A circular mirror at eye -level drew the female attention, and alongside was the slogan in large -orange print:</p> - -<p>"<i>DO YOU REALLY FEEL WELL? Have you pains in your abdomen? Answer -correctly the following questions and learn the truth from the -Appendicitis Symptometer.</i>"</p> - -<p>The next machine was named a "Kidney Stone Symptometer." The next -advised about allergies, the next, pulmonary tuberculosis, and so on -down to the one on the far end. Before this somewhat larger machine -was the densest litter of carmine-tipped cigarette butts, some still -smoldering on the carpet. This evident number-one favorite on the -Symptometer Hit Parade asked disturbingly:</p> - -<p>"COULD IT BE YOU ARE PREGNANT?"</p> - -<p>Each machine had a bank of detailed questions to answer, each so -couched that it could be satisfied by pressing one of three buttons. -The instruction read: "Push the Red Button to answer YES, the White -Button for NO, and the Yellow Button for SORT OF." This machine -required a dollar.</p> - -<p>To say that I was intrigued would only be searching for words. Having -no change I demanded a silver dollar from Dennithy. He shifted from one -foot to the other, and never before have I seen a genuine hotel man -blush.</p> - -<p>"Really, Mr. Klinghammer—"</p> - -<p>"Doctor Klinghammer," I reminded him.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes. But—actually, I hadn't realized the exact nature of these -devices. The, er, diseases which they purport to diagnose, I mean. My -engineer, Mr. Shiftin merely said—"</p> - -<p>"We do not prosecute innocently victimized business-men," I told him. -"Now, that dollar, please."</p> - -<p>"But wouldn't one of the quarter machines—" he trailed off under my -best scowl and produced a silver disc from his fawn-colored vest.</p> - -<p>I sent him out for more coins and set about inserting negative -symptomatic answers. Upon examination the questions appeared to be -remarkably phrased. Several of them seemed unrelated to the condition -of pregnancy, but it turned out that Cunningham knew what he was doing.</p> - -<p>When the last button was depressed a soft, melodic chime disguised the -click of the mechanism which ejected the cardboard tab. It read:</p> - -<p>"IF YOU HAVE ANSWERED THESE QUESTIONS HONESTLY THE SYMPTOMETER OBSERVES -THAT IT IS EXTREMELY UNLIKELY THAT YOU ARE PREGNANT. YOU ARE URGED TO -CONSULT A COMPETENT OBSTETRICIAN. VERIFY THIS OPINION."</p> - -<p>Next, I set into the machine the proper answers to describe an -ambiguous condition with contradictory symptoms. Dennithy came back -with more change, and this time the tab read:</p> - -<p>"THERE IS A POSSIBILITY OF PREGNANCY INDICATED. A COMPETENT PHYSICIAN -CAN DETERMINE AT ONCE. THERE IS ALSO AN INDICATION THAT YOUR ANSWERS -MIGHT BE EITHER INSINCERE OR FACETIOUS. THE INVENTOR OF THE SYMPTOMETER -WISHES TO POINT OUT THAT IT'S YOUR DOLLAR YOU JUST SPENT, LADY."</p> - -<p>I could imagine the chuckle this would get from the old dowager, -wise in the ways of such matters and smugly secure from any such -contingency; the woman who would be most likely to feed in such -confusing data.</p> - -<p>I snatched another coin from Dennithy and pushed in the buttons which -should give symptoms of pregnancy in the last week of the last month. -The card read:</p> - -<p>"MADAME CALL AN AMBULANCE. YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS DOWN TOWN!"</p> - -<p>At first I was plain furious. The inventor was selling not only medical -diagnoses, but providing penny arcade entertainment as well. Then the -impossibility of reporting the results of my investigation to the -board struck me. In what conceivable manner could I phrase my findings -and still maintain the dignity of our profession? And, worse yet, -when you got right down to it, on what grounds could we outlaw and -confiscate these machines?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Twenty-four quarters later I confirmed this suspicion. All ten -machines were paragons of discretion. Each urged the patient to visit -her doctor, or bore some other innocuous medical platitude. They -were designed to painlessly accommodate the confirmed hypochondriac -without wasting a busy doctor's time. And yet when a truly sick person -indicated genuine symptoms, the diagnosis was general but accurate. The -instruction to see a physician at once was urgently definite.</p> - -<p>I was back before the dollar machine musing at my ugly expression in -the mirror, when a light female voice behind me said, "I believe you -have the wrong room, gentlemen."</p> - -<p>She had short, bronzed, curly hair. She wore trim flannel slacks of -dead white. Across her immaculate blouse was slung a pair of straps, -one supporting a small tool kit, the other a stout leather pouch which -rested on one shapely hip. She looked, to my first embarrassed glance, -cute, feminine, intelligent and quite amused.</p> - -<p>"We, ah, we were not intruding, Miss," Dennithy spluttered. "I cleared -the room so I could show this equipment to—" I kicked him in the shin -"—to <i>Mister</i> Klinghammer. He—has a hotel on the west coast. He is -interested."</p> - -<p>The reason for this evasion was the fact that emblazoned in red over -her left breast was the legend:</p> - -<p class="ph1">"JAYSEE SYMPTOMETER SERVICE"</p> - -<p>"Clever machines," I flattered. "Well based in feminine psychology," I -added, entirely overlooking that she might reasonably be expected to -have the same psychology.</p> - -<p>"I only service them," she said shortly. "Please step aside so I can -operate." She gave me a long, searching look before she swung open -the first top panel. Apparently satisfied I was merely a prospective -customer, she let me look on.</p> - -<p>A swift look inside gave me a virulent case of the quim-quim. Here was -no simple coin-snatcher. The answer buttons were switches. From each -one ran leads to a panel which bristled with tiny vacuum tubes. It was -uncomfortably remindful of the latest in electronic calculators which -were rapidly gaining the reputation of being, "man's other brain."</p> - -<p>"Tell me, Miss—"</p> - -<p>"<i>Doctor</i> Calicoo," she prompted me pleasantly, as she slipped the tiny -test prods of a miniature meter into the machine's mercenary heart.</p> - -<p>"Tell me, Dr. Calicoo, how may I get in touch with the supplier of this -equipment?"</p> - -<p>She handed me a card and with it a slightly interested look that -dropped my stability quotient at least three points.</p> - -<p>The card was less interesting than the expression in her provocative -blue eyes. I broke down and asked, "Doctor of what?"</p> - -<p>"Philosophy. Electronics and Mathematics. You don't run a hotel," she -said shrewdly.</p> - -<p>"Make a liar out of Mr. Dennithy if you choose," I told her, "but would -you be kind enough to take me to," I glanced at the card, "to Dr. John -Cunningham?"</p> - -<p>"I'll take you," she nodded, then her voice hardened a little, "but if -you are just a snooper or a patent-jumper it will be no favor."</p> - -<p>She invited candor, so she got it. I showed her my badge. Her mouth -pulled into a startled little "o," like an oversized, pitted cherry.</p> - -<p>We left Dennithy clinking quarters, trying to determine how he might -figure into a possible scandal. In the elevator to the basement garage -I commented acidly, "You must have known this was inevitable, of -course?"</p> - -<p>"To the contrary," she parried, "I had a notion that a genuine M.P. -sleuth would be ninety-two years old and wear a white coat with a -stethoscope in his side pocket. You seem to have youth and a rather -charming virility, Doctor."</p> - -<p>"Cut the flattery," I said. "Let's find your car."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The address was over in New Brooklyn. She slipped the light blue sedan -into the proper cross-town tunnel entrance, adjusted the automatics -and turned upon me suddenly. The dim reflection of the headlights from -the dull-painted walls of the one-way tunnel gave her face a ghostly -loveliness. I had just become sharply aware of this phenomenon, when -she brushed a light, experimental kiss across my lips.</p> - -<p>Volume II, of Dr. Bankawaya's "Twenty-First Century Emotional -Reactions to the Love Stimulus" notwithstanding, my socially-adjusted, -medically-trained and professionally-restrained instincts played a -rotten trick on me. Instead of staring at her with a cool eye and -calming her with a proper, chilling remark, I responded like a frog's -leg to an electric shock.</p> - -<p>My chin jerked out to follow the sweetest sensation I could remember. -It didn't have far to go. She had retreated only three inches.</p> - -<p>The tunnel curved right there, and the car lurched. I made a bad -connection with only half her mouth, but a slight correction on her -part squared us off to what is outrageously described in the texts as a -basic, or primary, wooing gesture.</p> - -<p>After the first, delirious second I knew it was a frame. After the -second moment, I didn't care. But it wasn't until several minutes had -elapsed that Doctor Calicoo's cool resolve collapsed, and I learned -what a kiss could really mean from a woman who meant it, herself.</p> - -<p>She tore out of my arms with a little cry. "Look out!" Then I became -aware that the warning light had been flashing unnoticed. We were -coming to the tunnel's exit where manual vehicle control became -necessary. With trembling hands she gripped the controls until her -knuckles were white knobs.</p> - -<p>As we flashed past the patrol station and two alert faces checked the -interior of our car, I said, "I think I know what you had in mind. -You had me hooked on but good. Why didn't you go through with it?" I -referred to the easy possibility of our shooting from the tube in each -other's arms and thereby violating the safety code for tube passage. -Such a simple frame would have put M.P. Investigator Klinghammer on -the tabloid front page, if his feminine companion had chosen to file -a complaint—with police witnesses to the act. Exit Klinghammer to a -hobby of his own, probably less lucrative than building phantom symptom -machines.</p> - -<p>"I guess I overdid it," she said simply. She began to cry. Her white -blouse quivered.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>All I did was pat her gently on the shoulder, and the tears ran like -mercury from a retort. "Let us not assume that we are enemies," I said, -regaining a portion of my composure and all of my stuffiness. "So you -<i>are</i> the frustrated Mata Hari; perhaps I'm on your side. Were you -acting on orders? Was this a set up?"</p> - -<p>She shook her head. "When we went into the tunnel I was in love with -John Cunningham. I kissed you to frame you, all right, but it was my -own idea. I'm impulsive, I guess." The only part I caught was the past -tense of her first sentence.</p> - -<p>"You mean you can change loves in the middle of a tunnel?" I blurted. -Whereupon I learned one more "don't" that was never mentioned in -lecture. The car slewed to the curb. She jabbed the emergency stop -switch, leaned across me and slapped open my door.</p> - -<p>"Walk!" she commanded. The remaining tears were fairly steaming from -her red cheeks. I was smart enough not to fumble for an apology. I -walked.</p> - -<p>When I found a cab, I had no chance to think clearly. The cabby bored -me the whole way with the excited news of the opening of the Brooklyn -Centennial Celebration. Brooklyn in the spring meant baseball, and the -Bums were celebrating their one-hundredth year in the league.</p> - -<p>"Only we're changing the name from 'de Bums' to 'de Boids.' 'De -Blueboids' woulda been prettier, but a hockey team got to that name -foist."</p> - -<p>Brooklyn in the spring. Baseball. Love out of the blue. Blueboids. -Platitudinous slot-machines.</p> - -<p>When I stood before the gray, translucent door of Dr. John Cunningham's -penthouse apartment, I was something less than the eager, efficient, -young Dr. Klinghammer of the remarkable stability. From bed-rock to -quicksand in one easy tunnel.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A man answered. He was at least one cut above the most adored idol of -video and movie screen, his slacks even more unpressed and his beach -shirt even gaudier. He looked me in the eye for a moment and said, "Dr. -Sledgehammer, I presume?"</p> - -<p>"Klinghammer," I corrected.</p> - -<p>"Sorry. Sue seemed a little confused on several details. Come in, -please."</p> - -<p>Sue. Sue Calicoo. Out of the blue. Blueboids. John Cunningham. This was -a disrupting thought. So this is the guy she's really in love with. -Malpractice? Without a doubt.</p> - -<p>I followed him into a spacious, skylighted room, a corner of which -instantly caught my eye, first, because it contained Sue, and second, -because it was the only orderly spot in the whole littered place. -Sue sat in the tiny office-space at a small desk, furiously filing a -fingernail over a blue wastebasket. She didn't look up.</p> - -<p>The look of tidiness ended there. The balance of the chamber gave a -fair impression of a wholesale video-repair shop on moving day. Benches -and racks were spaced at random, and each was loaded with electronic -gear, meters, cable and tools. Unassembled units squatted in a -semicircle before a large framework at the far end of the laboratory.</p> - -<p>"May we be alone?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Alone?"</p> - -<p>"Your girl friend, there," I said bitterly.</p> - -<p>Cunningham tossed his blond head back and laughed. "Girl friend? That -little fiend who calls herself my partner? Huh-uh! My girl friends are -in there. Let's go introduce you." He started through a side door, and -the unmistakable revelry of a cocktail party burst into the room.</p> - -<p>Cunningham, himself, was not sober. I looked at Dr. Sue Calicoo. She -hissed, "If you mention anything about the tunnel I'll brain you! -Anything! Do you understand?"</p> - -<p>I chased after Cunningham, hauled back with one hand and clipped him -carefully with the other. I slammed the door and told Sue, "Help me -sober him up."</p> - -<p>She whistled softly. "He's not that drunk. Bring him to and you'll find -out."</p> - -<p>I worked on his heavy neck for a moment until his eyes flickered. I was -in no mood to make him comfortable, so I just propped his back against -a packing-case and took off on him. "What kind of a travesty on the -practice of medicine do you call this?" I began.</p> - -<p>Sue yawned and went to join the party. "Call me when the patty-cake is -baked," she said as she closed the door.</p> - -<p>The glare of hostility gradually vanished from Cunningham's handsome -face. Without it he looked better. He lit a cigarette, thought for a -moment and smiled at me. "Have you been kissing my partner?"</p> - -<p>I blurbled in my throat.</p> - -<p>He went on, "You are acting as strangely as Sue did. I have often -conjectured that if you could bottle Sue's kisses adrenalin would be -obsolete."</p> - -<p>"You—kiss her—often?" I asked against my will.</p> - -<p>"Only twice. The day she came to work, and two weeks later when they -took the stitches out of my head. The second one was just to show there -were no hard feelings."</p> - -<p>"She loves you," I said with inane persistence.</p> - -<p>He shrugged, "Could be. But she means matrimony. I flunked that once. -Won't take the test again. But now, Doctor, you didn't come here to -make a match, surely. Sue reports that the M.P. board takes a dim view -of my Symptometers. Have you filed a report yet?" he asked warily.</p> - -<p>"Not quite yet," I admitted. Blueboids. Sue Calicoo. Brooklyn in the -Spring.</p> - -<p>"And when your respiration becomes normal again," Cunningham assured -me, "I think you will realize that such a report will be difficult to -file. Am I right?" He hoisted himself from the carpet. "You know," he -went on, "this investigation was sure to come. I knew it. And I guess -it threw me a little more than I thought it would. Now that it's here -I'm relieved. I think they sent the right man, Doctor Klinghammer."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He fished a bottle from the debris on one of the benches and offered it -to me. He did it in such a neighborly manner that in my preoccupation -I accepted and tilted down at least a deciliter before coming to my -senses. Then it was too late. A remarkable thing happened when that -liquefied plutonium hit bottom. I twanged like a sixty-pound bow, and -I began laughing. I felt sorry for this poor, misguided Romeo. The -solution to his whole problem spread before me like an atlas.</p> - -<p>Slowly his smile vanished. "Before we discuss this further, I'd like -to impress a point or two. Those coin machines are only a means to an -end." He pulled heavily at the bottle, took me by the arm and led me -over to the huge, half-created machine at the end of the lab.</p> - -<p>"This is my life's work," he said solemnly. "Between my exwife and -this mechanical monster, I ran through a rather substantial family -fortune. I had to have funds. So I excised a few of the simple circuits -from this contraption, threw on some window dressing and turned them -loose in a few key locations where women congregate. Yesterday, after -three weeks of operation, sixty of those gadgets coughed up $82,000. -Unfortunately, I had to borrow almost a hundred thousand dollars to -build them. In another week I'll show a profit."</p> - -<p>"In another week," I told him, "you'll be held for malpractice and -indicted for fraud—unless—"</p> - -<p>"Unless I cut you in, I suppose," he sneered.</p> - -<p>"Unless you give me another drink," I said after a suitable dramatic -pause.</p> - -<p>Cunningham pulled one eyebrow down, nonplussed, but he handed over the -liquor. I choked on a swallow as Sue's voice cut over my shoulder, "I -left you to play patty-cake, and now it's spin-the-bottle. Are you down -to business, or shall I leave again?"</p> - -<p>John said, "Stay here, kid, Doctor Hammerhead has an idea."</p> - -<p>She came over and deliberately leaned up against him. He put his arm -around her waist in what I tried to believe was a fraternal gesture.</p> - -<p>"The name is Klinghammer," I said. "Don't antagonize me. I'm trying to -help you."</p> - -<p>Doctor Calicoo had recovered any selfcomposure she may have mislaid in -the tunnel. She said sarcastically, "It couldn't be that you are trying -to figure a way out of this for yourself, could it?"</p> - -<p>"Quit patronizing, both of you," I snapped. "You both know this will -be embarrassing to the Board. But all I face is a big blush and an -international horse-laugh. I'll grant you, we probably can't confiscate -the machines. But my testimony could easily damn you for unethical -practices if nothing else. With luck I might get you for fraud, too."</p> - -<p>A look of synthetic concern passed between them. I took another -drink. "I would like to know what possible justification you have for -retaining the right to call yourself a medical man, Cunningham."</p> - -<p>"What's wrong with research?" he demanded.</p> - -<p>"In your case," I cracked, "nothing that a few scruples wouldn't -improve."</p> - -<p>Dr. Calicoo stamped her small foot at me. "Don't you make fun of us. -John has a wonderful idea. His big general diagnosing correlator has -some of the finest memory and calculating control circuits in it that -exist anywhere." She nodded to herself. "I built them myself."</p> - -<p>Cunningham explained earnestly, "It will assimilate and coordinate -over a thousand separate symptoms, including every known particle of -clinical data on a patient. Why it will reduce physician error to -practically zero."</p> - -<p>"If it works," I said sourly.</p> - -<p>"It will, it will!" he assured me. "Of course I have probably a year or -more to spend in quantitative calibration of the input circuits, and -maybe a couple or three years on the qualitative differentiations of -the output."</p> - -<p>"I see," I said. "And you want to calibrate and differentiate without -the necessity of practicing on the side to provide funds. So you -invented the one-armed bandit with the Johns Hopkins accent to tide you -over. Right?"</p> - -<p>"Right!"</p> - -<p>"You have made one mistake in the means to your end," I told him. "Now -I have a plan." They both leaned forward, a little too far, I realize -now.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>My report caused quite a sensation. The ten-man board read it and -called me almost at once to clarify verbally what I had hinted to be -a likely solution to our dilemma, namely: A desirable alternative to -facing a mortifying legal action in restraining the present use of the -Symptometer.</p> - -<p>When I entered the rich, old mahogany chambers, the chairman pointed to -the lecture stand. He was goateed and morbidly curious. Before I could -clear my throat he urged impatiently, "Get at it, boy. What's this -business of skinning a cat you mentioned?"</p> - -<p>"Honorable Doctors," I began self-consciously, "you all realize the -legal difficulties with which we are faced. Before we face them, I give -you the suggestion that we prevail upon the inventor of the Symptometer -to license its manufacture for use only in medical clinics. Having -operated the machines I can testify that the results of the questioning -of these devices can be definitely informational and could assist a -physician in more rapid diagnosis and treatment."</p> - -<p>I held up my hand to silence the horrified grunts of disapproval. "Let -me continue, please. A few minor changes in the recording mechanism -would enable the equipment to produce a coded card. This, without a -physician's attention, would direct the clinical staff to perform the -necessary laboratory functions to verify or disprove the indicated -symptoms. With this card and the results of the clinical examination -in his possession, the physician then meets the patient for the first -time. He has been spared the preliminary examination, the redundant, -lengthy interview in which madame hypochondriac recapitulates the -history of her hives or biliousness.</p> - -<p>"Naturally, the coin operation of the machine would be eliminated. But -there is no need for a doctor to adjust his fees downward because -he performs his work more efficiently, now is there? And with the -Symptometer at his disposal, a physician should be able to easily -double the number of office calls per hour.</p> - -<p>"What does this do for the doctor? It frees him from so much of the -annoying drudgery of patient interviewing. It eliminates the wait from -first interview to final consultation. It keeps the laboratory details -in their proper place. In short, it makes a true executive of the -physician."</p> - -<p>My eloquence was beginning to tell. All these men had long practices -behind them. The practical advantages were undeniable. The important -point, however, was that my radical suggestion did offer a less -distressing alternative to bringing this into court.</p> - -<p>The gray-fringed bald heads bobbled before me, and I knew from the -higher pitch of their grunts and mutters that I was making my point. I -was sweating, but then so were they.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That evening I phoned Cunningham. "You're in like Flynn," I told him. -"Whether you like it or not, get those machines back and the changes -made within a week. If we give them too much time to think about it -they might change their minds."</p> - -<p>I thought I caught laughter in the background, but I hadn't made a -video connection. I did so at once, and there was Cunningham with a -suspiciously smug smirk on his face. "Thanks, old man," he said softly.</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "I thought you were reluctant about -this idea?"</p> - -<p>A babble of feminine voices and a background blur on the visor -distracted him from my words. He turned away, then back to the screen. -"Sue is on her way over to your suite to pick you up. Tonight we -celebrate. My girl friends are here. Gotta go now."</p> - -<p>The idea of a party just then was repugnant, but the thought of another -cross-town ride with Sue was not. As I dressed I achieved an almost -gala mood.</p> - -<p>It persisted until I was beside Sue again, same car, same tunnel, same -Spring in Brooklyn, but the Blueboids went fluttering when I identified -the same smug smirk on her face that John Cunningham had betrayed a -half hour ago.</p> - -<p>"What," I demanded, "have you invented now?" She looked long into my -eyes, and the amused look slowly left her. She leaned over to me.</p> - -<p>With a perversity I was growing to hate I refused to accept this -perfectly good answer. "I sold your Symptometer to the Board, but I -want you to know," I told her loftily, "that I'm not subscribing to -your fantastic general diagnoser."</p> - -<p>"Nooooo?" she said softly. She kept looking up into my eyes in a way, I -am told, that women have of concentrating while pretending to listen.</p> - -<p>"It's absurd," I pointed out. "Why, he needs five years just to -calibrate the thing. It has no possibilities of mass-production. And -even if it did, the cost would be so outrageous that the average -hospital could hire a whole staff of physicians for the price of one -machine. And figure one thing more: What medical man would welcome into -his heart a gadget that would leave him nothing to do but stand around -with a voltmeter and an oilcan?"</p> - -<p>"Good point," Sue nodded with an exaggerated flounce of her auburn halo.</p> - -<p>"Of course," I conceded, "if John wants to fiddle around with that pile -of junk as a hobby, that's his business."</p> - -<p>"Darrrrrrrling, you've been had," she said lazily. "That pile of junk -we told you was a super-gadget was nothing more than an assembly jig -and test rack for the Symptometer units."</p> - -<p>"You misled me!" I exploded.</p> - -<p>"That is the understatement of the week," she smiled sweetly. "But we -couldn't have chosen a better Symptometer salesman if we'd had our pick -when I phoned in that complaint to the Board and the Hotel Celt."</p> - -<p>"You—you?" I stammered, my pulse loud in my ears.</p> - -<p>"Yes, darling. And you were so sweet to get the solution so quickly. -We didn't even have to suggest it to you." Somehow her arm had crept -up behind me, and her fingers got inside the back of my over-heated -collar. "Don't you understand? With John's trouble, what chance do -you suppose he would have had peddling those gadgets directly to any -clinic? Anyway, what product ever started out in life with a better -endorsement than that of the International Medical Association? Now -SHEDDUP!"</p> - -<p>I could have resisted the pressure of her arm, being a strong man. But -a bega-volt thought hit me. She had everything out of me she had come -for, so why did she want to kiss me unless—anyhow, we hit the tunnel -curve just then.</p> - -<p>Once again I didn't notice the warning signal light. And this time we -got a ticket.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN'S OTHER PRACTICE ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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