They stared at Carol. She sat
modestly in a stiff chair, feeling frivolous and out of place.
Kennicott appeared at the inner door, ushering out a bleached man with
a trickle of wan beard, and consoling him, "All right, Dad. Be careful
about the sugar, and mind the diet I gave you. Gut the prescription
filled, and come in and see me next week. Say, uh, better, uh, better
not drink too much beer. All right, Dad."
His voice was artificially hearty. He looked absently at Carol. He was
a medical machine now, not a domestic machine. "What is it, Carrie?" he
droned.
"No hurry. Just wanted to say hello."
"Well----"
Self-pity because he did not divine that this was a surprise party
rendered her sad and interesting to herself, and she had the pleasure of
the martyrs in saying bravely to him, "It's nothing special. If you're
busy long I'll trot home."
While she waited she ceased to pity and began to mock herself. For the
first time she observed the waiting-room. Oh yes, the doctor's family
had to have obi panels and a wide couch and an electric percolator, but
any hole was good enough for sick tired common people who were nothing
but the one means and excuse for the doctor's existing! No.
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