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Updated: June 25, 2025


But when Dilling and Patten came down again he knew that everything was all right, and he wanted to laugh, for the two doctors were exactly like the bearded physicians in a musical comedy, both of them rubbing their hands and looking foolishly sagacious. Dr. Dilling spoke: "I'm sorry, old man, but it's acute appendicitis. We ought to operate.

Patten was profusely casual: "Don't want to worry you, old man, but I thought it might be a good stunt to have Dr. Dilling examine her." He gestured toward Dilling as toward a master. Dilling nodded in his curtest manner and strode up-stairs Babbitt tramped the living-room in agony.

Dilling, strange in white gown and bandaged head, bending over the steel table with its screws and wheels, then nurses holding basins and cotton sponges, and a swathed thing, just a lifeless chin and a mound of white in the midst of which was a square of sallow flesh with a gash a little bloody at the edges, protruding from the gash a cluster of forceps like clinging parasites.

Gosh, they aren't all ignorant, and I got a hunch we're all descended from immigrants ourselves." "Oh, you make me tired!" said Mr. Finkelstein. Babbitt was aware that Dr. A. I. Dilling was sternly listening from across the table. Dr. Dilling was one of the most important men in the Boosters'. He was not a physician but a surgeon, a more romantic and sounding occupation.

A little grimly he perceived that this had been his last despairing fling before the paralyzed contentment of middle-age. Well, and he grinned impishly, "it was one doggone good party while it lasted!" And how much was the operation going to cost? "I ought to have fought that out with Dilling. But no, damn it, I don't care how much it costs!" The motor ambulance was at the door.

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