He looked in at the sick-room. The patient was
sitting up, chatting pleasantly; it was the best day he had known; the
doctor was sitting in a chair placed beside the bed, and the nurse
stood quiet, self-composed, but none the less watchful and suspicious.
"You are going on so well, my man," Doctor Vimpany was saying, "That we
shall have you out and about again in a day or two. Not quite yet,
though--not quite yet," he pulled out his stethoscope and made an
examination with an immense show of professional interest. "My
treatment has succeeded, you see"--he made a note or two in his
pocket-book--"has succeeded," he repeated. "They will have to
acknowledge that."
"Gracious sir, I am grateful. I have given a great deal too much
trouble."
"A medical case can never give too much trouble--that is impossible.
Remember, Oxbye, it is Science which watches at your bedside. You are
not Oxbye; you are a case; it is not a man, it is a piece of machinery
that is out of order. Science watches: she sees you through and
through. Though you are made of solid flesh and bones, and clothed, to
Science you are transparent. Her business is not only to read your
symptoms, but to set the machinery right again.
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