another drink, Doctor. Then
I'll go. I love the factual way this Scotch of yours hits my stomach."

12

Frank Corson entered the office of Wilson Maynard, Superintendent of
Park Hill Hospital. Maynard looked out over the tops of his
old-fashioned pince-nez glasses and said, "Oh, Doctor Corson. You phoned
for a chat."

It was the rather pompous superintendent's way of saying he was happy to
give Frank Corson a little time. He considered all the doctors and
nurses at Park Hill his "boys and girls," and he did the "father" bit
very well.

"Yes, I--"

Maynard peered even harder. "You don't look well, Frank. Pale. You've
been working too hard."

"Nothing important, Doctor Maynard."

"Sit down. Will you have a cigarette?"

"No, thank you. I just wanted to ask you about a transfer."

"A transfer!" This was amazing. "Aren't you happy at Park Hill?"

"I've been very happy."

Maynard went swiftly through a card file on his desk. "You have--let's
see--five more months of internship. Then--"

"Then I'd planned to enter private practice. But something personal has
come up and I think a change is for the best."

"I'm certainly sorry to hear that."

"One of the men I graduated with went to a hospital in a small Minnesota
town. We've corresponded and he's given me a pretty clear picture--a
nice town, a need for doctors and physicians--"

"But we need them here in the East, too."

"I realize that, and I'm making the move with some regret. But, frankly,
New York City no longer appeals to me. I think perhaps a small hospital
is more suited to my temperament."

"I'm certainly sorry to hear this, Corson. But I won't try to dissuade
you. Normally, I might bring a little more personal pressure to bear,
but I sense that your mind is made up. We're sorry to see you go, but
the best of luck to you."

"Thank you, sir."

After Frank Corson left, Superintendent Maynard sorted a memo out of the
pile on his desk. The memo concerned Frank Corson. Superintendent
Maynard reread it and thought how well things usually worked out. Now it
wouldn't be necessary to have that talk with Corson about sloppy work.
Obviously there had been something on the young intern's mind for weeks
now. Too bad. But let the Minnesota hospital, wherever it was, worry
about the trouble and perhaps put Corson on the right track again.

He was their baby now.

Maynard took Corson's card from the files and wrote across it: _Transfer
approved wi