irregular. There was a tensing of the abdomen, a
faint burning in the pit of his stomach.

He remembered the urge at the office, the dream in the sunroom, the
sudden sweat that had required five minutes under the cold needle
shower.

After so many years of deliberate, scholarly celibacy, what was
happening to him?

He stared at the phone. With six motions of one finger, he could dial
Phyllis Sutton's face into view, and suddenly he yearned to do that very
ridiculous thing.

After staring at her, off and on, for the six months since she had
transferred to High Dawn to complete her residency, now he wanted to see
her face outside of working hours for some inexplicable reason.

Call her up, date her, take her dancing, proposition her--get this silly
feeling off your chest!

Suppose she was busy or refused to go out with him? Suppose she already
had a boy friend?

This last thought deepened the burn in the pit of his stomach, and he
finished dressing listlessly. To hell with it! This was poker night. If
he did succeed in dating his assistant, they'd inevitably talk shop.
That was why he enjoyed a night of cards with his six non-medical
brother clubmen, once a week. It was refreshing to break away from the
professional point of view.

No, he wouldn't sacrifice that for any woman.

* * * * *

He ate alone, read the paper, joined the poker party at seven o'clock,
played six hands of stud, cashed in his chips and returned to his room.
In a mood of deep irritation, he found Phyllis Sutton's home phone
number and rang it four times with no result.

He thought to try the hospital. She answered from the lab extension on
audio only, but her voice and its frankly curious tone sent vertically
polarized chills through him.

"I--I wanted to apologize for my rudeness this afternoon," he said with
difficulty from a suddenly dry mouth.

There was a brief silence. "Have you been drinking, Dr. Murt?" He
noticed that she did not call him Sylvester. Why was he so damned
thirsty for some little sign of warmth and friendliness from her?

He cleared his throat. "No, I'm serious. It occurred to me that your
interest in the out-clinic problem was commendable, and that I was
rather short in my remarks to you."

"Oh! I take it I have your permission to work my project in during the
day, then?"

"That's right, so long as it doesn't interfere with the routine." He
sounded stuffy to himself, but he w