I overheard a wonderful little conversation between Matron and the General Medical Superintendent shortly after six this morning. God knows what the Super was doing in at such an hour, but Matron, of course, hasn’t got the words “off duty” in her vocabulary.
“I would never have believed it of Dr. Bloodworthy,” she said stiffly just outside my door.
Now what has Dr. Bloodworthy been up to? He is a pathologist whose specialty is blood—isn’t it odd how people with suggestive names espouse them completely? Like Lord Brain the neurologist.
“It’s flaming hysterical!” replied the Super, clearly in fits of laughter. “Maybe it will teach all those old chooks in the Sisters’ dining room to mind their own business for a change.”
“Sir,” said Matron in tones producing instantaneous icicles on all my equipment, “as I remember it, there were just as many old chooks in the Doctors’ dining room. I believe, in fact, that Mr. Naseby-Morton actually managed to lay an egg, which you put on your spoon and ran with all the way downstairs.”
There was a moment of silence, then the Super spoke. “One of these days, Matron, I am going to have the last word! And when I do, I will not be an old chook! I will be cock of the walk! Good day to you, ma’am.”
Oooooo-aa! And poop to birthdays. I went to Bronte tonight.