"What?" He was genuinely puzzled. "What's this?"
"I said make the bell ring what?" He stared blankly at me. "And you
heard me the first time!" He shot an astonished glance at Stein. "Oh,
hell!" I got up and started out, trailing my sheet. I almost stumbled
over Stein, who was right at my shoulder.
"Here, what's this?" Kellner was bouncing with excitement.
I turned on him. "Listen you; I said I was cold. Not once, but twice I
said I was cold. Now, blast it, I want my clothes, and I want them
now. Right now!" The airedale became a fish out of water. "Do I look
like a ten-year-old in to get his tonsils out? I ask you a civil
question and you smirk at me, you tell me to do this and you tell me
to do that and never a please or a thank you or a kiss my foot. Don't
pull that Doctor write the prescription in Latin on me, because I
don't like it! Catch?" Stein was right on my heel when I headed for
the door.
Poor Stein was wailing aloud. "Pete, you can't do this! Don't you know
who Doctor Kellner is?"
"One big healthy pain!" I snapped at him. "Does he know who I am? I'm
Pete Miller, Mister Miller to him or to anyone but my friends. I want
my pants!"
Stein wrung his hands and slowed me down as much as I would let him.
"You just can't get up and walk out like that!"
"Oh, no?" I came to a full stop and leered at him. "Who's going to
stop me?"
That's the trouble with the doctors and lawyers and technical boys;
they're so used to talking over people's heads they can't answer a
civil question in less than forty syllables. Keep all the secrets in
the trade. Write it in Latin, keep the patient in the dark, pat his
head and tell him papa knows best.
When Kellner caught up with us he had help. "Here, here, my man. Where
do you think you are going?"
I wished he was my age and forty pounds heavier. "Me? I'm getting out
of here. And I'm not your man and I never will be. When you can admit
that, and not act like I'm a set of chalkmarks on a blackboard, send
me a letter and tell me about it. One side, dogface!"
One big fellow, just the right size, puffed out his cheeks. "Just whom
do you think you are addressing?"
Whom. I looked him over. I never did like people who wore van Dyke
goatees. I put whom and van Dyke on the floor. It was a good
Donnybrook while it lasted. The last thing I remember was the gong in
the next room clanging steadily while Stein, good old Stein, right in
there beside me was swinging and yelling, "Don't hurt him! Don't hurt
him!"
I woke up with another headache. When I sat up with a grunt and looked
around I saw Stein and his nose four inches from a mirror, gingerly
trying his tongue against his front teeth. I snickered. He didn't like
that, and turned around.
"You don't look so hot yourself."
He was right. I couldn't see much out of my left eye. We grinned at
each other. "Right in there pitching, weren't you?"