her lawful wedded husband had had to put up with.
He filled the kettle and put it on to boil. By the time he'd washed up, and had a snooze, it would be near enough time to go and lock up the church and see that all was straight for the night.
And after that, thought Albert, the Two Pheasants would be open!
Life suddenly became warmer and sunnier as Albert advanced bravely upon the sticky horrors piled in the sink.
2. Doctor's Prescription
WHILE the children of Miss Fogerty's class listened to the story of The Tailor of Gloucester, and Albert Piggott awaited opening time, Joan Young was busy preparing a salad.
As she washed lettuce and cut tomatoes her thoughts turned time and time again to her parents and her old home in Ealing. She was vaguely puzzled by this. She had an uncomfortable feeling that perhaps something was wrong, and tried to persuade herself that the fact that she had been thinking of her father's heritage, after Edward's return to work that afternoon, simply accounted for this present preoccupation.
But somehow she was not convinced. She was the last person to be telepathic, or to believe in such nebulous things as thought-transference. Nevertheless, the malaise continued, and for two pins she would have left her salad-making and rung her parents there and then.
'What nonsense!' she told herself. 'They would think I'd gone mad. I should have heard soon enough if anything were wrong!'
She began to slice cucumber with swift efficient strokes.
Some sixty miles away, Joan's father, Robert Bassett, listened to some very unwelcome truths spoken by his doctor.
'These X-rays show that that chest of yours needs a lot of care. And I'm not happy about your heart. I'm not suggesting that you should consider yourself an invalid, but frankly it's time you gave up work.'
'But it's quite impossible -' began his patient, and was interrupted by a violent spell of coughing.
The doctor watched gravely until the attack had passed. He said nothing, but continued to look steadily at the older man.
'Dammit all,' wheezed Robert, 'it's only this confounded cough that makes me so tired 1 I'm fine otherwise. Look here, I've a business to run, you know.'
'Someone eke will have to run it anyway in a few months,' said the doctor soberly.
He rose from the bedside and went to look out of the window at the neat suburban garden. Robert Bassett, shocked by the last few words, addressed the doctor's straight back.
'You don't mean that?'
The doctor swung round.
'I do indeed. All the tests we have done, these X-rays, and my knowledge of you over the last six years show that you are running yourself into the ground at an alarming rate. You need rest, cleaner air and more quiet than Ealing can give you, and a complete removal from sight and sound of your work. If you refuse to take my advice, I don't give you twelve months. It may sound brutal, my old friend, but that's the position.'
There was a short silence. Somewhere in the distance, a train hooted, and nearer at hand a lorry changed gear and ground away up the hill outside.
'I just can't take it in,' whispered the sick man.
'You own a house somewhere in the west, don't you? Can you go and stay there for a time?'
'Now do you mean?'
'Not immediately. You're going to have a week or two in that bed, with a daily visit from me. It will give you time to get used to the idea of moving, and to put things straight this end.'
'But what about my business?'
'Surely, there's someone there who can take over?'
'I suppose so,' said Robert slowly. 'It's just that I've never really considered the matter.'
The doctor patted his patient's hand, and rose to go.
'Well, consider it now, and cheer up. You'd like to go to this country house of yours, I take it?'
'Of course I would,' said Robert. 'I've always promised myself a retirement at Thrush Green.'
'Good, good! That's grand news.'
He picked up his case, and smiled at his patient.
'What's more,' said Robert, 'I've a son-in-law who
He filled the kettle and put it on to boil. By the time he'd washed up, and had a snooze, it would be near enough time to go and lock up the church and see that all was straight for the night.
And after that, thought Albert, the Two Pheasants would be open!
Life suddenly became warmer and sunnier as Albert advanced bravely upon the sticky horrors piled in the sink.
2. Doctor's Prescription
WHILE the children of Miss Fogerty's class listened to the story of The Tailor of Gloucester, and Albert Piggott awaited opening time, Joan Young was busy preparing a salad.
As she washed lettuce and cut tomatoes her thoughts turned time and time again to her parents and her old home in Ealing. She was vaguely puzzled by this. She had an uncomfortable feeling that perhaps something was wrong, and tried to persuade herself that the fact that she had been thinking of her father's heritage, after Edward's return to work that afternoon, simply accounted for this present preoccupation.
But somehow she was not convinced. She was the last person to be telepathic, or to believe in such nebulous things as thought-transference. Nevertheless, the malaise continued, and for two pins she would have left her salad-making and rung her parents there and then.
'What nonsense!' she told herself. 'They would think I'd gone mad. I should have heard soon enough if anything were wrong!'
She began to slice cucumber with swift efficient strokes.
Some sixty miles away, Joan's father, Robert Bassett, listened to some very unwelcome truths spoken by his doctor.
'These X-rays show that that chest of yours needs a lot of care. And I'm not happy about your heart. I'm not suggesting that you should consider yourself an invalid, but frankly it's time you gave up work.'
'But it's quite impossible -' began his patient, and was interrupted by a violent spell of coughing.
The doctor watched gravely until the attack had passed. He said nothing, but continued to look steadily at the older man.
'Dammit all,' wheezed Robert, 'it's only this confounded cough that makes me so tired 1 I'm fine otherwise. Look here, I've a business to run, you know.'
'Someone eke will have to run it anyway in a few months,' said the doctor soberly.
He rose from the bedside and went to look out of the window at the neat suburban garden. Robert Bassett, shocked by the last few words, addressed the doctor's straight back.
'You don't mean that?'
The doctor swung round.
'I do indeed. All the tests we have done, these X-rays, and my knowledge of you over the last six years show that you are running yourself into the ground at an alarming rate. You need rest, cleaner air and more quiet than Ealing can give you, and a complete removal from sight and sound of your work. If you refuse to take my advice, I don't give you twelve months. It may sound brutal, my old friend, but that's the position.'
There was a short silence. Somewhere in the distance, a train hooted, and nearer at hand a lorry changed gear and ground away up the hill outside.
'I just can't take it in,' whispered the sick man.
'You own a house somewhere in the west, don't you? Can you go and stay there for a time?'
'Now do you mean?'
'Not immediately. You're going to have a week or two in that bed, with a daily visit from me. It will give you time to get used to the idea of moving, and to put things straight this end.'
'But what about my business?'
'Surely, there's someone there who can take over?'
'I suppose so,' said Robert slowly. 'It's just that I've never really considered the matter.'
The doctor patted his patient's hand, and rose to go.
'Well, consider it now, and cheer up. You'd like to go to this country house of yours, I take it?'
'Of course I would,' said Robert. 'I've always promised myself a retirement at Thrush Green.'
'Good, good! That's grand news.'
He picked up his case, and smiled at his patient.
'What's more,' said Robert, 'I've a son-in-law who
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