The doctor's office was shiny and modern. Behind the deskthe doctor smiled down at James Wheatley through thickglasses. "Now, then! What seems to be the trouble?"
Wheatley had been palpitating for five days straight at theprospect of coming here. "I know it's silly," he said. "But I'vebeen having a pain in my toe."
"Indeed!" said the doctor. "Well, now! How long have youhad this pain, my man?"
"About six months now, I'd say. Just now and then, youknow. It's never really been bad. Until last week. You see—"
"I see," said the doctor. "Getting worse all the time, yousay."
Wheatley wiggled the painful toe reflectively. "Well—youmight say that. You see, when I first—"
"How old did you say you were, Mr. Wheatley?"
"Fifty-five."
"Fifty-five!" The doctor leafed through the medical recordon his desk. "But this is incredible. You haven't had a checkupin almost ten years!"
[47]"I guess I haven't," said Wheatley, apologetically. "I'd beenfeeling pretty well until—"
"Feeling well!" The doctor stared in horror. "But my dearfellow, no checkup since January 1963! We aren't in the MiddleAges, you know. This is 1972."
"Well, of course—"
"Of course you may be feeling well enough, but that doesn'tmean everything is just the way it should be. And now, yousee, you're having pains in your toes!"
"One toe," said Wheatley. "The little one on the right. Itseemed to me—"
"One toe today, perhaps," said the doctor heavily. "But tomorrow—"He heaved a sigh. "How about your breathinglately? Been growing short of breath when you hurry upstairs?"
"Well—I have been bothered a little."
"I thought so! Heart pound when you run for the subway?Feel tired all day? Pains in your calves when you walk fast?"
"Uh—yes, occasionally, I—" Wheatley looked worried andrubbed his toe on the chair leg.
"You know that fifty-five is a dangerous age," said the doctorgravely. "Do you have a cough? Heartburn after dinner?Prop up on pillows at night? Just as I thought! And no checkupfor ten years!" He sighed again.
"I suppose I should have seen to it," Wheatley admitted."But you see, it's just that my toe—"
"My dear fellow! Your toe is part of you. It doesn't justexist down there all by itself. If your toe hurts, there must bea reason."
Wheatley looked more worried than ever. "There must? Ithought—perhaps you could just give me a little something—"
"To stop the pain?" The doctor looked shocked. "Well, ofcourse I could do that, but that's not getting at the root of thetrouble, is it? That's just treating symptoms. Medieval quackery.Medicine has advanced a long way since your last checkup,my friend. And even treatment has its dangers. Did you knowthat more people died last year of aspirin poisoning than of[48]cyanide poisoning?"
Wheatley wiped his forehead. "I—dear me! I never realized—"
"We have to think about those things," said the doctor."Now, the problem here is to find out why you have the painin your toe. It could be inflammatory. Maybe a tumor. Perhapsit could be, uh, functional ... or maybe vascular!"
"Perhaps you could take my blood pressure, or something,"Wheatley offered.
"Well, of course I could. But that isn't really my field, youknow. It wouldn't really mean anything, if I did it. But there'snothing to worry about. We have a fine Hypertensive man atthe Diagnostic Clinic." The doctor checked the appointmentbook on his desk. "Now, if we could see you there next Mondaymorni