Surgeon at Arms

my nearest and dearest.’
    ‘Perhaps it is we who should congratulate you?’ remarked Graham rather drily, shaking hands.
    ‘Did you enjoy the show?’ asked Alec, with a pressing eagerness he shared with even the greatest actors.
    ‘I’d hoped we clapped loudly enough to make that an unnecessary question.’
    Alec lit a cigarette. ‘I expect it shattered you a bit? Seeing me from out front?’
    ‘It’s admittedly an unexpected talent brought to light.’
    ‘It all started in Smithers Botham. Dency thought it would help if I tried some form of self-expression. He knows someone in the management here, and sent the sketch along. At first I was only supposed to help out with the technical details—you know, wearing your stethoscope the right way round, putting on gloves the regulation way, that sort of thing. After I’d been fooling about at rehearsals one of the cast went sick. So they gave me a chance. Success story.’
    One of the other young men, none of whom Alec had introduced, picked up his jacket and with a call of ‘Good-night, darlings,’ left them. Graham noticed with amusement Clare looked shocked. He himself had come to learn the endearing expression was merely the equivalent of the Communists’
    ‘Comrade’ in an ever-shifting and commendably classless society.
    ‘A success story so far,’ Graham agreed, nodding. ‘Now, Uncle, you’re being damping. But I’ve half another show written, I’m getting work on broadcasting —I’ve even got an agent. Oh, I know it isn’t a solid job like medicine, but you can’t imagine how much better I’ve been feeling since I tried my hand at it. And this poisonous underground atmosphere has absolutely cured my asthma. The pollens can’t get at you.’
    A girl, who seemed to Graham to be wearing only her underclothes, put her head round the dressing-room door, said, ‘Oh, sorry,’ and disappeared again.
    ‘I was a misfit in medicine,’ Alec continued cheerfully, wiping off the remains of his grease-paint. ‘God knows why I started it in the first place. Mother, I suppose. Weight of family tradition. Or perhaps you think I’ve let the side down?’ he asked, genuinely concerned. ‘Not entirely. I was something of a misfit myself.’
    ‘Well, I’m not the first doctor to make an exhibition of myself in public. The great Charles Wyndham was qualified. He ended up a grand actor-manager, with a knighthood and a theatre called after him.’
    ‘I don’t think Wyndham ever played in revue,’ Graham observed. With the vague feeling that Alec was probably starving in some attic, he added an invitation to supper. But his nephew declined graciously, explaining he was already engaged to sup with some important director who thought highly of his work. Graham imagined the girl in the underclothes his more likely companion, but was glad enough to accept the refusal.
    ‘You really ought to send some sort of word to your mother,’ he finally admonished him. ‘She’s written saying how disturbed she is about you.’
    ‘Dear mother! ’ Alec started putting on his shirt. ‘She always did fuss so. Yes, I really must send her a line.’
    ‘Or perhaps you’d prefer me to write?’ Graham saw Alec in his present mood as a doubtful correspondent.
    Alec turned with a bright smile. ‘Just do that little thing for me, will you, Uncle?’
    In the taxi going home, Graham said, ‘God knows what will come of Alec’s wild ideas. It is a bit of a letdown for the family, however broadminded you try to seem about it. A hell of a lot of people took enormous trouble teaching him medicine. Now he throws it all away to become a professional buffoon.’
    ‘Haven’t you said often enough, darling, you can’t suppress a true artist? Even if he can only chalk sunsets on the pavements? You never let them suppress you.’
    ‘Perhaps so,’ he admitted. ‘Perhaps Alec and I are the same thing, really.’
    He took her hand and stared gloomily out of the cab window. It would all be intolerably difficult to describe to Edith. But his thoughts as usual turned back to the new hospital, and he said, ‘Remind me I’ve gôt to go to the Board of Trade tomorrow afternoon. Something about importing American equipment. I’m seeing the new Minister—fellow called Harold Wilson. One of Attlee’s bright boys.’
    Clare said, Tomorrow I’m going to listen to the wedding on the radio.’
    ‘Wedding? What wedding?’
    ‘Oh, Graham! Princess Elizabeth’s wedding, of