The Summer of Sir Lancelot

was never given to overstatement.
    ‘Shampoo and set afterwards?‘ the hairdresser‘s voice broke into these happy thoughts.
    ‘Thank you, no.‘
    ‘Attention to the beard?‘
    ‘Thank you, no.‘
    ‘Toilet water? Deodorants? Bath essence?‘
    ‘Thank you, no.‘
    Sir Lancelot turned a page of his paper. He would be leaving unfinished business in town like forgotten swabs in a belly, he reflected, but he couldn‘t stand Geoff Nightrider for more than a couple of days on end — it was perfectly outrageous how the fellow treated the Harley Street house exactly like his own home. And that wasn‘t to mention his ghastly hookworm of a wife, nor those oversights of Borstal, Felicity, Randolph and the twins.
    He wrinkled his nose.
    ‘What‘s that?‘
    ‘Male Cologne, sir.‘ The hairdresser produced a large fancy bottle. ‘Dab or two behind the ears, sir?‘
    ‘If you so much as touch me with that stuff, young man, I shall take great pleasure in emptying the entire contents up your — Ahhhhhhhhh!‘
    Sir Lancelot jumped up. The bottle crashed to the tiles.
    ‘Ye gods!‘ he barked. ‘What infamy!‘
    His eyes, straying idly across the paper, found themselves exchanging glances with Euphemia. Beside her was that parboiled sex maniac, Tolly. The rest of the photograph was filled with policemen.
    ‘You‘ve gone and smashed our nice Cologne,‘ complained the hairdresser peevishly. ‘Fresh opened this morning, too.‘
    ‘What odium! What disgrace!‘
    The paper shook in his hands. He managed to focus on a headline, DOCTOR, NURSE IN PUNCH-UP. He forced himself to read on:
    ‘Dr Timothy Tolly and fiancée Nurse Euphemia Spratt enter a police van after last night‘s raid on Mayfair‘s classy Asquith Club. The doctor‘s black eye came in a scuffle with police as the pair tried to make a getaway. Both appear this morning at Addlestreet Police Court.‘
    ‘What humiliation! What turpitude!‘
    ‘You‘ll have to pay for the damage what you done to Sidney‘s Cologne,‘ threatened another young man in a nylon overall. ‘It‘s no good turning nasty.‘
    ‘What debasement! What obloquy!‘
    Sir Lancelot‘s eyes reached the bitter end:
    ‘Nurse Euphemia should come in useful with that eye. She is the niece of former Harley-street surgeon Sir Lancelot Spratt.‘
    ‘What scandal! What stigma!‘
    ‘You watch your language in our saloon,‘ complained several other overalled young men, gathering round. ‘We‘ve got some very nice customers.‘
    ‘Get me a cab!‘ Sir Lancelot blindly pushed notes into somebody‘s hands. ‘St Swithin‘s Hospital!‘ he thundered to the driver, climbing in. ‘Main gate. What a ghastly stink!‘ he added, throwing open both windows. ‘Who the devil did you have in here last trip, man? The entire chorus from Drury Lane?‘
    ‘'Ullo, Sir Lancelot!‘ Crimes paused from pushing a trolley across the St Swithin‘s courtyard. ‘Have you heard the great news, sir? Jowler got the last four wickets this morning for five runs. Them Yorkshire tykes don‘t half lap up Aussie blood once they‘ve got their tails up.‘
    But Sir Lancelot took no notice, not even of this momentous news. He strode grimly from the gate towards the Nurses‘ Home.
    Crimes sniffed. The old gaffer pongs a bit, I must say,‘ he muttered to himself. ‘P‘raps it‘s a sign of old age.‘
    ‘Come in,‘ invited the Matron crisply. ‘Oh, it‘s Sir Lancelot. I thought you had gone home to Wales?‘
    ‘Matron, I demand an explanation,‘ he began at once. She raised her eyebrows. ‘I should have thought that I was the one entitled to voice that remark. Sister Tripp,‘ she broke off to the thin woman in the starched bonnet who acted as her familiar. ‘Will you open the other window? It seems to have become rather stuffy in here.‘
    ‘I demand an explanation,‘ continued Sir Lancelot, quivering, ‘why you gave permission for my niece not only to visit haunts of sin, but to do so in the most undesirable company.‘
    ‘I trust you do not imagine that she did so with my permission?‘
    ‘How the devil could she have left the hospital without showing her late pass?‘ demanded the surgeon impatiently.
    ‘Over the mortuary gate.‘
    ‘Rubbish! My niece would never commit an underhand act like that.‘
    ‘Please show Sir Lancelot the bolster, Sister Tripp,‘ directed the Matron. ‘Sister Tripp,‘ she broke off sharply, ‘have you taken to using perfumery?‘
    ‘Perfumery, Matron! On duty,