"I would suggest
that you go to Doctor Z, at such-and-such an address. You are
exactly in Z's line. I'll let him know that you are coming and
when, and I'll send him down my diagnosis."
So that same afternoon, the appointment having been made by
telephone, I went, full of quavery emotions, to Doctor Z's place.
As soon as I was inside his outer hallway, I realized that I was
nearing the presence of one highly distinguished in his profession.
A pussy-footed male attendant, in a livery that made him look like
a cross between a headwaiter and an undertaker's assistant, escorted
me through an anteroom into a reception-room, where a considerable
number of well-dressed men and women were sitting about in strained
attitudes, pretending to read magazines while they waited their
turns, but in reality furtively watching one another.
I sat down in a convenient chair, adhering fast to my hat and my
umbrella. They were the only friends I had there and I was
determined not to lose them without a struggle.
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