The Doctor Is Sick Read Online Free PDF

to be seen. He lost the other one and then, still dancing, felt spilt beer soaking his socks. When the music ended everybody helped.
    â€˜What’s he lost?’
    â€˜It sounded like slippers, but I don’t see how it can be that.’
    The genteel woman in the raincoat said carefully to Edwin: ‘I can see that you’re artistic, just the same as I am. I modelled for the best painters, the very best. John,Sickert, that other man. There’s one of me in the Tate, you must have seen it.’
    â€˜It’s my slippers,’ said Edwin, kneeling down, looking between the legs of the seated. ‘There’s one there,’ he said, crawling on his knees towards the two German girls, one of whom was in the other’s lap.
    â€˜Edwin,’ said Sheila, ‘whatever are you doing?’
    â€˜It’s my slippers.’
    â€˜You shouldn’t have come out, you know you shouldn’t. I’m going to call a cab and take you straight back there.’
    The loss of his slippers, the fact that he had been dancing in his socks had suddenly, for some reason, endeared Edwin to the man who had taken out his dentures. ‘Drink this, major,’ he said gummily. ‘Take it in your right hand and repeat after me.’ He wore a good suit but no collar or tie. Edwin, flustered, found himself holding a glass of Scotch. ‘You’re a man as likes a lark, same as it might be myself. I could see that soon as you come in.’ The club customers seemed quick at finding affinities.
    â€˜I’m going to take you back,’ said Sheila, ‘as soon as I’ve finished this drink. Dancing in your stocking-feet indeed. You want your head seeing to.’ The shocking aptness of this struck her. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I didn’t mean it that way, you know I didn’t,’ and she hooked her hand on to his arm.
    â€˜Tomorrow morning,’ said Edwin, ‘they start.’
    â€˜Yes, darling, and tonight I think you’d better get as much sleep as you can. I shan’t come to see you. After all, we’ve seen each other this afternoon, haven’t we?’
    â€˜Oh,’ said Edwin. ‘Well, that’s up to you, I suppose.’
    â€˜I’ll come tomorrow evening, naturally.’
    â€˜I can see you lookin’ at vem shelves,’ said Harry Stoneto Edwin. ‘Not much vere, is vere?’ There was a half-bottle of gin and a plastic nude statuette. ‘Can’t get no credit, can’t carry much in the way of stock. Ashamed I am when I fink of ve way I’ve ruined vis place. But vat’s perhaps because I ’ate it so much.’ The dog Nigger chewed away at the remaining ventricle. ‘We buy retail from ve public bar of ve Anchor at closing time and stick a bit on. It’s no way of doin’ business, really.’
    The German girls brought a slipper each. ‘ Danke sehr ,’ said Edwin. Then he heard the big man who worked in, or at, Covent Garden talking on philology. ‘Italian’s a lovely language,’ he was saying. ‘I’ve heard some of the finest Italian singers of all time. It’s the best language to sing in, they reckon. Stands to reason,’ he said illogically, ‘because it’s the oldest. Italian’s only a kind of Latin, and Latin’s the oldest language.’
    â€˜Oh, there are older languages,’ said Edwin. ‘Sanskrit, for instance.’
    â€˜Well, that’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it?’ The big man spoke a kind of northern English which, slowly, over long years, had been modulating towards Cockney.
    â€˜Oh, no,’ said Edwin, ‘it’s no matter of opinion, it’s a matter of fact.’ He settled himself to a lecture. Sheila said:
    â€˜Come on, we’re going back.’ She tightened her hold on his arm.
    â€˜In a minute, dear. I just wanted to show our friend here——’
    â€˜My name’s