SURGEON AT ARMS

'But I did.' Alec finished his gin and poured himself another. Desmond began to feel worried. His cousin had become dreadfully unreliable socially, and it would never do upsetting the dignity of the dons' dining table. 'I was skin-tested, and they told me I was allergic to grasses-crested dog's-tail, sheep's fescue, bird's foot trefoil. Whoever could imagine things with such lovely names doing anyone the slightest harm? It's ridiculous.'

'That's not a very reasonable attitude towards medicine, is it?'

'Well, medicine's only a branch of zoology. We mustn't take ourselves too seriously. But I let them fill me up with grass extracts. They didn't do the slightest good. Did you know I went to a psychiatrist at Smithers Botham?'

"There was a rumour to that effect.' Desmond gave a faint smile. 'Nobody seemed to think it particularly surprising.'

'Of course I kept quiet about it For a Blackfriars houseman, visiting a psychiatrist would be far more shameful than visiting a prostitute. I went to see old Dency. He said I suffered from Haltlosigkeit.' Desmond frowned. 'It means an irresponsible, aimless personality, with no perseverance, no will-power, no concentration, and no particular interests. An optimistic hysteric who lives for the present and refuses to learn from experience. I looked it all up. Possibly he's right. It's apparently due to maternal over-indulgence in early childhood.'

'How is your mother?' Desmond asked.

'She seems happy enough in the States. I suppose it's nice to warm your feet on the small of a man's back again, even at her age. And even with a cold fish like her husband. I always thought Americans noisy and fun-loving, like the ones we used to see lounging about Piccadilly and spitting on the pavement. She's a peculiar woman, my mother. It's odd, the particular severity one judges one's parents with as one grows up. Must be fundamental. Some species eat theirs. Dency looked after your mother, didn't he?'

Desmond nodded. He supposed the reminder was vaguely ill-intentioned.

'Do you think he's a pansy?' Alec asked. 'He kept patting me, like the geography master at school.'

'He's got a certain effeminacy of manner,' admitted Desmond awkwardly. Homosexuality was not a subject to be mentioned, even in private.

'Are you a pansy, Desmond?'

Desmond went red. 'How dare you ask such a thing?'

'I've often wondered. You're not particularly interested in girls. I don't believe you've ever had one, have you? Even at a Smithers Botham party, where maidenheads popped like the balloons.'

'I can hardly afford to get involved with women,' said Desmond defensively. 'I'll be here for a year, maybe two, hardly paid at all. Only my keep and an honorarium. I can't expect to sponge on my father at my age.'

'You asked me here to get your money back, didn't you?'

'Yes,' said Desmond.

'You haven't got a hope, old cock.'

Desmond stuck his hands in his pockets and asked angrily, 'Why don't you make some attempt to behave honourably about it? It's a debt. It's on paper. You'd never have qualified at all without it.'

'In good time, all in good time,' said Alec amiably. 'At the moment I've rather a lot of expenses. I'm going to get married.' Desmond stared at him. 'To Felicity, only daughter of Air Marshal Sir Giles Perrins, K.C.B., D.S.O., D.F.G. And bar. Very grand, you see.'

'I don't believe you.'

'Come, Desmond. The only asset I've got is a strange sex appeal. Don't deny me that'

'I still don't believe you. How on earth would you meet her?'

'At some sort of social to do with my present hospital. She was a W.A.A.F. I asked her and she said yes. Remarkably straightforward. I'm seeing her in Town tomorrow. She's just been demobbed.'

Desmond digested this. 'What can I say? I hope you'll be very happy.'

'Thank you.'

A bell started to ring. Desmond picked up his gown. 'It's time for hall.'

'So you see, Desmond, I shall shortly be in a position to pay you off. I should imagine the dowry will be considerable. They're stinking rich. For the moment, patience.'

As Alec reached for his gin-bottle again, Desmond said testily, 'You haven't time for another.'

'But I must, Desmond, I _must. _I have a pathological fear of meeting strangers. Don't worry, I shan't be sick into the soup, or anything like that'

Alec was not sick into the soup, but he broke a wine glass, talked continuously and extremely loudly, and told obscene stories. Desmond recognized his invitation as a terrible mistake. He wondered for the first time if his cousin really were a psychopath, a manic-depressive, something like that. He certainly suffered the most alarming swings of mood. At other times he could be solitary, silent, gloomy, and savage. The only course was to get him safely to bed in the college's guest-room. Further discussion about the money must wait until the morning.

But in the morning Alec had gone.