Turnabout

by Thorne Smith

  “My God!” he cried, with a delighted smile. “I’m a man again. Fancy that, nurse.”

  “I don’t care what you are,” the nurse replied aggressively, “this baby’s got to be nursed.”

  “I hope you don’t think I’m going to nurse it?”

  “You certainly are,” replied the nurse. “You bore this child and now you’re going to nurse it.”

  “What with?” asked Tim triumphantly.

  The nurse paid no attention. She had lost her belief in everything. She clung tenaciously to one fact: this object in that bed, whether it was fish, flesh, or fowl, had given birth to a baby, and she, the nurse, was going to see that it suckled its baby or died in the attempt. Resolutely she approached the bed and thrust out the baby at Tim.

  “Suckle this young,” she said fiercely, “and make it snappy.”

  “What do you mean, suckle this young?” demanded Tim. “Have some sense, nurse.”

  “No,” said the nurse, “I won’t. I once had a little sense and this is what happened. It’s much nicer being mad.”

  “Couldn’t you get one of these mothers round here to lend the little chap some breakfast?” asked Tim. “Why not nurse it yourself?”

  The nurse laughed sarcastically at this irregular suggestion.

  “You must be a man,” she replied. “You’re so dull about such matters. Even if I could nurse that baby I wouldn’t.”

  “Why not?” inquired Tim, shocked by the woman’s bitterness. “I take that as very unfriendly, nurse.”

  “How do I know the thing is a baby?” she demanded. “It might be a lion or a tiger. It might suddenly turn into you.”

  “You embarrass me,” replied Tim. “Let’s change the subject.”

  “The subject doesn’t need changing,” said the nurse, beginning to laugh wildly. “I just changed the subject. See!” And she thrust the baby into Tim’s face.

  “Nurse, you’re getting positively common,” asserted Tim in a reproving voice. “What are we going to do about all this?”

  “Want to know what I’m going to do?” demanded the nurse. “I’m going to take this child and chuck it out the window.”

  “My God! Don’t do that!” cried Tim, springing from the bed.

  He presented an appalling figure in his short hospital nightgown. The nurse took one look at him and then blinked rapidly as if trying to clear her eyes of some painful object that had lodged there.

  “Why shouldn’t I throw the child out of the window?” she asked. “You’re not its mother.”

  “I know,” retorted Tim, “but if you went about chucking through windows every child I didn’t bear, the world would be littered with babies.”

  “Why should you care?” asked the nurse.

  “I don’t want to be a party to a murder,” protested Tim.

  “What you’ve done to me this morning,” said the nurse, “is a whole lot worse than murder. Once I was a sane woman and an efficient nurse. Now I’m a gibbering idiot. I wish you could take a look at yourself. A regular scarecrow you are—a scarecrow with long, skinny toes.”

  Even at that tense moment Tim could not help wondering why his toes should always be singled out for criticism.

  “What’s the matter with the toes?” he demanded, turning them up for inspection.

  “Everything,” replied the nurse. “They should have been fingers. They look like withered asparagus.”

  “God!” gasped Tim. “How revolting. Try to be a little nicer.”

  She thrust the child into Tim’s arms and left the room. While she was gone Sally came rushing in. She was every inch a woman. She took one long look at her husband, then snatched the baby from him.

  “You certainly look a sight,” was all she said. “Those toes.”

  “A hell of a lot of gratitude you show me for bearing your baby for you,” he retorted.

  “Ram is responsible for all,” replied Sally, busily preparing to nurse the baby. “He’s changed us back.”

  Tim disappeared behind the screen as the nurse entered the room. She was carrying a suitcase.

  “Your wife must have sent this over,” she began, then took one look at Sally. A piercing shriek followed.

  “Oh, God, how did you get that way?” she shouted. “He’s switched on me again.”

  She ran out of the room and fled screaming down the hall. Within a very few minutes the head nurse and the house surgeon arrived. Sally ducked behind the screen and pushed Tim into view.

  “How did you manage it?” asked the surgeon.

  “What?” asked the startled Tim.

  “How did you manage to sneak into this hospital?” continued the surgeon, keeping a strong grip on himself.

  “I didn’t,” replied Tim. “I’ve been here all the time.”

  “Then you must be a woman,” said the surgeon.

  “I am not,” said Tim.

  “You are so,” snapped the surgeon. “Didn’t you bear a child?”

  “I did,” replied Tim. “But I’ve just recently had a change of sex.”

  “I’ll have to look into this,” asserted the surgeon.

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” snapped Tim. “But you must be examined.”

  “I think you can trust me in this matter,” replied Tim, with some show of dignity.

  “But I’d like to see for myself.” The surgeon’s voice sounded somewhat wistful.

  “Sir,” replied Tim, “you don’t know what you’re asking. I’m afraid your interest is more personal than professional.”

  The surgeon left the room.

  “This will all have to be hushed up,” said the head nurse. “If you wanted to go gallivanting about I can’t understand why you picked out a maternity ward. There’s more here than meets the eye, I’m afraid.”

  “Lots,” replied Tim. “And if you don’t hurry up and leave this room you’ll see it all. I’m going to get dressed.”

  The head nurse left the room and Sally reappeared. She put the baby down on the bed and took Tim into her arms. His own arms went round her.

  “It’s good to get you back,” Sally murmured. “You horrid old thing.”

  “I’ve been through a lot,” said Tim.

  “I know you have,” replied Sally, “but I’ll make it up to you. I’ll bear you a set of twins.”

  Chapter 20

  Dopey All At Sea

  Dopey thrust an inquiring nose from his box and sniffed delicately at the small bundle. The small bundle made noises and endeavored to snatch at the nose. The nose, as if insulted, promptly withdrew. Presently it emerged again. Two eyes studied the bundle with growing alarm. The thing was actually alive. It might even be capable of inflicting pain. Down went the nose while the body attached to it shivered nervously. The bundle failed to attack. Dopey opened his lids and tried to look up without lifting his head. If he remained quite still, perhaps the bundle might mistake him for a chair or a table or, at least, a dead dog. The bundle was looking at him steadily and intently, but not hostilely. For a few moments the bundle and the dog took stock of each other, then Dopey transferred his attention to Tim and Sally. They seemed to be all right. The bundle had not molested them. In fact, it was allowing itself to be carried in Tim’s arms. That suggested helplessness. Helplessness suggested safety. Dopey raised his head, boldly sniffed the bundle, and allowed his nose to be handled. It was rather pleasant. Such small paws could not be dangerous. Then Dopey did a remarkable thing. He crawled out of his box, seated himself beside it, then glanced significantly first at Tim, then at the bundle, and finally into the box. Although it made him look rather ridiculous the great dog repeated this eye-rolling operation several times.

  “Why, the sweet old thing is actually offering his box to the infant,” exclaimed Sally.

  She found a clean towel and placed it on the floor of the box. Tim carefully laid the baby on the towel. Dopey settled himself grimly by the box and prepared to guard its contents. There was a proud light in his eyes, although his sensitiv
e spirit was slightly dashed by the reflection cast on his person by the placing of the towel. They might have spared him that. A little delicacy would have been more fitting in the presence of a stranger.

  Leaving the baby with Dopey, the parents withdrew to the front room.

  “He’s so maternal,” observed Sally, “he might try to crawl in with the baby.”

  “Dopey has the instincts of a gentleman,” said Tim.

  “That’s more than his master has,” replied his wife.

  In the front room Claire Meadows was waiting for them. At their appearance she threw several pillows off the divan and disclosed a large baby. This infant was possessed of teeth. It was two years old—almost a hag.

  “Listen,” began Claire hurriedly. “This baby is mine. I’ve just succeeded in stealing her back. I’ve got a splendid idea. You’re to pretend it’s your baby. Everyone knows you’ve had one. If anyone wants to look at her, squdge her up a lot and say she’s yours.”

  “Rather tough on the baby,” observed Tim.

  “It’s only for a short time,” replied Claire.

  “That’s good,” said Tim. “The baby might not last.”

  “But, Claire,” protested Sally, “we can’t very well show a baby with a full set of teeth.”

  “Show the other end,” said Claire. “That’s easy.”

  “You seem to have an answer for everything,” remarked Tim.

  “I suppose changing our child’s sex is also a simple matter?” inquired Sally.

  “It seemed to be for you,” retorted Mrs. Meadows.

  “But, Claire dear,” protested Sally, “we’re sailing in a few days.”

  “Then I’ll sail with you,” cried the resourceful Claire Meadows.

  “That’s a good idea, too,” put in Tim.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” replied Sally. “Do you contemplate establishing a sort of ménage à trois?”

  “Why not?” asked Tim lightly. “I feel like sowing some almost frantic oats.”

  “Is that so?” replied his wife. “Then I’ll look round and see if I can’t dig me up a serviceable old quatre”

  “Two’s company, three’s a crowd, and four make a vice ring,” remarked her husband. “That will be swell.”

  “Oh, I can dig up the quatre!” cried Claire Meadows brightly. “I remembered the name of this baby’s father and called him up. He was very sweet about it. He’s willing to do anything. We’ll take him along.”

  “That’s better,” declared Sally. “And if he leaves you stranded, there’s always Uncle Dick. He’s looking for an American representative.”

  “Then it’s all settled,” said Claire. “I’m terribly relieved.”

  “We’re so glad you are,” smiled Sally, “but I foresee unseemly if diverting complications.”

  The sun gleamed down on the boat deck. In a secluded corner three dogs, three high-bred dogs sat before their respective dog houses. One glance at those dogs was enough to show that this was not their first crossing. By no means. Those dogs were bored. There was a fourth house, but no dog sat in front of it. Presently a nose appeared, then two timid eyes. They looked fearfully at the high-bred dogs, then turned away. Those dogs looked sinister to the eyes. Have nothing to do with them. Then the eyes rested on the broad Atlantic and watched with great anxiety the approach of a fat wave. This would be the end.

  “Oh, my God,” breathed Dopey, “is all that water there yet?”

  But God did not answer.

  The dog scrabbled round in his house and exposed his gnarled rump not only to all who might care to behold, but also to the tumbling reaches of that disconcerting ocean.

  Once there had been a certain box on a floor that did not heave… ah, well… a dog’s life was like that.

  Dopey sighed and slept, shivering slightly in his sleep as he dreamed of an endless ocean alive with a drove of waves.