Johnny Swanson - Eleanor Updale [16]
Johnny was excited at being let into a secret. He pulled up a crate of his own and sat down close to the doctor. ‘You brought the vaccine with you?’ he whispered.
‘Not exactly. I brought some of the culture – the cells from which it’s made – and I’ve passed it on to someone who has access to a laboratory. We’re trying to keep it alive and grow it on to create a reliable supply. If we can, we’re going to run a little trial – just enough to prove to the authorities that it works, and to persuade them to use it here.’
‘But aren’t you breaking the law? Suppose they find your lab. Won’t you get into trouble?’
‘Possibly, Johnny. But I’m an old man. I’m happy to take that risk, just in case I can save some lives with the vaccine.’
‘And you could give it an English name. It could be called after you: “the Langford Treatment”, or something like that.’
The doctor laughed. ‘That does have an attractive ring to it. But I don’t think it would be fair. I’m only copying what the French are doing. I think we’d still have to call it BCG.’
‘Can I come and see it? Will you take me to the laboratory?’
‘No, Johnny. I’ve already told you too much. And anyway, the lab is far, far away from here, out in the wilds. The project is entirely in the hands of my associate at the moment.’
‘When will the vaccine be ready?’
‘If all goes well, we may have a little before the end of the year, but it will be a long while before we can produce enough to get the government to change their policy. For the time being they’ll just have to keep on building special hospitals, like our sanatorium.’ Dr Langford rose and turned his bike the right way up, wheeling it backwards and forwards along the pavement to check that the repair was good.
Johnny was enjoying getting to know the doctor better. Now that they were at ease with each other, he plucked up the courage to ask a question he’d had in mind all along but had kept to himself, for fear of appearing love-struck, or nosy. ‘Dr Langford,’ he said cautiously, ‘do you know anything about Olwen? Is she all right?’
To Johnny’s relief, the doctor answered without a trace of amusement or disdain. ‘The little Welsh girl? When I examined her, she was perfectly well. But she’s gone back to Wales to stay with relatives. She’ll be safe there, and I’ve passed on the name of an excellent sanatorium nearby that will take her in if she does develop symptoms. I’m afraid her parents and her sister were too sick to travel with her. They’re in the sanatorium here. I’m sorry to say that the baby is desperately ill.’
‘Can’t you give it some of your vaccine – as soon as it’s ready – even just a little bit?’
‘It’s too late for that, Johnny. You have to take the vaccine before you get sick. But I wish I could give it to all the other babies in the country. I really do.’
Johnny heard a wheezing noise behind him. It was Hutch, hurrying towards the shop, panting, and carrying a cardboard box.
‘Has he got phthisis?’ Johnny whispered to the doctor anxiously.
Dr Langford laughed. ‘No, he’s just out of breath.’ He steadied the bike against a lamppost and walked towards Hutch. ‘Can I give you a hand with that, Mr Hutchinson?’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Hutch puffed, handing the box to the doctor as he fumbled in his pocket for the keys to the shop. ‘It’s the poppies for the Remembrance Day collection. There was a bit of a mix-up, and I had to go and collect them at the station. I got held up.’ He tapped his bad leg. ‘I’m not as fast on my feet as I’d like to be.’
Inside the shop, Hutch hurriedly sorted the newspapers. ‘I’m sorry, Johnny,’ he said. ‘This is going to make you late for school. There’s no way you’ll finish the round before the bell goes. And people will be furious that their papers are late. Don’t let them take it out on you. It’s all my fault.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ said the doctor. ‘No one will be angry with me if I