The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [23]
“What sort of fellow is Turk?” he asked.
“He is of extremely high ability,” I replied, assuming that the Professor was reassessing Turk’s fitness to be on staff.
“But?”
It was difficult to know where disloyalty to Turk ended and disloyalty to the Professor began. “His upbringing has left him angry and embittered,” I answered. “I hope it does not cause him to squander his talent.”
“Yes, I agree,” the Professor replied. “Do you like him … personally, I mean?”
“Whenever I begin to like him, he does something to bring me up short. But he is difficult to dislike as well.”
“Yes,” mused the Professor. “Quite so.” Then he brightened and placed his hand on my shoulder. “There’s something else, Ephraim. If you are free tomorrow evening, I would like you to accompany me to a dinner. It is at the Benedicts’ on Rittenhouse Square. Formal, I’m afraid. Starched collar, tight vest, and all. Are you up for it?”
“I would be glad to,” I said.
“It is not strictly a social affair,” the Professor noted. “Carroll, how abreast are you with the doings in Baltimore?”
He was speaking, of course, of the new hospital and plans for a medical school funded by an extraordinary endowment by the Quaker Johns Hopkins. Hopkins had amassed a fortune in dry goods and railroads and died childless in 1873, leaving seven million dollars to create the most modern medical facility in the world.
“I know,” I replied, “that the hospital will finally open after years of delays but the medical school is still not as yet complete. There are those who doubt it ever will be.”
“Oh, it will be, it will be. And when it is, it will be the envy of the nation. During that weekend I was absent last month, I traveled to Baltimore. Briefly put, I was solicited by the Hopkins board to accept the position of Physician in Chief at the hospital. It would, I was not displeased to learn, pay five times what I earn here. I was also offered the Professorship of Theory and Practice of Medicine when the medical school opens.”
“That’s wonderful,” I exulted. For a moment, an echo of Turk’s cynical prediction that the Professor would leave Philadelphia for money alone rang in my ears. I quickly dismissed it. Advancement in any profession was remunerated, and the acceptance of higher pay was not necessarily evidence of greed. “Congratulations,” I said. “There is no one who deserves it more.”
“Thank you.” The Professor seemed genuinely touched at my enthusiasm. “The offer was supposed to have remained private, but, doctors, I fear, are more uncontrollable gossips than spinsters. News of my visit has reached the board at the hospital here.”
“Has your position in Philadelphia been compromised?”
“I suppose not,” he replied, “although it did result in this dinner. Old Benedict—he’s head of the trustees—has asked for an opportunity to persuade me to remain in Philadelphia.” The Professor reached up and tugged at the dip of flesh under his chin. “It is all quite flattering, actually.” Then he smiled and clapped his hands together. “But that brings us to you. If I accept the offer, I would like you to come with me to Baltimore as Assistant Head of Clinical Medicine. The position would apply not just to the hospital, but eventually to the medical school as well. Initially, you will receive two thousand dollars per annum, although I’m certain that you can at least double that with private patients.”
I stared at the Professor, feeling my lower jaw moving but with no sound emerging. Finally, I managed, “Dr. Osler … I … am …” No more words came.
The Professor laughed, one loud cannon shot. “Well, Carroll, I believe I have for once struck you dumb. You look quite exceptional. Well, you’ve earned it. I knew you were a special sort the first day I saw you at rounds two years ago, and nothing has since persuaded me otherwise. You are professional, thorough, curious, and a fine doctor. As to your age, I suppose you know that for my first teaching assignment, I was younger than you are now.”
I did know.