The Tunnel by Dorothy M. Richardson — Read

There was a carriage at the door. West-end people, after late nights, managing to keep nine o'clock appointments -- in a north wind. Miriam pressed the bell urgently. The scrubbed chalky mosaic and the busy bright brass plate reproached her for her lateness during the long moment before the door was opened. It must be someone for Mr. Orly; an appointment made since last night; that was the worst of his living in the house. He was in his surgery now, with the patient. The nine-fifteen patient would come almost at once. He would discover that his charts were not out before there was any chance of getting at his appointment book. As the great door swung open she saw Mr. Hancock turn the corner of the street walking very rapidly before the north wind. Mr. Orly's voice was sounding impatiently from the back of the hall. "Where's Miss Hends. Oh -- here y'are Miss Hends, I say call up Chalk for me will ya, get him to come at once, I've got the patient waiting. " His huge frock-coated form swung round into his surgery without waiting for an answer. Miriam scurried through the hall past Mr. Leyton's open surgery door and into her room. Mr. Leyton plunged out of his room as she was flinging down her things and came in briskly. "Morning, Pater got a gas case?"

"Mm; " said Miriam. "I've got to call up Chalk and I haven't a second to do it."