Invasion of the Body Snatchers Read Online Free Page B

said, "Yes," and Jack said, "Sure, I know Becky; her dad, too." He frowned, and stood there on the walk thinking for a moment. Then he glanced from me to Becky, including us both in what he was saying. "Look; bring Becky along, if she'd like to come. Might be a good idea; might help my wife." He smiled wryly. "I don't say she'll like what she'll see, but it'll be a lot more interesting than any movie, I'll promise you that."
    I glanced at Becky, she nodded, and since Jack is no fool, I didn't ask any more questions. "All right," I said, "let's go in my car. I'll drive you back to pick up yours when we're through."
    We sat three in the front seat, and on the way out - Jack lives in the country just outside town - he didn't offer any more information, and I assumed he had a reason. Jack's a thin-faced intense sort of man, with prematurely white hair. He's about forty years old, I'd say, an intelligent man of good sense and judgment. I knew that, because a year ago his wife was sick and he'd called me in. She had a sudden high fever, extreme lassitude, and I diagnosed it, finally, as Rocky Mountain spotted fever. I wasn't happy about that.You could practice medicine in California for a long time and never run across Rocky Mountain spotted fever, and it was hard to see how she could have caught it. But I didn't see what else it could be, and that's what I advised treatment for, starting at once. I had to tell Jack, though, that I'd never seen a case before, and that if he wanted other opinions he must feel free to get them. But I added that I was as sure of my diagnosis as I thought anyone else around could be of his, and that a conflicting opinion just then - uncertainness on anyone's part - wouldn't be so good. Jack listened, asked some questions, thought about it, then told me to go ahead and treat his wife, which I did. A month later she was well, and baking cookies; Jack brought me a batch at the office. So I respected him; he knew how to make a decision; and I waited, now, till he was ready to talk.
    We passed the black-and-white city limits sign, and Jack pointed ahead. "Turn left on the dirt road, if you remember, Miles. It's the green house on the hill."
    I nodded, and swung onto the road, shifting into second for the climb.
    He said, "Stop a minute, will you, Miles? I want to ask you something."
    I pulled to the edge of the road, set the hand brake, and turned to him, leaving the motor running.
    He took a deep breath, and said, "Miles, there are certain things a doctor has to report when he runs into them, aren't there?"
    It was as much a statement as a question, and I just nodded.
    "A contagious disease, for example," he went on, as though thinking out loud, "or a gunshot wound, or a dead body. Well, Miles" - he turned to stare out the window on his side - "do you always have to report them? Is there ever a case, I mean, when a doctor might feel justified in overlooking the rules?"
    I shrugged. "Depends," I said; I didn't know how to answer him.
    "On what?"
    "On the doctor, I suppose. And the particular case. What's up, Jack?"
    "I can't tell you yet; I've got to know the answer to this first." Staring out his window, he thought for a moment, then he turned to look at me. "Maybe you can answer this. Can you imagine a case, any kind of case, a gunshot wound, for example, where the rules or the law or whatever it was, required you to report it? And where you'd get into real trouble if you didn't report it and were found out - maybe even lose your licence? Can you imagine any set of circumstances where you might gamble your reputation, ethics, and licence, and not turn in a report, just the same?"
    I shrugged again. "I don't know, Jack; I guess so. I guess I could dream up some sort of situation where I'd forget the rules, if it were important enough and I felt I ought to." I was suddenly irritated at all the mystery. "I don't know, Jack; what are you getting at? This is all too vague, and I don't want you to get the idea