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Nerves
 About the Book
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Preview
Chapter 1
The jangling of the telephone gnawed at Doc Ferrel´s sleep. His efforts to cut it off by burying his head deeper in the pillow only made him more aware of it. Across the room, he heard Emma stirring uneasily. He could just make out her body under the sheets by the dim light of the early morning.
Nobody had any business calling at that hour!
Resentment cut through the last mists of sleep. He groped to his feet and fumbled for his robe. When a man nears sixty, with gray hair and enlarged waistline to show for it, he should be entitled to his sleep. But the phone went on insistently. Then, as he reached the head of the stairs, he began to fear that it would stop. Reaching it just too late would be the final aggravation.
He half-stumbled down the stairs until he could reach the receiver. "Ferrel speaking."
Relief and fatigue were mixed in the voice at the other end. "This is Palmer, Doc. Did I wake you up?"
"I was just sitting down to supper," Ferrel told him bitterly. Palmer was the manager of the atomics plant where Doc worked, and at least nominally his boss. "What´s the matter? Your grandson got a stomach-ache, or has the plant finally blown up? And what´s it to me at this hour? Anyhow, I thought you said I could forget about the plant today."
Palmer sighed faintly, as if he´d expected Doc´s reaction and had been bracing himself for it. "I know. That´s what I called about. Of course, if you´ve made plans you can´t break, I can´t ask you to change them, God knows, you´ve earned a day off. But . . ."
He left it hanging. Ferrel knew it was bait. If he showed any interest now, he was hooked. He waited, and finally Palmer sighed again.
"Okay, Doc. I guess I had no business bothering you. It´s just that I don´t trust Dr. Blake´s tact. But maybe I can convince him that smart cracks don´t go over well with a junket of visiting congressmen. Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you up."
"Wait a minute," Ferrel said quickly. He shook his head, wishing he´d had at least a swallow of coffee to clear his brain. "I thought the investigating committee was due next week?"
Palmer, like a good angler, gave him a second´s grace before he set the hook.
"They were, but I got word the plans are changed. They´ll be here, complete with experts and reporters, some time this forenoon. And with that bill up before Congress . . . Well, have a good day, Doc."
Ferrel swore to himself. All he had to do now was to hang up, of course. Handling the committee was Palmer´s responsibility; it was his plant that would be moved to some wasteland if the cursed bill was passed. Doc´s job was concerned only with the health and safety of the men. "I´ll have to talk it over with Emma," he growled at last. "Where´ll you be in ten minutes? Home?"
"I´m at the plant."
Doc looked at the clock. Just after six. If Palmer thought things were that serious . . . Yet it was the last day of Dick´s brief visit home from medical school, and they´d been planning on this day all week! Emma had her heart set on making it a happy family affair.
A sound from the head of the stairs made him look up. Emma was standing there in a cotton robe and worn old slippers. Without make-up and with her hair hanging loose, she looked like a little girl who had grown old overnight without quite understanding it. Her face was carefully stripped of expression; she´d learned to conceal her feelings back in the days when Ferrel had maintained a general practice. But the tautness of her throat muscles and the way she cinched the belt around her too-thin figure showed that she had heard and how she felt.
She shrugged and nodded, trying to smile at him as she started down the stairs, favoring her bad hip.
"Breakfast will take a little time," she said quietly. "Try to get some sleep. I´ll wake Dick and explain it to him."
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