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Rufus couldn't take a joke. Not that Rufus hadn't deserved an A-1 ass-eating, understand, but-but hell!
    "Murph!"
    "Oh, oh." Doc paused in front of a partly opened door. "Put my breakfast on the table, Rufus. I'll-"
    "Murph! Come in here at once, you hideous beast!"
    Rufus went on.
    Doctor Murphy went in.
    He sat down on the edge of the woman's bed, listened to a throaty, tearful and seemingly interminable denunciation of himself, his employees, his hospital, the motion picture industry, the income-tax bureau, the Republicans, the Democrats, the-everything that manic depressive, alcoholic Susan Kenfield could think of-all delivered with beautiful if occasionally inappropriate gestures.
    Her hair was snow-white, but her great brown eyes, her face and her body (a considerable area of which was exposed) were those of a woman in her early thirties. At least, one would have to look at her long and closely to suspect that they were not. Just how old she was, Doc could only guess. Probably around forty, he believed, since she had been playing character parts for more than twenty years.
    The throaty, perfectly enunciated flood of words began to ebb. Doc patted her affectionately on the bottom.
    "Feel better now? Anything else on your mind?"
    "Well-well, that perfectly beastly Judson, Murph! I lay here losing my mind for want of sleep, and all I asked for was one teeny nembutal-"
    "He couldn't give it to you, Suzy. You were loaded already."
    "Well… And you, you heartless beast! You didn't even kiss me goodnight!"
    "Well, that," said Doctor Murphy, "will never do."
    He smacked her soundly on one firm alabaster cheek. He drew away firmly as her arms sought to circle his shoulders.
    "Now, I've got to beat it, Suzy. You-"
    "Murph…"
    "Yeah?"
    "Murph, lover, you are going to help me, aren't you? Oh, darling, I knew I could count on-"
    "Jesus Christ!" snarled Doc. "How hammy can you get?"
    "Hammy! Are you accusing me… You must help me, dearest. I warn you! I'll kill myself! I'll…!"
    "With what? There's nothing on the market that would kill an old bag like you. If there was, I'd make you a present of it."
    "A b-bag!" Miss Kenfield rolled her great eyes, imploring the heavens to witness this heresy. "This so-called man of mercy calls me a- -a-" She choked on the terrible word. Doctor Murphy spoke it for her.
    "A bag. Why, goddam you, Suzy, if you weren't so damned heavy I'd toss your tail right out that window!"
    "H-heavy," Miss Kenfield wept. " Heavy! Oh, y-you fiend! Y-you-"
    "Did I get you drunk? Hell, no! I couldn't get you drunk if I wanted to. You were never by God more sober than-"
    "You cad! Beast!"
    "Did I get you pregnant? No, again. All I've ever got out of you is a big fat headache-yes, all, by God! Your goddamned fees haven't been enough to pay for my aspirin. And yet you've got the guts to come to me and ask for an abortion! You know what you can do, Suzy? Go --yourself!"
    "I wish I had," sniffled Susan Kenfield.
    Doctor Murphy snorted and headed for the door. Reaching the threshold, he paused and wheeled around.
    "By the way, Suzy. How far along are you?"
    "What's the difference?" Miss Kenfield shrugged. "Two-three months, I guess."
    "You guess?"
    "I really don't see how it could be more than that, Murph. I mean, well, after all"-she patted her abdomen- "it would have to stick out more, wouldn't it?"
    "Mmm." Doc grunted noncommittally, and his eyes swept over her body. Small boned. Compact yet lushly curving. With a frame like that… "How long since your last period?"
    "Two or three months," said the actress promptly. "I mean, I did it about three months ago, but not very good. Not like I usually do it when…"
    "Uh-huh. I see," the doctor grunted again. At Suzy's age, a women was apt to have irregular periods. In any event, some women had been known to menstruate up to the month they gave birth. "Why did you come to me with this, Suzy? You know your way around. Why come to me with an abortion when you could go to any