Dr. Gronk

"Take two berry. Call Gronk in morning." Gronk put the two small purple berries into the outstretched hand of his patient, Fitzwilliam Marsh.

"Thank you, Dr. Gronk," Marsh said, descending from the examination table while re-doing his cuffs. "As always, I appreciate your professionalism and candor." Putting on his coat and top hat, he extended his hand and they shook. "I bid you good day."

"Bye-bye," Dr. Gronk said. Marsh departed.

The door closed and now all was silent in his office, save for the distant hum of traffic from the London streets below. Fitzwilliam Marsh was Dr. Gronk's last patient before lunch, which was good, because Gronk had eaten only one duck for breakfast and was growing hungry.

But first, paperwork. "Not Gronk's favorite, but must do," he said aloud to himself. Ambling across the room to one of the many file cabinets that lined the back wall, he thumbed through the files, and, after finding Fitzwilliam's records, withdrew two large stone tablets and deposited them on his desk. "Now what Gronk do with hammer and chisel?"

Hands on hips, he gave the office a once-over. How was it that hammers and chisels went missing constantly when he had so many? But Gronk knew it was useless to look for them, so he accepted his defeat and went to the door. Opening it, he said, "Miss Lucas, Gronk need..." Miss Lucas appeared before him. "Hammer and chisel?" she finished, smiling. A new pair were in her outstretched hands.

Dr. Gronk accepted the hammer and chisel, but paused. He stared at them uncertainly. "What this?" he asked.

"Oh, I tied these silk flowers on so it'd be harder to misplace this pair," Miss Lucas explained. "This is a blue bonnet." Her slender fingers traced the stem. "And this is a hibiscus." She gently touched the petals.

"Can eat?" Gronk asked.

Miss Lucas deflated. "Oh, no, Dr. Gronk, I suppose not." Her gift had not had the effect she had hoped. But, instantly, she re-brightened. "I always forget that you doctors tend to see the world in medical and biological terms, and are constantly interpreting your surroundings as to what they mean in regard to human health and well-being. 'Does this have nutritional or medicinal value?' you ask yourselves. And if not, why should I be interested in it as a professional? It must get awfully tiring constantly being on the job. I don't know if I could take it!"

"Miss Lucas nice lady," Dr. Gronk said. "Thank you for flower." He turned and went back into his office. Miss Lucas went back to her desk, flushed and smiling. That Dr. Gronk! What a charmer! Certainly one of the most eligible bachelors in London.

At his desk, Dr. Gronk sat down and began to inscribe the updates to Fitzwilliam Marsh's records, carefully scratching the surface of the stone tablet at first, then for each line of each letter he chiseled out a thin wedge of stone with two quick taps of his hammer. The letters were triangular, composed invariably of lines of two widths, either single or double chisel-width.

When he was done, he put the tablets back in their file and got ready to go to lunch, retrieving another larger leopard skin from the coat rack and clipping that over the skin he was already wearing. Then he got his walking-club, his pocket-sundial and opened his office door.

Miss Lucas was making out bills at her desk to be sent to patients. "Gronk go lunch," he informed her as he passed through the waiting room.

"Oh, may I suggest a new restaurant, Dr. Gronk?" she rose quickly, though gracefully, from her desk. "It's called the Criterion, it's by the Piccadilly, on Coventry Street. The head chef, they say, was snatched away from Le Grand Vefour, and had to be smuggled across the Channel in the dead of night, by soldiers loyal to Emperor Napoleon, who I read is now living in Kent. The establishment even has a cocktail bar, like over in America! My good friend Miss Jane Brandon says the food is to die for!" She sighed and looked into the distance wistfully. "I would so like to go someday."

"Gronk get duck at park," Dr. Gronk said.

"Oh, you're quite right, Dr. Gronk." Miss Lucas nodded seriously. "Fresh food is much more healthful. And French cuisine has too much butter and salt, don't you find? I love to go on hunts! Such refreshing exercise!"

"Duck small, quick," Dr. Gronk observed, pulling open the door. "Bye-bye, Miss Lucas."

"Have a pleasant lunch, Dr. Gronk," Miss Lucas said. "I'll hold down the fort here." After Dr. Gronk had gone, Miss Lucas sank down onto her desk and spread her arms wide, her cheeks rosy and a smile playing on her lips.

That Dr. Gronk! What a man. No need for a chef to prepare his meals, he would go into the wilds and take it for himself. Why, in comparison with Dr. Gronk, all of the other men she knew seemed to her dandies and fops.

Outside, Gronk saw that the snow from the previous night's storm was still piled high, though on the roads the carriages had reduced it to a dirty brown mess and on the walks it had been plowed away by urchins employed by City, as was commonly done in areas such as Knightsbridge. Above, a few flakes were still gently drifting down, but nothing like the blizzard that had afflicted them for the past week.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Gronk," a passing gentleman said, doffing his hat.

"Hello," Dr. Gronk said, waving. He recognized the man as Chichester Parkinson-Fortescue, President of the Board of Trade. The Baron Carlingford proceeded a little ways down the walk and then mounted a waiting carriage. The horses pulled away and disappeared around the bend, no doubt off to Westminster. Gronk began to set off in the opposite direction, towards Hyde Park, but then stopped.

No, today he would like to go for a walk. He would go to St. James, instead. He turned and followed the path the carriage had taken.

As he walked, all sorts of people were greeting him constantly. He was certainly recognizable in his leopard skins, his left hand gripping his club, and in the years he had practiced medicine in Knightsbridge, he had become something of a local celebrity.

At the Wellington Arch, he paused for a moment. "Big stone," he said appreciatively. He passed under it, proceeding onto Constitution Hill. In the distance, the Palace loomed, and its grounds, white and beautiful as clouds.