Judge — May 1938 — page 19: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

44H, doctor,” whispered Grandma Spulnick tiptoing into the bed- room. "My grandson sleeps like a fea- ther.” Dr. Blondell saw a two-year-old boy with Zweiback crumbs on his cheeks standing up in his crib. “Poppa!” shouted Grandma Spulnick, “Roger is up!” Grandpa Spulnick rushed in from the dining room and lifted his grandson out of the crib. Mrs. Trackstein, the Spulnick’s mar- tied daughter, walked into the room with her husband. Trackstein had the embittered look of a man forced by business incompetence to live with his mother. and father-in-law. Dr. Blondell placed his stethoscope on Roger's chest and listened intently through the rubber tubing. The baby's mild, routine crying did not disturb him in the least. To the family, however, it was more than a disturbance. It was a challenge. Grandpa Spulnick seized a rattle and went to work close to the doctor's right car. Dr. Blondell raised his hand for si- lence. His gesture brought a happy light into Grandma's eyes. She slapped her palm a few times against his and began to sing, “Pattie-cakes, _ pattic-cakes, man!” The family took up the nursery song with loud, joyful intensity. The noise prevented Dr. Blondell from hearing very much through his stethoscope. With a sigh he placed it on the bed and began to feel the baby’s abdomen carefully. The room quickly became quiet. Even the crying stopped under the spell of the doctor's gentle, wandering fingers. ‘He hasn't got appendicitis, thank God,” sighed Grandma Spulnick rais- ing her eyes to the ceiling. “The belly don’t hurt him.” Dr. Blondell pulled a tongue-depres- sor and a pocket flashlight out of his bag. As if at a signal, Grandma Spul- nick crept up behind the baby, bent down, and grasped the little brown head between her palms. The family crowded around her. It looked like a baker's May, 1938 DIAGNOSIS By Irwin Sobel perfect formation for a power buck on the one yard line. As the doctor flashed the light into the baby’s mouth, the family swayed forward, pushing him out of the way. “Ooh, ooh, the throat looks very red to me,” said Grandpa Spulnick. “Not so terrible,” answered his wife. Trackstein walked to the corner, sulk. ing. He hadn't been able to see very much, Dr. Blondell examined the baby’s ears carefully, and then began packing his bag. “Ai, yi, that was a good examination,” said Grandpa Spulnick. “If you'll come into the dining room,” said Grandma Spulnick, “we can have a little consultation.” They all trooped after the doctor in- “GooD GOSH, THEN THAT WAS ONLY A WRINKLE INTHE BLUEPRINT?” to the adjoining room and sat down solemnly around the big table. Grandma Spulnick placed her hands in her lap and looked to the head of the table. “Well, doctor?” There was a short pause. Dr. Blon- dell opened his mouth to answer. “To me it looks like a streptococcus,” said Grandpa Spulnick firmly. “A streptococcus with ninety-eight temperature,” laughed Grandma Spul-. nick. “How many people you know with a streptococcus?” Dr. Blondell cleared his throat. His lips began to move. “Mamie!” yelled Grandma Spulnick. “Bring the doctor a nice piece o’ stru- del.” From the kitchen came a sudden cheerful rattling of plates. “Mother,” said Mrs. Trackstein, “This is exactly the way measles began with the Feigenstein’s little girl.” “So where's the rash?" asked Grand- ma Spulnick turning on her daugnter. “Where's the running eyes?” “Measles!” broke in Trackstein with disgust. “An acid condition could do it.” Grandpa Spulnick glared at his son in-law. “An acid condition!” he cried turning his palms upward. “Lemons [ suppose the baby’s been eating.” The colored maid placed a plate of strudel in front of Dr. Blondell and de- cided to hang around. “Eat it, doctor,” urged Grandma Spul. nick. “It's very healthy.” The family relaxed for a moment as they watched Dr. Blondell cat. Then they returned to the serious business of establishing a diagnosis. Grandpa Spulnick was the first to continue the discussion. “By me, it could still be a streptococ- cus,” he announced firmly. “By you, everybody's a streptococcus,” answered his wife. “What's the matter with a plain cold?” She turned to Dr. Blondell. “Isn't it?” Dr. Blondell, his mouth full of stru- del, nodded. Grandma Spulnick turned to her hus- band. “We'll give him a half aspirin and a mustard plaster and tomorrow (Page 46, please) comicbooks.com .