Twiddledum Twaddledum - Excerpt

It was a hard birth.  The mother-to-be strained and pushed at the doctor's command, but the foetus would not be dislodged.  The assisting surgeon cursed, "Stubborn, headstrong little bastard!" and gave a vicious twist to the accoucheur's forceps.  The woman screamed again.  Dozent Hecht shook his head and called for more ether.

When, many hours later, a male child had been delivered, the assisting surgeon, anesthetist, and nurse were completely exhausted.  Only Dr.  Hecht retained his professional calm, his beside detachment, although he like the others was covered from head to foot with sweat and blood.  He oushed the fagged-out assistants aside, ignoring the screaming newborn infant, and gave his attention to the mother's swollen belly.

Stamping his feet for silence, he bent over the strapped-down woman for a closer ezamination, his huge head almost disappearing completely betweeb her spread-eagle thighs.  He probed and grunted.

Then his great, bald, red head reappeared and barked rapid orders.  A fresh contingent of assistants was called for.  The dismissed group of aides made way for the new, but did not leave the operating theater.  They watched with awe as the great doctor, one of the most experienced and most expensive in Vienna, grunting and puffing, yet dountfulessly in full control of the situation, seemingly inexhaustable, prepared for another birth.