WE COMMAND YOU, if you intend to make any defense of said action, that on said twentieth day of May, 1968 or within such further time as the law allows, you cause your written appearance to be entered and your written answer or other lawful pleadings to be filed in the office of the Clerk of the Court to which said writ is returnable, and that you defend against said action according to law.

Hereof fail not at your peril, as otherwise said judgment may be entered against you in said action without further notice.

Your goods or estate have been attached as security to satisfy any judgment which may be recovered against you in said action.

Witness, R. HAROLD MONTANO, Esquire, at Boston, the twenty-first day of September in the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred and sixty-seven.

Homer P. Riley
Clerk

The first thing he did was telephone Uncle Calvin, trying to tell the story calmly, neither sparing himself nor overlooking any of the important points.

“You just leave everything to me,” Calvin said.

“I don’t want to do that,” Spurgeon told him.

“Insurance is my business. I know a lot of people. I can take care of this without fuss or feathers.”

“No, I want to take care of it myself.”

“Then why did you call me?”

“Oh, Jesus, Calvin, can’t you understand me for once? I wanted advice. I didn’t want you to handle it for me. I just wanted you to hear my problem and tell me what to do.”

“The insurance company will have a good attorney based in Boston. You get in touch with him immediately. How much coverage do you have?”

“I’m all right there. I’ve got $200,000, which is twice as much as most of the guys here have.” It had been Calvin, he realized, who had insisted that he take out at least that amount of malpractice coverage.

“Okay. Do you need anything else?”

Calvin felt rebuffed; Spurgeon could tell from his voice. “No. How’s my mother?”

“Roe-Ellen?” The voice softened. “She’s okay. She’s spending her mornings in the gift shop at the United Nations. Having a ball selling jungle tom-toms to little white pullets from Dubuque.”

“Don’t mention this to her.”

“I won’t. You take care, boy.”

“So long, Calvin,” he said, wondering why, having called, he felt more depressed than ever.

Four days later they were in Boston.

“Calvin had to come on business,” Roe-Ellen told him when she telephoned him at the hospital. “He thought this would be a good chance for me to see my son,” she said meaningfully.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been home more often, Momma.”

“Well, if the mountain won’t come to Mohammed . . .” They were at the Ritz-Carlton. “Can you meet us here for dinner?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Seven o’clock?”