Surgery Box

Fenton’s wife was going to have a baby and he could not get a doctor. The snow outside was eight feet deep, the telephone lines  were down, and it was still snowing. He decided to go out and look for an M.D. He fought his way through the storm and saw a light which turned out to be a bar. He went in and began drinking heavily.

“What’s the matter?” said Hymowitz, sitting on a nearby stool.  “My wife is going to have a baby,” cried Fenton, “and I can’t find a doctor….”  “I can help you,” said the Jewish man.

“Are you a doctor?”

“I am a veterinarian. But you give me your address. I will go and get my surgery box, and I will come over and do the job for you.”

Fenton rushed home and soon Hymowitz arrived carrying his box. “Now don’t worry about a thing,” he said. “Get blankets and plenty of hot water.” He went into the bedroom.

Twenty minutes later, Hymowitz came out, sweat pouring from his brow and said, “You got a hammer?”  “A hammer!” roared Fenton. “What do you want it for?” “Don’t ask no questions, get me a hammer.” Fenton brought him the tool and Hymowitz said, “Don’t worry about nothing. Get plenty of hot water, lots of blankets!” He ran back into the bedroom.

Thirty minutes later he came out, stripped to the waist, perspiration pouring from his body. He said, “Hey, you got a chisel?” “My God!” screamed Fenton. “First you want a hammer, now it’s a chisel. What are you doing to my wife?”

“What do you mean, your wife? First I gotta open the surgery box!”