THE PRESIDENT OF GUY'S, LONDON
Dr.Burton was never quite clear as to how he had found himself in the early morning on the Loon Lake trail, with a man whom he had never seen before, nor how, after he had discovered himself in that position, he had been persuaded to continue his journey, much less to take up with such enthusiasm the treatment of the cases to which he had been summoned by that same stranger.Indeed, he did not come to a clear consciousness of his sayings and doings until he found himself seated at a most comfortable breakfast in the house of the Old Prospector, with this same strange gentleman sitting opposite him.Even then, before reaching a solution of the problem as to how he had arrived at that particular place and in that particular company, to his amazement he found himself interested in the discussion of the cases on hand.
With the Old Prospector he had little difficulty.Inflammatory rheumatism, with a complication of pneumonia; in itself not necessarily fatal, or even dangerous, but with a man of the Old Prospector's age and habits of life this complication might any moment become serious.He left some medicine, ordered nourishing food, perfect rest and quiet, and was about to depart.
"How soon shall I be up, doctor?" enquired the Old Prospector.
"I wouldn't worry."
"A week?"
"A week! If you are on your legs in a month you may be thankful.""Doctor," said the Old Prospector in a tone of quiet resolution, "it is vitally important that.I should be on my journey sooner than a month.My business admits of no delay.""Well," said the doctor in his courteous, gentle tone, "if you move you will likely die.""I shall certainly die if I do not."
For once the Old Prospector broke through his wonted philosophic calm.His voice trembled, and his eyes glittered in his excitement.
"Well, well," said the doctor soothingly, noting these symptoms, "wait a week or so.Follow the directions carefully, and we shall see.""I shall wait a week, doctor, but no longer.In ten days I shall be on the trail.""Well, well," repeated the doctor, looking keenly into the old man's face, "we won't worry about it for a week.""No; for a week I am content."
Leaving the Old Prospector's shack Shock conducted the doctor to the little room at the back of the Stopping Place where little Patsy lay.At the door they were met by the mother, vociferous with lamentations, prayers, blessings, and entreaties.Within the room, seated beside the bed, was Carroll, gloomy and taciturn.
The doctor drew back the blind and let in the morning light.It showed poor little Patsy, pale and wasted, his angelic face surrounded with a golden aureole of yellow curls that floated across the white pillow.The doctor was startled and moved.
"What is this?" he cried."What is the matter?""Just an accident, doctor," said Mrs.Carroll volubly."It was a blow he got.""I struck him wid a chair," said Carroll bitterly.
"Whisht, now, darlin'.You're not to be blamin' yourself at all, at all.Sure, you didn't mane to do it.And what's a bit of discoosion between men? The little Patsy, the brave little heart that he is, run in to help his dad, so he did!" And Mrs.Carroll continued with a description which became more and more incoherent and more and more broken with sobs and tears.
"It's a wonder he didn't kill him," said the doctor.
"Arrah, ye may say it.But they do be tellin' me that his riverence there beyant, he stood in under the blow.God bless his sowl! It's a hairo he is--a hairo!"She ran toward Shock as if to embrace him, but Shock, who had come to know her ways, avoided her, dodging behind the doctor.
"Not at all," he said."Any man would have done the same.""Now, God pardon your riverence for the lie ye've told.""But how did YOU get into the row?" asked the doctor, turning to Shock.
"And ye may ask," interrupted Mrs.Carroll."It's all av that squirmin' little worm of a Frenchman.May the divil fly away wid him! I'm not sayin' but Carroll there is quick with his tongue, and betimes with his hands, too--the high spirit that he has! but sure, it's a tinder heart he carries inside av him if they'd lave him be."Meantime the doctor had been proceeding with his examination.
"He has lain a week like this, eh?"
"Yes, a week, with never a move till him, and niver a look out av his lovely eyes.""But he takes his nourishment, does he?"
"Yes, once in a while a cup of milk with a wee drap av whisky intill it, doctor."The doctor nodded.
"Won't hurt him.Not too much, mind.A teaspoonful in a large cup."The doctor stood for some moments after he had finished his examination, looking down upon the little white face, so wasted, so beautiful.Then he shook has head sorrowfully.
"Ah, doctor, darlin'!" burst out Mrs.Carroll."Don't say the wurrd!
Don't say the wurrd!"
At this Carroll lifted his head and enquired briefly, "Will he get better, doctor?""He has a chance.He has a slight chance."And with a look at Shock he left the room.After speaking a few words of comfort and hope to the mother Shock followed the doctor from the house.
"It is a case for trephining, I fear," said the doctor."A clear case.It is the only chance he has, and it ought to be done at once.""You mean to-day?" asked Shock.
"Yes, to-day.But--" The doctor hesitated."I am not ready.""I could get your instruments and anything else you might order,"said Shock eagerly.
"No, it is not that," said the doctor."The truth is, I have not the nerve.Nice confession to make, isn't it? Look at that hand."He held out his hand as he spoke, and Shock saw that not only the hand, but the whole arm, indeed the whole gaunt frame of the doctor, was all in a tremble.Shock's experience in the city wards made him realise something of the shame and humiliation of the moment to the doctor.He hastened to turn his attention in a happier direction.
"You have performed this operation before?""Yes, frequently in the old country, once or twice here.I have seen some practice, sir," said the doctor, straightening himself up."But there it is," holding out again his shaking hand.
