Johnstown High School - Spectator Yearbook (Johnstown, PA)

Page 27 text:

THE SPECTATOR 25 not alone in the room. And he had good reason, for this man whom he was called on to save was no other than the despised weakling who was to marry Betty. The thought flashed through his mind that fate was kind for had he not wished for a chance to revenge himself not more than fifteen minutes ago and here was his opportunity literally thrust upon him. He had not even had to chase after it like most men. but only to reach out and grasp it, as it were. His brief exami- nation had convinced him that an immediate operation was necessary and he knew that if he did not perform it, Dr. Jones would, and he felt certain unsuccessfully. So all he had to do was to refuse to operate and his revenge would be complete. Even though he had not been sure whether he really loved Betty or not. he was now convinced of one thing, that he thoroughly disliked, even hated this man who lay before him. But his con- science was not to be crushed so easily and his better self now asserted its influence. No; he would not let himself be so weak and cowardlike. His duty was clear. He must save this man’s life no matter what it cost him! So he stood there shaken by- conflicting emotions, now determined to act one way and the next moment equally determined to take the opposite course. His face was stern and the play of feelings was plainly discernible from its expression. He had become entirely oblivious to the fact that there were others in the room waiting on him. when he was abruptly reminded of this fact by a low voice at his elbow: “Is there anything you wish?” asked one of the nurses. He look- ed up suddenly and became aware that this was a new nurse, one whom he had never seen there before. A beautiful girl he de- cided, one at whom any man would have taken a second glance. And truly when she smiled at him the world did not seem so dreary after all. So with one last effort he regained control of himself and set to work, for he knew what this girl would think of him if he refused, and somehow or other he did not wish to let her get a bad opinion of him. He had already lost too much time and now it would require all his skill to save the man. Feverishly he worked. Never in all his life had his fingers moved so quickly, his nerves been so steady, or his hand so sure. Finally, he finished and with a sigh of relief he realized that he had saved one more life. Now he watched the new irurse. How deftly she worked! How graceful every movement! Such a woman he thought should not be here, but in some man’s hony making him happy. Soon she left the room which then seemed to him to have grown suddenly dreary and lifeless. After removing his operating clothes he started toward his

Page 26 text:

24 THE SPECTATOR of a day’s work was better than one who had attained the high- est honors possible for one of his profession, and this at a very early age. And yet. he reflected, there was no particular pain in the region of his heart. According to all the laws of love he should have been sunk in the depths of despondency and despair and be draining to the dregs the cup of bitterness, and so it was a sur- prise to him that he did not feel so very downcast. And now that he thought of it, one of his friends had recently told him that he was not in love; did not know the meaning of the word. But he was in love, he assured himself, and after a lengthy argument convinced himself that he really was despondent and despairing as a rejected suitor ought to be. Then he sighed more for the sake of carrying out this idea than from any real dejection and turned to his work. He had not been at this long, however, when an assistant sur- geon rushed into the room. “A man has been knocked down bv an auto, sir; fracture of the skull I think; very serious case. Dr. Jones examined the patient and said you were the only man in the city who could save him. Better come at once, sir; patient is in the operating room.” Having delivered this message the young doctor hurried out of the room. Calmly Morse arose, picked up his instrument case, closed his desk, and left the room. A casual observer would have thought him hard and calloused; so emotionless, in fact, as not to care whether the patient lived or died. But this was not the case for he had performed so many operations where a man’s life hung on the slightest movement of his hand that he had lost his former nervousness at an approaching operation and this outward appear- ance of disinterest was only the calm assurance which comes from experience. For he knew that even now everything was being prepared for the operation and that on his arrival he could proceed immediately. When he came to the operating room, he found the patient stretched out on the table, his face covered by a cloth. He ex- amined the wound, a long cut above and behind the ear. Then Dr. Jones, who had been preparing some instruments, stepped forward. “I was going to operate myself, but found that this operation required greater skill than I possess,” he said respect- fully. “so I called you in. We are all ready, you can go ahead as soon as you have finished your inspection.” For a few moments Morse continued his investigation, then accidentally he knocked the cloth from the man’s face. He glanced down, then quickly took a second look at the man’s fea- tures. “Good God,” he gasped aloud, forgetting that he was

Page 28 text:

26 THE SPECTATO R office. For the first time he noticed how tired he was. The un- usual strain of the last hour had probably been too much for him. Reaching- his office he lay down on the couch. “After all, he muttered drowsily, “it’s funny I thought I loved Betty Haynes. She isn’t in it with that nurse. She cer- tainly is a peach. I’ll have to become better acquainted with her.” A Valentine MARGUERITE FRY, ’l2. All the furniture had been hauled out of the two great front rooms, the carpets taken up, and the floors waxed till they shone, for Helen Reynor was giving the annual valentine dance. She and her sister Kathie had festooned walls and ceilings with little red hearts, so that .they no longer looked like ordinary rooms, but more like Cupid’s palace. Kathie, the vivacious, the talka- tive, was wonderfully quiet all the while, speaking only when forced to. She was really a puzzle to Helen who, in all her life could not recollect Kathie’s ever before having such an indis- position to speak. Repeatedly she asked what the trouble was, only to be told bv the resentful Kathie, “Why nothin’s wrong; may I not be quiet if I wish to?” So Helen went merrily on with her decorating, too happy over the coming dance to be much worried about her sister’s taciturn mood. At evening came the guests. While the dancers glided over the floor to dreamy waltz music, Kathie stole away to a big bay window, which was partially screened from the room by curtains, and curled herself upon the window seat to think. She knew well why she had been so silent, even though she did not confess it to her sister. Stealthily she drew from her wide, silk sash half of a tally on which was written, “Will you be my valentine?” Six years ago she had written on the other half, “I will,” had torn it off and teasingly given it to Jack Farley at one of the valentine dances. They had been good companions all their school days, but after his family moved away she had seen him no more.