University of San Francisco - USF Don Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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THE RETURN OF DR. PILL f) a wire to a specialist in town who, if lie arrives in time, may save her life. Meanwhile, keep up your courage, and remember that while there’s life, there’s hope’.” “Miss Dewey,” said the same voice, “Will you kindly step outside a minute.” The door by which the woman had entered, now swung more widely open and out stepped a young nurse. What the doctor said was in a low voice: “I am sorry to have to leave you alone. The woman is on the verge of collapse and the child is at death’s door. There is practically no hope. Only a very delicate operation can save her. I fear I will be gone several hours .... too long, ” he ad- ded, as he hurried away. Sadly the young woman re-entered the house. The words of the doctor about the “spine” and “the very delicate operation” had in some strange way appealed to the stranger. lie stood in deep thought, in the shadow of a huge sequoia, watching the doctor’s retreating figure. Was it an hour that passed? The stranger could not say. It seemed an age, so fierce the struggle in his soul. Would he? Dared he? Another failure? Another life? But, from the words of the doctor, that life was already doomed if he did not make the trial. lie would make it, come what might to him. With a sudden determination, he brushed off his clothes as best he could, smoothed his hair and beard, and, straightening his hat, with a faltering step he approached the house. He knocked lightly on the door. The knock was answered shortly by the nurse. “I am the specialist that the doctor sent for,” he said. “I’m . . . Doctor Pill. Doctor-er-er . . . .” “Doctor Jones,” supplied the nurse. “Doctor Jones was detained, so I came up alone,” he said in answer to the nurse’s surprised scrutiny. “Miss Dewey, I believe .... let me see the patient.” The stranger pressed his way past the nurse into the house.

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8 THE I a SAT I AN lie been versed in the lore of the “Knights of the Road” he would have easily seen by the hieroglyphics on the gate, that shaggy, dust-stained travellers were decidedly unwelcome. Reaching the house he knocked lightly on the door. Receiving no answer, he knocked louder just as the pangs of hunger were doing in his stomach. After a long pause a frowning old man opened the door and gruffly asked: “What ycr doin’ here?” Cut by the rudeness of the old man, the stranger stammered : “Could you give me some work to do for which, in return, I might get something to eat?” “Beggin eh? Wal, b’gosh, ycr won’t beg nothin’ outer David Hiram Jones.” “Sir,” began the stranger, his ire rising, “1 am not begging: I never did beg; I never intend to beg. 1 merely asked for work, in return for which. I requested food. Is there any shame in that?” “Git outer here, ycr tramp”, growled the testy Hiram, emphasizing his command with a rough gesture. “1 ain’t got nuthin’ fer yer.” “Tramp,” repeated the stranger as he withdrew from the house. The word stung. “Vet,” he murmured, “it is true. 1 am a tramp.” Again he plodded through the deepening twilight. Soon lights began to flicker in neighboring farmhouses. One more brightly lighted came into view. As he approached the house he hesitated, then resolved to try his fate. He was about to approach when a man and a woman emerged. The man was saying: “Mrs. Porter,” I have done all within my power. Your daughter has received a severe injury to her spine.” The woman was sobbing wildly. The wav-farer slunk behind a tree. The man continued, “I will hurry to the station and send

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10 THE I ax AT I AX The much worried mother was sitting by the bedside of her child. The face of the woman expressed her agony. The man's eyes rested on the frail and motionless form on the bed. His throat tightened, his eyes grew dim, his thoughts flew back to his own golden-haired little sister, and he remembered when, as a boy, the merciless injured spine had claimed her life. Ilis thoughts came back to the present. He shut his eyes and prayed for strength. The little figure on the bed moaned. The moan of a loved sister re-echoed in a throbbing heart. “I must,” said the stranger to himself. ”1 cannot refuse this pleading.” He bade the nurse help the racked mother from the room. When the nurse returned, she wondered at the speed with which he had made his preparations. Here was certainly a man who knew his business. Ilis shabbiness vanished from her eyes. She only knew that he was commanding and she unquest ioningly obeying. With her aid he lifted the child tenderly from the bed and laid her on the improvised operating table. He fingered the instruments almost caressingly, then set to work; at first hesitatingly then deftly, almost feverishly his long dexterous fingers worked. Finally he laid the instruments aside and raised his head triumphantly as though to thank God for the strength imparted. ‘‘She is doing well,” he announced to the admiring nurse . . . . twice before I had patients whom I thought would recover, but . . . .'’he suddenly checked himself, as though he had spoken more than he had intended. “Thank you very much, Miss Dewey, for your valuable help. You may retire now. Will you kindly tell the mother that her child has a fair chance! . . . but do not allow her in, for the child needs rest and quiet.” “Certainly,” said the obliging Miss Dewey. “Goodnight, Doctor Pill.” “Goodnight, Miss Dewey.”