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

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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.”

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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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TIIE RETURN OF DR. FILL 11 The stranger sat by the bedside and watched all through the long, long night. As the hours wore on, a faintness crept slowly over him. At times he was almost overpowered, but still he fought off sleep with grim determination. When the first grey streaks of dawn were creeping into the room, the sound of a rapidly-driven horse came nearer and nearer. The wheels of a carriage grated on the gravel. Relief had come. He ceased to struggle, and faint with weariness, he fell unconscious to the floor. The door of the sick room opened and two men entered. Doctor Jones caught sight of the prostrate figure and bent over it, while the Specialist examined the sleeping child. After a short silence the Specialist cried out excitedly: “She just moved her foot. Why, man alive, with an injury such as you described, it would be impossible.” “Moved her foot?” Doctor Jones abandoned his patient and went to the bedside. Just then the nurse entered. “Good morning, Doctor,” she said, “How do you find her?” “She just moved her limb! 1 can’t understand it. It’s totally beyond me,” was his puzzled answer. “Why,” exclaimed the nurse”, the specialist you sent last night operated on her. Didn’t Doctor Pill tell you all about it?” ““The specialist . . . Doctor Pill?” he said blankly; “what do you mean? Is this the Specialist?” and he pointed to the surgeon by the bed. “Why, he said he was the Specialist you sent for and he operated,” explained the nurse, indicating the prostrate figure on the floor. The doctor again knelt by the Stranger, seeking to revive him, while the Specialist still tried to fathom the mysteries of the child’s betterment. “Miss Dewey, bring some milk or broth . . . this is