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

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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

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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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12 TIIE I OX ATI AX evidently a case of starvation. We must remove Doctor Pill to another room.” It was quite a time before Doctor Jones re-entered the sick room and announced to the Specialist: ‘‘Doctor Pill is getting along nicely, now. lie hadn't had any food for three days.” The mother who had been admitted to sec her child, came forward saying: “Oh Doctor Jones, how can I thank you? My baby is going to get well?” and tears of joy rolled down her checks. The specialist too, came forward. “Wonderful, wonderful,” he said, and he talked as a man who knew what he said and meant every word of it. “There are but two men in this world who could have performed that operation. One is the great surgeon, George Findlay, a college chum of mine; the other is the man who did it. I must see him, Doctor.” Following Doctor Jones he entered a nearby room where the stranger lay in bed. lie was sleeping soundly. Tiptoeing to the couch, the specialist gazed earnestly and long at the quiet face. “Can it be?” he muttered to himself, “or is it some strange double? And if it be he, as I feel certain it is, how came he here in this condition?” “Let him rest,” he said to the nurse, “he deserves it. I shall return this afternoon to sec both patients; but say nothing of my coming.” Evening was again drawing on as the specialist drove up to the house. Barely knocking at the door, he entered and pressed on to the stranger's room. The man was dressed and sitting in a chair but his eyes were closed as if he were dozing. “Foxy,” muttered the specialist to himself, “he thinks it's Doctor Jones and lie's seeking to escape the praise he so richly merits.” Then quickly advancing and placing his hand upon the man's shoulder, “Hello! George Findlay,” he cried, “a nice way this, sneaking into a man's practice.” Instantly the stranger was wide awake, “I had to do it,