University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

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14 THE REDWOOD morning. They will require at least one day to prepare it. Then it will take almost a day to reach here. Hope no bad case develops in the mean- time. He heard a clanking of bottles in the next room. Hello, Ray, is that you? Yea, pa. You may come in here, if you want to. Here I am. Hey, pa, you oughta seen those fellows down by the Nile to-night. Gee! they were actin ' like regular monkeys, dancin ' an ' singin ' an ' cuttin ' didoes an ' praisin ' Jehovah or whatever you call Him. An ' down by the house of Abdul, the Tent-maker, the little kids were hollerin ' an ' sing- in ' , too. We played around a little with them. And when the Muezzin called them, they all turned their faces to the East an ' prayed and thanked God that Hakim Marsh came along to drive off the plague — and everything. At first the doctor was rather alarmed at the feverish gleam in the boy ' s eye, but he attributed it to ex- citement, and stood listening to his story, smiling amusedly. How he loved his boy! Ray was a regular southern Marsh all right. A thoroughbred with lots of Southern fire, and lots of spirit. Time was when Marsh had feared that the old family name was doomed to extinction. And then Ray had come bringing hopes for the future. He would uphold the ancient traditions of his race. Yes, the boy meant a lot to Marsh, for the one and all consuming desire of the doctor ' s life was to give the world a worthy successor to the family name. Well, Ray, he said at length, ' ' that ' s very interesting. Do you think you ' ll be a doctor some day, like pa? Yea, of course, whatcha got in that bottle? That ' s some antitoxin. Just one bottle-full left, and all these empty. You haven ' t got much, have you? Just enough to save one life. Grim words those. The black curtains parted, and Ma- hommed Selim appeared. Salaam, effendi. What news, Mahommed? My news, Saadat, is of the best. Your hand is strong. The Black Death has all but fled. In the great register to-day there is recorded but one death. Abdul, the tent-maker, alone has gone to the gardens of Allah. ' ' So be it, Mahommed. Soon all will be well. You may go and join your brothers in the mosque. Salaam, effendi. And the dark figure bowed from the room. Marsh turned again to his sturdy boy and watched him mixing some liquids in a bottle. Then he grew sud- denly apprehensive. Where ' s little sister, Ray? She ' s in there, sleeping, he said. Marsh tiptoed through the curtains. There lay his little angel, dreaming.

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THE REDWOOD 13 worse than I thought. I have barely enough to counteract one case. Only- enough to pull one human life out of the jaws of this monster. Well, no use worrying about crossing the bridge, till we ' ve reached it. He gazed out the bay-window of his well-stocked workshop. On the cool evening air the sweetly-toned, piercing voice of the Muezzin was calling the faithful to evening prayer. Allah hu Achbar! Allah hu Achbar! Ashhadu an la illaha illala! Bowing their heads at the sound of the sacred music the worshippers hurried from bazaar and crowded street to the mosque, leaving their slippers at the door. Some more pious than the rest knelt where the call found them and touched their foreheads to the ground. As Marsh contemplated this scene he knew that the hordes outside were thanking Allah for their deliverance. They were thanking Allah and Hakim Marsh, because Sheitan, the Accursed, had at last been driven from their midst — from their wives and their children. Only the retreating shadow of the Black Death remained. And now that his work was almost accomplished, Marsh looked back and was glad for the good he had done. He thought of his old Southern home in God ' s own country, America. He seemed to hear again the mocking-bird trilling in the great magnolia trees. He seemed to hear his dark-eyed wife ' s melodious voice, making an angel ' s song of some old plantation melody. He experienced again the void that he had known at her early death. But the maddening sorrow, the longing for an endless journey, was gone. He did not feel like wandering more. Now he wanted home, and the happy negroes, and the white fields of cotton, and Dolly and Ray. When the plague in Egypt had beck- oned him, he had taken his children with him. It would be a pleasant vaca- tion for them, he had said. When the plague was conquered — in the course of a year or so — he would return to his Southern home and devote his life to their education, with medical re- search as a mere avocation. The ex- perience would broaden Ray ' s outlook on life, and perhaps the change of cli- mate would make poor little Dolly healthier. There would be no danger to himself or to the children. He would use extreme caution and the antitoxin would ward off the devour- ing pestilence. Of all this he thought as he gazed on the quiet thankful throngs. He re- viewed in memory the struggle with the Black Dragon — a struggle to the death. And now — now at last he had conquered. A few weeks more and he would return to his native land. He would make a great doctor of Ray. Thus he mused; and once more ap- proaching the antitoxin cabinet, he gazed at the one remaining jar of the substance. Only enough to save one life, he said, softly. I sent to Cairo this

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THE REDWOOD 15 How like her mother she looked ! How ethereal she seemed! How delicately chiselled every feature, and how he worshipped her! A strange satisfaction and peace thrilled his bosom to-night. But some- thing was worrying him, too. Oh, yes, that antitoxin. But his worry was sheer folly, he told himself. He would banish all fears from his mind. As he stood looking at his little girl, she opened her eyes. He folded her in his arms and kissed her gently. So frail, and delicate, and beautiful, he thought. Just a strayed cherub gracing the world for a time by her presence. Come on, Ray, he called, at length. Time to quit work. They were sitting by the fireside now, the three, and Ray was telling of the day ' s adventures. Gee, but that tall fellow with the dirty turban got my angora, he said. Do you know what he did? Why, he climbed up on the highest part of the bridge when all the people were pray- ing, and he jumped into the water. He was pretty near drowned all right, an ' when they pulled him out, he said it was Allah ' s will, an ' that he offered his life to Allah, but Allah thought he wasn ' t good enough, and — And then he ran over to his wife and he was going to throw their little baby in the river, chirped in Dolly, and the others wouldn ' t let him and the lady was so glad when she got her dear little baby back again. Huh, it looked more like a little black pig to me, said Ray. Marsh enjoyed their chatter, but to- night he somehow felt that all was not well with his children. Their eyes seemed unnaturally bright, as they talked, and little Dolly on his knee was more restless than usual. He felt for her pulse. Much faster than normal. Do you feel sick, Dolly? No, just kind of tired. I feel kind of funny, myself, said Ray. I don ' t know — like something holding me down. Let ' s feel your pulse, Ray. Beat- ing unusually fast! Marsh stood up. He felt as if a crushing weight were oppressing him. You children must go to bed, he said, striving and yet fearing to ac- count for their strange malady. I guess we ' d better, pa, answered Ray. When Marsh came from his inner of- fice with a palliative and a thermome- ter, his hand was trembling slightly. It cost him an effort to enter the bed- room. A cloud was darkening his brow and as he proceeded in his exam- ination of the symptoms, it assumed yet blacker proportions. Deep in his heart, almost deeper than he could fathom, he knew. But no, it was im- possible. Just some slight illness had come. And all the time the cloud was growing, growing. An ' down by the house of Abdul, the tent-maker, the little kids were hol- lerin ' an ' singin ' , too. We played around a little with them. Ray ' s words came back to him now, and linked with them were the