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

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16 THE REDWOOD words of Mahommed Selim, 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 Al- lah. Marsh had now stumbled from the room. His senses were swimming, and he was choking with emotion. It ' s true — true, he cried, wildly. A devilish ungodly spectre had en- tered his house. The Black Death had stricken his two children. He dragged himself to his office and sank limply into a chair. Then, with a superhuman effort he straightened himself. The antitoxin must be injected with- in an hour, or both his children — yes, his own children, sweet little Dolly and sturdy Ray— were doomed to a certain and speedy death. Another thought came now, and plunged him from black despair into the deepest hell. Pate was strangling him. He had but one jar of antitoxin, and he could save but one life. The other must be sacrificed! He gazed far out over the broaden- ing desert. Everything seemed to be at peace. Ah! peace, he said, slow- ly, bitterly. Everything is at peace. How he felt the mocking irony of those words ! The happy songs of the tired fellaheen carried by the freshening breeze and mingling with the musical wash of the Nile, floated through the casement, modulated, softened, sweet- ened. Far off on the parched desert he could see the dimly outlined Sphinx with its eternal question. How vividly it pictured his own plight ! He pressed his cold palm to his burning forehead, and whispered softly, God help me to answer my question. Vaguely he felt there was no answer. He was groping in a dungeon. He looked up at the heavens and saw black clouds brooding low like the shadow of impending doom. Suddenly he seemed to behold two great clouds break asun- der and drift slowly apart. And what was that behind? Great God! A hearse black as death ! A mountainous hearse moving slowly, mournfully along the sky lanes. A dim, sombre hearse, its plumes waving weirdly in the whispering breeze ! In that hearse, the figment of his disordered imagination, yet how real, how persistent, one of his own chil- dren would surely lie. There was no escape. The Black Death was no re- specter of persons. He had but one jar of antitoxin — enough to save one life. Yes, he must choose either the boy or the girl. And now his dying wife ' s words came back to him with sudden, vivid force : And you will care for little Dolly always, and love her more than your own life? Yes, he had answered, huskily. Could he break his promise now? Then he must save Dolly and let Ray die? Ray, his boy, the heir to the family name, the sturdy lad who would

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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

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THE REDWOOD 17 perpetuate the fame of Marsh, the youth of brilliant promise who would some day be a great doctor and save hundreds of lives? Must he give up Ray, his pride, his only hope? Ah no, — no, he could not. Then the awfulness of his situation overwhelmed him. He staggered to the window and sank to his knees like one in a deadly stupor. For minutes that seemed years he knelt and prayed — prayed for the answer to his question, too deeply hidden for mortal mind to fathom. At length, slowly, painfully, like an old, old man, he arose. The fragrant Egyptian breeze softly kissed his blanched cheek. He heaved a deep sigh and his broad shoulders straight- ened. A new spirit seemed to enter his tired body. His eye was steady and cool and sure. His teeth were set. At last all doubt had fled. With firm, strong hand he grasped the jar of antitoxin, and his case of instruments, and walked with unhesi- tating step into the children ' s room. There was no longer any question in his mind. Only one path lay before him now. Marsh had chosen. flfworjj JOHN WALSH O Memory ! Thaumaturgus of the soul ! Thou wondrous Wizard, passing human ken ! Who with thy magic wand dost mould at will And summon back to pulsing life again Lost forms and features, vocal sounds and scenes, Consigned long since to dark Oblivion ' s tomb ! Thus all our yesterdays and to-days May friendly meet, and each bid each Good Morrow. ' With what rare gifts and powers our soul is dowered By Him, the Primal Cause, our bounteous God, Who generous gives us to enjoy at once A two-fold life — the present and the past ! Wkat grateful sentiments should stir the human heart !