by Ruth Sawyer
Chapter IV
FOR THE HONOR OF THE SAN
Peter Brooks paced the sanitarium grounds like a man possessed. Handsthrust deep into pockets, teeth hard clenched, head bare, the raw Octoberwind ruffling his heavy crop of hair like a cock's comb. So suggestive wasthe resemblance that Hennessy, watching him from the willow stump by thepond, was forced to remark to Brian Boru, the gray swan, that Mr. Peterlooked like a young rooster, after growing his spurs, looking for hisfirst fight.
"Aye, an' for one I'm wishin' he'd be findin' it," continued Hennessy."He's bided peaceful an' patient till there is no virtue left in him. Yecan make believe women be civilized if ye like, but I'm knowin' that awoman's sure to go to the man that fights the hardest to get her, same asit was in the savage day o' the world. An' there's nothing that sets aman right quicker with himself than a good fight, tongues or fists."
At that moment Peter would have gladly chosen either or both if fate couldonly have furnished him with a legitimate combatant. But a man cannotfight gossipy old ladies or jealous, petty-minded nurses, or a doctor whomhe has never met and whose transgressions he cannot swear to. And yetPeter wanted to double up his fists and pitch into the whole community; hefelt himself all brute and yearned for wholesale slaughter.
Peter had come to the sanitarium in the beginning to be cured of atemporal malady, only to rise from his bed stricken with an eternal one.He had fallen desperately in love with Sheila O'Leary as only a man ofPeter's sort can fall in love, once and for all time. Moreover, hebelieved in her as a man believes in the best and purest that is likely tocome into his life. On the day of his convalescing, when she had beentransferred from his case to another, he had sworn that he would not stirfoot from the old San until he had won her. He had kept his word for fourmonths. He would have been content to keep it for four more--or for fouryears, for that matter--had everything not turned suddenly topsy-turvyand sent his world of hopes crashing down about him.
For four months he had shared as much of Sheila's life and work as shewould allow. He had let himself drift into the role of a comfortable andsympathetic companion whenever her hours for recreation gave him a chance.His love had grown as his admiration and understanding of her had grown,until she had come to seem as necessary a part of his life as the air hebreathed. Then he had been able to smile whimsically at those gossipytales. What if she had been suspended and sent away from the sanitarium?What if she had broken through some of the tight-laced rules with whichall institutions of this kind hedge in their nurses? Sheila's proclivityfor breaking rules was a byword among the many who loved her, and the headof the institution, the superintendent of nurses, the entire staff ofdoctors, down to Hennessy, the keeper of the walks and swans, only smiledand closed their eyes to all of Sheila's backsliding. For hadn't they allbelieved in her? And hadn't they sent for her to come back to them again?And which one of them had ever allowed a word of scandal to pass hislips? So Peter smiled, too.
In those months he had come to read Sheila--so he thought--like an openbook. He had learned by heart all her moods, the good and the bad, thesweet and the bitter. He knew she could be as divinely tender andcompassionate as a celestial mother; he also knew that she could be asbarren of sympathy and as relentless as fate itself. She could pour forthher whole throbbing soul, impulsive, warm, and radiant, as a true Celt,yet she could be as impersonal, terse, and cryptic as a marconigram. Heloved these very extremes in her, her unmitigated hatred for the thingsshe hated, and her unfailing love for the things she loved. She made nopretense or boast for herself; she was what she was for all the world tosee. And Peter had found her the stanchest, sweetest, most vital--albeitthe most stubborn--piece of womanhood he had ever known. Her very nicknameof "Leerie" was her open letter of introduction to every one; her smileand the wonder-light in her eyes were her best credentials. Small wonderit was that her patients watched for her to come and that Peter felt hecould snap his fingers at the scandalmongers.
But Peter wasn't snapping them now--or smiling. His fists were doubledtight in his pockets, and he clenched his teeth harder as he paced thewalk from pond to rest-house. How the accursed tongues of the gossips rangin his head! "Rather odd the sanitarium should have sent for him, wasn'tit? Don't you know he was the young surgeon who was mixed up in thataffair with that popular nurse?"... "Oh yes, they hushed it up and sentthem both away."... "Nothing definite was ever explained, but they werealways together, just as they are now, and you can't get smoke withoutsome burning."... "Yes, Doctor Brainard and Miss O'Leary. Didn't you everhear about what happened three years ago?"
Peter's stride seemed to measure forth the length of each offendingtongue, and when he reached the end of his beaten track he swung about asif to meet and silence them all, for all time. But instead he came face toface with the two who had caused them to wag. So absorbed were the surgeonand nurse in what they had to say to each other that they brushed byPeter without seeing him. He might have been one of the rustic posts ofthe rest-house or the pine-tree growing close by. As they passed, Peterscanned narrowly the half-averted face of the girl he loved and found itpitifully changed in those few days. The luminous light had gone from hereyes; her lips no longer curved to the gracious, demure smile Peter hadalways called "cloistered." They were set to grim determination, as if thegirl had gripped fast to a purpose and no amount of shaking or persuasionwould induce her to let go. Her eyes were circled and anxious. Petergroaned unconsciously at his glimpse of her, while Hennessy from hisvantage-point on the stump shook a vengeful fist at the retreating back ofthe surgeon.
"A million curses on him!" muttered Hennessy, his lips tight shirred."Sure, the lass has the look of a soul possessed." The next instant hisfist was descending not over-mercifully on Peter's back. "First I'mcursin' him an' then I'm cursin' ye. For the love o' Saint Patrick, are yegoin' to stand round like a blitherin' fool an' see that rascal of adocthor do harm again to our lass? I'll come mortial close to wringin'your neck if ye do."
Peter glared at his erstwhile friend and fellow-philosopher. "You're thefool, Hennessy. What under heaven can I do? What could any man do in myplace?"
"Fight for her. Can't you see the man has her possessed? What an' howHennessy hasn't the wits to make out, but ye have. Search out her throublesame as she searched out yours, an' make her whole an' sweet an' shinin'again." Hennessy laid two gnarled, brown hands on Peter's shoulder whilehe peered up at him with eyes full of appeal. "Ye've heard naught to shakeyour faith in the lass? Ye believe in her--aye?"
"Good God! man, of course I believe in her! I'd believe in her if all thetongues in the world wagged till doomsday. But what else can I do? Hangaround this old hotbed of gossip and listen and listen, powerless to cramthe truth down their throats because I don't know it?" Peter shot out asudden hand and gripped Hennessy's. "For the love of your blessed SaintPatrick, stand up like a man there, Hennessy, and tell me what was thetruth?"
For a moment Hennessy's eyes shifted; he whistled his breath in and out instaccato jerks; then his gaze came back to Peter and he eyed him steadily."Son, I'm knowin' no more than when I first saw ye."
"You believe in her?"
Hennessy pulled his hand free and shook his fist in Peter's face. "Badscran to ye for thinkin' aught else. 'Tis God's truth I'm tellin' ye, Mr.Peter. I'm knowin' no more than them blitherin' tongues say, but I'd prayour lass into heaven wi' my dyin' breath if I could."
Peter smiled. "You'd be doing better to pray her out of this miserablelittle purgatory right here. If she belonged to me, Hennessy--"
"I wish to God she did, sir! But that's what ye can fight for--make herbelong."
"Easier said than done. Since Doctor Brainard came I can't get her to seeme. Read that!" Peter pulled out of his pocket a tiny folded note andhanded it to the swan-keeper. It was deciphered with much labor and readwith troubled seriousness.
Dear Mr. Brooks:
Thank you for the flowers, and the candy, and the many offers of the car, but I haven't time to enjoy any
of these things just now. So please don't send me any more, or write, or try to see me. I think it would be better for every one, and far happier in the end for you, if you would go back to your work as soon as possible.
Faithfully yours,
SHEILA O'LEARY.
Hennessy snorted. "So that's what she thinks, is it? Well, don't ye do it.'Twas betther advice I gave ye myself; hold fast here an' fight for her.Mind that!" And with a farewell pull of his forelock Hennessy left him.
Peter watched him for an instant, then with a new purpose full-born in hismind he turned and walked swiftly back to the sanitarium. He knew why themanagement had sent for Brainard to come back to the San. The head surgeonhad been taken with typhoid; the wards were full of his special operativecases, and Brainard, who had trained under him, was the most skilful manavailable to take his place. But why had they put Sheila O'Leary on as hissurgical nurse? Why had they done this thing that was bound to revive theold scandal and set tongues wagging anew? Peter knew that upon the answerto this depended his decision. Would he take Sheila's advice and go, orHennessy's advice and fight?
He went directly to the office of the superintendent of nurses, and,finding the door well ajar, he entered without knocking. Miss Maxwell wasseated at her desk. Across the desk, with clasped hands, cheeks aflame,and lips compressed into a look of even greater determination than Peterhad seen there a few minutes before, leaned Sheila O'Leary.
Peter colored at his unintentional intrusion. "Excuse me," he stammered."Not hearing voices, I thought you were alone. I'll come again later, MissMaxwell," and he turned toward the door.
Leerie's voice called him back. "Don't go--want you. Something I wastrying to get Miss Max to promise."
This time Miss Maxwell colored. "It's against rules, Leerie, to talk overhospital matters before patients, even as discreet a one as Mr. Brooks."
"I know--can't help it--need him. Besides, he's his best friend." Sheturned to Peter with a strained eagerness. "This will be news to you.Doctor Dempsy is due here in the morning--taken suddenly--majoroperation--nurse just wired. I want you and Miss Max to take him on to theDentons if he can stand the trip. Awfully delicate operation, and it'sDoctor John's crack piece of work. Will you do it?"
The unexpectedness of the news and the request overwhelmed Peter's usuallyagile intelligence. He stared blankly at the girl before him. "I don'tthink I understand. If Dempsy is coming here for an operation, why shouldwe take him somewhere else? Why shouldn't he be operated on here if hewants to be?"
"He thinks Doctor Jefferson is still operating. He doesn't know--"
The superintendent of nurses interrupted her. "Leerie, you're oversteppingeven your privileges. Doctor Brainard was called here to take chargebecause the management had absolute confidence in his skill and knew hewas trustworthy and conscientious. I think there is nothing further thatneeds to be said. Doctor Dempsy will do what every other patient hasdone, put himself unreservedly into Doctor Brainard's hands."
"But he mustn't." The crimson had died out of Sheila's cheeks, and shestood now pale to the very lips, her face working convulsively. "You don'tseem to understand, and it's hard--hard to put it into words. DoctorBrainard is young--very young for his position and all the responsibilitythat has been heaped upon him. His work ever since he came has beenterrific--eight and ten majors a day, Sundays, too. It's been a fearfulstrain, and now to make him responsible for a case like Doctor Dempsy, acase that takes great delicacy and nerve, one that is bound to attack hissympathy and his reputation at the same time, why--why, it isn't fair.Can't you see that if he should fail, no matter how blameless he might be,it would stick to him for the rest of his life, a blot on his work and theSan?" Sheila's hands went out in a last appeal. "Send him to the Dentons;they've had five years of experience for every year of Doctor Brainard's.Please, please! Oh, don't you see?"
"Why should you care so much?" The words were off Peter's tongue before heknew it. He would have given a good deal if he could have got them back.
The girl looked from him to Miss Maxwell. The question apparentlybewildered her. Then a hint of her old-time dignity and assurancereturned, coupled with her cryptic mood. "Plenty of reasons: he was MissMax's chief--she always worshiped him--your best friend, a most loved andhonored man in the profession. Isn't he? Well, this isn't the time or theplace for a risk."
The superintendent rose and looked down at the girl. When she spoke therewas a touch of annoyance in the tone as well as sadness. "And that's asmuch--and as little--as you expect to tell us?"
Sheila nodded.
Miss Maxwell threw up her hands in a little gesture of helplessness."Leerie, Leerie, what are we going to do with you? It was this way eventhree years ago."
In a flash the girl's arms were about the superintendent's neck, her faceburied on her shoulder; the words were barely audible to Peter, "Love meand believe in me--as you did three years ago." And then a choking,wet-eyed, and rather disheveled figure flew past him, out of the room.
Miss Maxwell sank back heavily into her chair; her face showed plainly herbattling between love for the girl, her sense of outraged discipline, andher anxiety over the decision she must make. Peter watched her with a sortof impersonal sympathy; the major part of his being had been plunged intowhat seemed a veritable chasm of hopelessness. He tried to pull himselftogether and realize that there was Dempsy to think about.
"What are you going to do?" he asked, at last.
"Do? You mean--about--?"
Peter nodded.
An almost pathetic smile crept into the superintendent's face. "As long asyou were here, anyway, it's rather a relief to be able to confess that Idon't know what to do. You see, superintendents are always supposed tohave infallible judgment on all matters," she sighed. "I have never butonce known Leerie to break a rule or ask for a special dispensationwithout a reason--a good reason. But I don't understand what lies behindall this."
"I do." Peter fairly roared it forth. "She loves that man, and she'safraid this might ruin his career if--if anything happened. Why, it's asplain as these four walls and the ceiling above us. No woman pleads for aman that way unless she loves him better than anything else on God'searth."
"I think you're wrong."
"Why?" Peter strode over to the superintendent's desk like a man after hisreprieve. "I'm not just curious. I've the biggest excuse in the world forwanting to know why she has asked this. I love Sheila O'Leary. I love herwell enough to leave her to-night with the man she loves, provided heloves her. But if he doesn't--if he's just playing with her, accepting heras a sop to his vanity, as a lot of near-famous men will with awoman--then, by thunder! I'm going to stay and fight him for her!Understand?" And Peter's fist pounded the desk.
The superintendent smiled again. This time there was no pathos in it. "Iunderstand--and I'd stay. You ought to know Leerie well enough by thistime to know that she can fight for the right of anything, whether shecares personally or not, and more than that, even if she has to sufferfor it herself. She's the only woman I have ever known who had thatparticular kind of heroism. If she felt Doctor Brainard needed some one tostand up for him, I believe she could plead better if she didn't care. AndI've another, a better reason for thinking she doesn't love him. Sherefused at first to be his surgical nurse. She didn't consent until sheknew that he had made that one of the conditions of his coming here; hestipulated that he must be allowed to bring his own anesthetist, operatewithout an assistant, and choose his own operating nurse."
"And he choose her?"
"She is the best we have. Not using an assistant throws a tremendousresponsibility and strain on the nurse, and Doctor Brainard naturallywanted the most expert one he could get."
"Then there was nothing personal--"
"I don't think so. Doctor Brainard has a strong influence over Leerie, butI believe it is only what any surgeon with distinction and power wouldhave. If she really cared for Doctor Brainard, she wouldn't have saidwhat she did when I asked her to ta
ke the appointment."
"What did she say?" Peter leaned forward eagerly and gripped the edge ofthe desk.
"She said she would rather be suspended for three more years than do it,but if there was no one else, she guessed she could manage it for thehonor of the San."
"What did she mean?"
"Oh, that's just a by-phrase among those of us who have worked here a longwhile and feel a certain loyalty and responsibility for the ideals of thisinstitution. We have tried to stand for honest, humane work as againstmere moneygrubbing and popularity."
"I see. That's why Dempsy sent me here; that's why he's coming himself.Thank you, Miss Maxwell. I hope you're right." Peter straightened himselfand moved toward the door.
"Wait a minute, Mr. Brooks. How much do you know of what happened threeyears ago?"
"Just what has dripped from the wagging tongues." Peter smiled ironically.
"Suppose I tell you the truth of it. It might help you to fight thisthing through. It certainly couldn't hurt your love for Leerie if youreally love her."
"Nothing could," said Peter, simply.
"Doctor Brainard and Leerie were the very best of friends during the yearsshe was training and he was working under Doctor Jefferson. Then I thoughtit was love; they were always together, and there seemed to be a strong,deep sympathy between the two. Just about the time she graduated thingsbegan to go awry. Doctor Brainard was on the verge of a nervous breakdownand Leerie seemed to be laboring under some bad mental strain. Then thenurses began to hint that Leerie had been going to his room. One night,when she was head night nurse in the Surgical and Miss Jacobs was fourthcorridor nurse, Miss Jacobs called me up at two in the morning and told meLeerie had been in Doctor Brainard's room for an hour. I came at once andfound her there. She made no explanation, offered no excuses. She evenacknowledged that she had been there twice before at the same time."
"What did Brainard say?" Peter asked it through clenched teeth.
"Nothing then. But later, when he was called before the Board, he laughedand asked what a man could say when a nurse chose to come to his room attwo in the morning."
"The cad!" and Peter swore under his breath.
"I should have believed in Leerie, anyway, but it was that laugh of DoctorBrainard's that made me determined to fight for her. What motive DoctorBrainard had for not defending her I don't know, but he acted like ascoundrel."
"But why?" Peter beat the air. "Oh, the girl must have known she couldn'trun amuck with convention that way and not have it hurt her! Why did shedo it?"
The superintendent of nurses looked long and thoughtfully at him. "Do youknow, Mr. Brooks, if I happened to be the man who loved Sheila O'Leary, Ithink I'd find that out as soon as I could. The answer might provevaluable; it might solve the riddle why Sheila doesn't want Doctor Dempsyoperated on here."
"Well, is he going to be?"
"No, we'll take him on to the Dentons if he can be moved again after hegets here."
But fate willed otherwise. When Doctor Dempsy arrived on the early trainthere were no conflicting opinions as to his condition; it was critical,and there would have to be an operation within twenty-four hours. MissMaxwell brought the news to Peter along with the doctor's wish that hisfriend should be with him as long as the powers allowed.
"Does Leerie know?" asked Peter.
"She was present at the consultation."
"What did she say?"
"Nothing. But she looked very white and drawn. I'm afraid she hasn't sleptmuch."
"Good Lord! you don't believe she really thinks Brainard will bungle!"
But Miss Maxwell cut him short. "This is no time to bother with futilesuppositions. Please, Mr. Brooks! Remember that for all our sakes--DoctorDempsy's most of all--this is the time to keep our nerve and think onlyone way." With a grave shake of the head she left him at the door ofDoctor Dempsy's room.
To Peter the day crept on at a snail's pace; to Sheila it galloped. Petersaw her just once, when, at Doctor Dempsy's urgent wish, she came in fora moment between operations, muffled to the eyes in her gown and mask.
"Come here, child." The old doctor held out a commanding hand and drew thenurse close to the bed. "I've had something on my mind ever since I sawyour face this morning. Might as well say it now before I forget it." Hesmiled up gently at the great, deep-gray eyes looking down wistfully athim. "I imagine that you two youngsters may be fretting some overto-morrow--seven A.M. Hey? Mean trick to saddle you with theresponsibility of an old, worn-out hulk like mine, with the chancesfifty-fifty on patching it up. What I wanted to say was that you mustn'ttake it too hard if I don't patch. 'Pon my soul I sha'n't mind formyself."
A voice called from the corridor outside, "Miss O'Leary, Doctor Brainard'swaiting."
Doctor Dempsy gave the hand inside the rubber glove a tight squeeze."Remember, Leerie, I know you'll keep the little old lantern burning forme as long as you can, and here's good luck, whatever happens."
She went without a word. Peter had become vastly absorbed at the windowin watching Hennessy sweeping a gathering of leaves from the curb. Whenhe finally came back to his chair by the bedside he flattered himself thathis expression was beatifically cheerful and his voice perfectly steady.
As the day waned a storm gathered, and by nightfall the sanitarium and thesurrounding country were in the grip of a full-fledged equinoctial. DoctorDempsy was put to bed early, and Peter went back to his room in the mainbuilding to write himself into a state of temporary forgetfulness, if hecould. He had tinkered with his pen, sharpened half a dozen pencils, andmussed up as many sheets of paper when a knock brought him to his feet.Sheila O'Leary stood at the door. Her lips were bravely trying to smileaway the haggard lines of the face.
Unconsciously Peter's arms went out to her as he repeated that old cry ofhis in the days when he was a sufferer in the Surgical, "Why--why, it'sLeerie!" and his love seemed to pound through every syllable.
For the flash of a second the eyes of the girl leaped to his in answer,but in another flash they seemed to have traveled miles away, looking backat him with the sadness of a lost angel. "Yes, it's Leerie again--comefor help," she announced, tersely.
"All right." Peter tried to sound matter-of-fact.
"Don't ask questions; just do it. Will you?"
Peter nodded.
"You said once if you had to, you could drive through any storm, snow,hail, or rain, that you had ever seen. Yes? Then get your car and takeDoctor Brainard out to-night. Take him anywhere, and keep him going tillhe's so tired he's ready to drop. Talk to him, tell him stories, don't lethim talk about himself--or to-morrow. And bring him home when you think hecan sleep."
"Yes. What are you going to do?"
"Sleep, I hope." She turned to go, but came back again and laid a coldhand in Peter's. "Thank you. Don't think I don't appreciate it."
"Wait a minute. As it happens, I haven't met Doctor Brainard, and there'sa perfectly good chance he may not care about joy-riding in a younghurricane--even in my company," Peter ended ironically.
Leerie gave a little hollow laugh. "Oh, he'll go--don't worry. I'll bringhim down and introduce him. Ready in ten minutes?" And this time she wasgone.
Peter knew if he lived to the ripe old age of Solomon himself he shouldnever forget the smallest detail of that night--Doctor Brainard's curt,almost surly greeting, the plunge into the car, and the start. After thatPeter felt like a mythological being piloting the elements. He headed fora state road, and for miles, neither of them speaking, the car streakedover what might have been the surface of the river of Lethe, or the strataof mist lying above Niflheim, for all the feeling of reality and substanceit gave. He had the eery sensation that he might be forced to keep on andon till the end of the world, like the Flying Dutchman. He wondered whatsin of his own or some one's else he might be expiating. They passed noliving or mechanical thing; they had the road, the night, the storm tothemselves. They might have gone ten miles or thirty before DoctorBrainard broke the silence.
"G
ad! but you can drive!"
"Thank you. Like it?"
"Not exactly. But it's better than thinking."
"Works the other way with me; this sets me thinking." A sudden, heaviergust sent the car skidding across the road, and Peter's attention went tohis wheel. Righting it, he went on, "This is the second time in my lifeI've felt something controlling me that was stronger than my own will."
"Nasty feeling. Lucky man if you've only felt it twice. What was it thefirst time?"
"Fear. That's what brought me here."
Peter felt the eyes of the doctor studying him in the dark. "I heard aboutyour case. It was Leerie brought you through, too, wasn't it?"
Quick as a flash Peter turned. For the instant he forgot they werespeeding at a forbidden rate down slippery macadam in a tempest, with hishand as the only controlling force. He almost dropped his wheel. "Why'_too_'? Is she pulling you through something?"
He could hear a heavy intake of breath beside him. Unconsciously he knewthat his companion was no longer sitting limp with relaxed muscles. Heseemed to feel every nerve and fiber in the body of the surgeon growingtense, which made his careless, inconsequential tone sound the morestrange when he finally spoke:
"That's an odd question to put to a doctor. I was referring to Leerie'scases. She's pulled through hundreds of patients, you know; she's famousfor it."
"Yes, I know," answered Peter. His voice sounded just as careless, but thehands that gripped the wheel were as taut as steel.
They swept on for another half-hour, the silence broken by an occasionalyawn from the surgeon. At last Peter slowed down and looked at his watch."Eleven-thirty. If we turn now we'll make the San about one. How's thatfor bedtime?"
"Gad! I'm ready now," and the doctor yawned again.
Peter timed it to a nicety. It was five minutes past one as he droppedDoctor Brainard at the Surgical, where he roomed. He was just driving offwhen Miss Jacobs hurried out of the entrance.
"Oh, Mr. Brooks, wait a minute, please. Doctor Dempsy isn't resting verywell, and Miss Maxwell left word that if he called for you, you could sitwith him. We can't get him to sleep, and he does want you."
"All right. I'll leave the car and come back."
As Peter took his chair again by his friend's bedside his face was set toas strong a purpose as Sheila O'Leary's had shown that day in thesanitarium grounds. "Want me to talk, old man?" he asked, quietly. "MaybeI can yarn you into forty winks. Shall I try?"
"Wish you would. It's funny how a man can go through this with a thousandor so patients and it seems like an every-day affair, but when it'shimself--well, there's the rub." And the doctor smiled a bit sheepishly athis own ungovernable nerves.
Peter gripped his hand understandingly. "I know. It's the differencebetween fiction and autobiography as far as it touches your own sense ofreality. Well, to-night shall we try fiction? Ever since they pulled methrough here, I've had my mind on a yarn with a sanitarium or hospital fora background and a doctor for a hero. All this atmosphere gets into yourblood. It keeps you guessing until you have to spin a yarn and use up thematerial."
"Anything for copy, hey?" the doctor chuckled.
"That's about it. Well, my yarn runs about this way." With the skill of anartist and the sympathy of a humanist--and the suppressed excitement ofone who has something at stake--Peter drew his two principal characters,the conscientious, sensitive doctor possessed with the constant fear ofthat hypothetical case he might lose some day, and the smooth, schemingman a few years his senior who wanted to get his fellow-practitioner outof the way and marry the girl they both loved. Peter made the girl asadorable as a man in love might picture her.
"For a sixpence I'd wager you had fallen in love yourself." Doctor Dempsychuckled again. "I never before knew you to be so keen over femininecharms."
"Just more copy," and Peter went on with the tale. "Well, the young chap'shorror and fear kept growing with each new case, and the other chap keptsneering and suggesting that his nerves weren't fit, and his hand wasn'tsteady, and he worked too slowly. He kept it up until he got what hewanted; the young chap bungled his operation and lost his case."
"Poor devil! I know just what kind of torment he lived through." DoctorDempsy raised himself on an elbow and shook his head at Peter. "A caselike that may be fiction to you, but it's fact to us in the profession.You have no idea how often a youngster's nerves fail him."
"Guess I'm getting the idea. But I need your help to finish the yarn. Ofcourse the hospital couldn't bounce him for losing one case. They wouldhave to prove first that he wasn't fit, wouldn't they?"
"They would have to make him out incompetent."
Peter nodded. Had there been more light in the room Doctor Dempsy mighthave been startled at the unprecedented expression of cunning that hadcrept into his friend's face. "I'm not up enough in medical matters toknow what I could prove against the young chap to put him out. You'll haveto help me. Just how could his rival oust him?"
"Accuse him of drugs," came the unhesitating answer. "That's the mostplausible, and it's what plays havoc with young surgeons quicker thananything else. They feel their nerves going, and they take a hypodermic;it steadies them until--it gets them. If you can make your villainconvince the staff that drugs are back of the lost case, you can get yourpoor devil of a surgeon permanently disposed of."
Peter let out a long-drawn breath. "Thank you, Doc. You've helped meout--considerably."
It does not in the least matter how Peter finished the tale. Before theinevitable conclusion Doctor Dempsy dropped off to sleep, and no one butPeter himself heard the final, "And they married and lived happy everafter. By Jupiter they did!"
He slipped softly out of the room and stood a moment in the corridor,wondering what he would do next. Sleep seemed unnecessary just then, aswell as undesirable. And as he stood there, innocent of all intention ofeavesdropping, he had that rare experience of hearing history repeatitself. From around the bend of the corridor, out of sight, came the lowbut distinct whisper of the night nurse's voice at the house 'phone.
"Miss Maxwell, Miss Maxwell, can you hear me? This is Miss Jacobs. Leeriewent to Doctor Brainard's room a half-hour ago. She's still there.... Allright." And then the soft click of the receiver dropping into place.
Peter stiffened; his hands clenched. His first impulse was to creep 'roundand quietly choke the tattle-tale breath out of Miss Jacobs. He knew howthe little green-eyed nurse was gloating over this second incrimination ofLeerie. But there was something more compelling to do first, somethingthat could not wait. He slipped 'round through the supply-room and downthe back stairs. He reached the first floor of the Surgical just as thesuperintendent of nurses appeared in the entrance.
"You!" demanded Miss Maxwell.
"No one else," agreed Peter. "Suppose we go up together."
Peter could have almost laughed at the look of dumfounded amazement on thesuperintendent's face. "You mean--Why, that's impossible! It isn't yourplace--"
Peter cut her short. "Oh yes, it is. Remember the advice you gave me a fewhours ago. I'm here to find out what's back of it all, and no one isgoing to stop me." His jaws snapped with an ominous finality.
Doctor Brainard opened to their knock, but he held the door so that barelya corner of the room was visible, and he blocked the entrance.
"Open it wider!" commanded Peter. "We've come to stay a few minutes andask Miss O'Leary a few questions," and he thrust the surgeon quickly asideand flung wide the door.
Sheila was sitting by a reading-lamp, an open book on her lap. She lookedas Peter had seen her in the early evening, only back of the tiredness andpallor was a strange look of peace. To Peter she seemed a crucified saintwho had suddenly discovered that nail wounds were harmless. She smiledfaintly at them both. "I'm sorry it's happened again, Miss Maxwell. Ifyou'll just go away and try to forget about it until after the morning,I'll send in my resignation and leave as soon as you can fill my place.And can't we do it this time without any Board meeting? I'll promise
neverto come back."
"Then there are going to be no explanations this time--either?" There waspleading in the superintendent's voice, as well as infinite sadness.
The girl shook her head. "There's nothing to explain. I'm just here." Shefolded her hands quietly on her lap. "Won't you please go?"
"No, we won't!" Peter thundered it forth. Then he turned to the surgeon,and there was no pleading in his voice. "You cur! you cad! What have yougot to say?"
Doctor Brainard jumped as if Peter had struck him; for the instant heseemed to find speech difficult. "Why--why, what do you mean? How dareyou--"
"I dare you," and Peter shot out each word with the directness of ahand-grenade, "I dare you to stand up like a man and tell why Miss O'Learycame here to-night. You sneaked behind her silence three years ago; don'tbe a cursed coward and do it again."
The surgeon laughed a dry, unpleasant laugh. "It's easy to call anotherman names--but it doesn't mean anything. And what right have you to ask meto betray Miss O'Leary's silence?"
"Betray!" Peter fairly howled back the word at him. "Take off your coat.Take it off, or I'll rip it off. Now roll up your sleeves--no, your left.There, by Jupiter! Look, Miss Maxwell!"
Peter's demand was unnecessary. The eyes of the superintendent werealready fixed on the manifold tiny blue discolorations in the surgeon'sbare arm. "Cocaine." She almost whispered it under her breath, and thenlouder, "How long?"
"Four years, about." The surgeon's voice was quite toneless; he seemed toshrink and grow old while they watched him.
Miss Maxwell looked across at the girl, who was leaning forward, her facein her hands, crying softly. Her eyes were bitterly accusing, and therewas abundant scorn in her voice when she spoke again to the surgeon. "SoLeerie has been shielding you all along and helping you to fight it. Howdid she know?"
"I told her. I thought if some one with a courage and trust like hers knewabout it it might pull me together. God! I wish I'd killed myself threeyears ago."
"Pity you didn't!" There was no mercy in Peter's voice. "But I suppose shewouldn't let you; I suppose she held you together then as she's trying tonow. She's trying to save you for to-morrow--seven A.M.--and all theto-morrows coming after. I--I think I'm beginning to understand." His armsdropped dejectedly to his sides. For Peter there could be but one meaningto Sheila's sacrifice and struggle.
But Miss Maxwell was holding fast to her cross-examination. "And I supposeyou promised Leerie three years ago if she'd keep silent you would fightit through and break the habit. And that's why you've let no one butLeerie and Miss Jacobs in the operating-room, so no one else would guess.Did Miss Jacobs find out three years ago?"
Doctor Brainard nodded.
Words failed the superintendent, but her expression boded ill for thelittle green-eyed nurse. "Well," she said, at length, "there's only onething that matters right now--are you or are you not going to be in a fitcondition to operate to-morrow?"
It was Leerie who answered. She was out of her chair at a bound and besidethe surgeon, her hand on his arm. "He's going to operate; he's got to.There isn't another skilled hand like his nearer than the Dentons, sohe's got to bring Doctor Dempsy through. Please, Miss Maxwell, leave himto me. I can manage. He's got four hours to sleep, and then I'll let himhave enough cocaine to steady him. Won't you trust me?"
"It's about the only way now."
Peter left unnoticed. He realized, as he had realized in the sanitariumgrounds that afternoon, that he counted about as much in this crisis as apart of the inanimate surroundings. Miss Maxwell joined him a momentlater, looking outrageously relieved. She flashed Peter an apologeticsmile.
"I know it's shameless of me to look glad when you look so miserable. ButI can't help feeling that we are going to win. Leerie deserves it afterwhat she's suffered for him. That man couldn't fail her, and her trust isbound to make good. Don't you see?"
Peter's shoulders gave an unconvincing shrug. "I hope so. He ought to--ifhe's half-way a man." He looked at his watch. "Almost morning now. GuessI'll pack my things and be ready to start as soon as I know Dempsy's allright."
Miss Maxwell held him back for an instant. "I know you're thinking thatall's wrong with the world, but I know all's right. Go and pack if youmust, but please stay in your room until I send you word. Promise?"
And not caring, Peter promised.
From seven o'clock on Peter paced the room among his packed luggage andcounted the minutes. He wondered how long his patience would last and whenhis misery would stop growing. The burden of both had become unbearable.At eight-thirty a sharp knock sounded and he sprang to the door. On thethreshold stood a nurse in surgical wrappings, with eyes that shone like awhole firmament of stars and a mouth that curved to the gentle demurenessof a nun. Peter stood and stared at this unexpected apparition of the oldLeerie.
"Well," said the apparition, smiling radiantly as of old, "I'm a messengerof glad tidings. Won't you ask me to come in?"
Peter flushed and drew her to a chair.
"Oh, it was a wonderful operation. It seemed almost like performing amiracle, and that blessed old doctor is coming out of the ether like ababy."
"Maybe it was a miracle--the miracle of a woman's trust."
A look of rare tenderness swept into the girl's face. "Thank you. I wonderif you know how often you say the kindest and most comforting thing." Thenshe sobered. "He's made a brave fight, and it wasn't easy to pull himselftogether, in the face of what he knew you were all thinking of him, and dosuch a tremendous piece of work. I want you to understand. He's abrilliant surgeon; it didn't seem right that he should be lost to himselfand the profession. And the best of it is, he isn't going to be. The Sanis going to stand by him; every doctor on the staff is willing to helphim. As soon as Doctor Jefferson is back, Doctor Brainard is to stop workuntil--until he's fit again. Isn't that splendid! Oh, I could sing! I keepsaying over those great Hebrew words of comfort, 'Weeping may tarrythrough the night, but joy cometh in the morning.'"
"Yes," said Peter, dully. "I'm glad joy has come for you. May I wish youand Doctor Brainard all success and happiness?"
Sheila's eyes looked into Peter's with a sudden intensity. "You may--butnot together. Have you actually been thinking that I loved DoctorBrainard?" A hint of the old bitterness crept into her voice. "I can pitya man like that, but love him--love weakness and selfishness--and thewillingness to betray a woman's honor--no! Three years ago he killedwhatever personal feeling I might have had for him, and he made me hateall men."
"And you're still hating them?" Peter held fast to his rising hopes whilehe hung eagerly on her answer.
"No. Ever since a fine, strong, unselfish man came into my life it has setme loving all mankind so scandalously that I'm afraid the only way to makeme respectable is--for some man to marry me." Leerie's arms went out toPeter in complete surrender. "Oh, Peter--Peter--it's morning!"
But it was almost noon before Peter began to think intelligently again,and then he remembered something, something that ought to be done. "Ithink," he said, "I think we ought to go out and tell Hennessy and theswans; we sort of owe it to them."
And it all ended even as Peter had prophesied in his yarn by DoctorDempsy's bedside.
