CHAPTER VI
The same day Dr. Max operated at the hospital. It was a Wilson day, theyoung surgeon having six cases. One of the innovations Dr. Max hadmade was to change the hour for major operations from early morning tomid-afternoon. He could do as well later in the day,--his nerves weresteady, and uncounted numbers of cigarettes did not make his handshake,--and he hated to get up early.
The staff had fallen into the way of attending Wilson's operations. Histechnique was good; but technique alone never gets a surgeon anywhere.Wilson was getting results. Even the most jealous of that most jealousof professions, surgery, had to admit that he got results.
Operations were over for the afternoon. The last case had beenwheeled out of the elevator. The pit of the operating-room wasin disorder--towels everywhere, tables of instruments, steamingsterilizers. Orderlies were going about, carrying out linens, emptyingpans. At a table two nurses were cleaning instruments and puttingthem away in their glass cases. Irrigators were being emptied, spongesrecounted and checked off on written lists.
In the midst of the confusion, Wilson stood giving last orders to theinterne at his elbow. As he talked he scoured his hands and arms with asmall brush; bits of lather flew off on to the tiled floor. His speechwas incisive, vigorous. At the hospital they said his nerves were iron;there was no let-down after the day's work. The internes worshiped andfeared him. He was just, but without mercy. To be able to work likethat, so certainly, with so sure a touch, and to look like a Greek god!Wilson's only rival, a gynecologist named O'Hara, got results, too; buthe sweated and swore through his operations, was not too careful as toasepsis, and looked like a gorilla.
The day had been a hard one. The operating room nurses were fagged. Twoor three probationers had been sent to help cleanup, and a senior nurse.Wilson's eyes caught the nurse's eyes as she passed him.
"Here, too, Miss Harrison!" he said gayly. "Have they set you on mytrail?"
With the eyes of the room on her, the girl answered primly:--
"I'm to be in your office in the mornings, Dr. Wilson, and anywhere I amneeded in the afternoons."
"And your vacation?"
"I shall take it when Miss Simpson comes back."
Although he went on at once with his conversation with the interne, hestill heard the click of her heels about the room. He had not lost thefact that she had flushed when he spoke to her. The mischief that waslatent in him came to the surface. When he had rinsed his hands, hefollowed her, carrying the towel to where she stood talking to thesuperintendent of the training school.
"Thanks very much, Miss Gregg," he said. "Everything went off nicely."
"I was sorry about that catgut. We have no trouble with what we prepareourselves. But with so many operations--"
He was in a magnanimous mood. He smiled' at Miss Gregg, who was elderlyand gray, but visibly his creature.
"That's all right. It's the first time, and of course it will be thelast."
"The sponge list, doctor."
He glanced over it, noting accurately sponges prepared, used, turned in.But he missed no gesture of the girl who stood beside Miss Gregg.
"All right." He returned the list. "That was a mighty pretty probationerI brought you yesterday."
Two small frowning lines appeared between Miss Harrison's dark brows.He caught them, caught her somber eyes too, and was amused and ratherstimulated.
"She is very young."
"Prefer 'em young," said Dr. Max. "Willing to learn at that age. You'llhave to watch her, though. You'll have all the internes buzzing around,neglecting business."
Miss Gregg rather fluttered. She was divided between her disapprovalof internes at all times and of young probationers generally, and herallegiance to the brilliant surgeon whose word was rapidly becoming lawin the hospital. When an emergency of the cleaning up called her away,doubt still in her eyes, Wilson was left alone with Miss Harrison.
"Tired?" He adopted the gentle, almost tender tone that made most womenhis slaves.
"A little. It is warm."
"What are you going to do this evening? Any lectures?"
"Lectures are over for the summer. I shall go to prayers, and after thatto the roof for air."
There was a note of bitterness in her voice. Under the eyes of the othernurses, she was carefully contained. They might have been outlining themorning's work at his office.
"The hand lotion, please."
She brought it obediently and poured it into his cupped hands. Thesolutions of the operating-room played havoc with the skin: thesurgeons, and especially Wilson, soaked their hands plentifully with ahealing lotion.
Over the bottle their eyes met again, and this time the girl smiledfaintly.
"Can't you take a little ride to-night and cool off? I'll have the carwherever you say. A ride and some supper--how does it sound? You couldget away at seven--"
"Miss Gregg is coming!"
With an impassive face, the girl took the bottle away. The workersof the operating-room surged between them. An interne presented anorder-book; moppers had come in and waited to clean the tiled floor.There seemed no chance for Wilson to speak to Miss Harrison again.
But he was clever with the guile of the pursuing male. Eyes of all onhim, he turned at the door of the wardrobe-room, where he would exchangehis white garments for street clothing, and spoke to her over the headsof a dozen nurses.
"That patient's address that I had forgotten, Miss Harrison, is thecorner of the Park and Ellington Avenue."
"Thank you."
She played the game well, was quite calm. He admired her coolness.Certainly she was pretty, and certainly, too, she was interested inhim. The hurt to his pride of a few nights before was healed. He wentwhistling into the wardrobe-room. As he turned he caught the interne'seye, and there passed between them a glance of complete comprehension.The interne grinned.
The room was not empty. His brother was there, listening to the commentsof O'Hara, his friendly rival.
"Good work, boy!" said O'Hara, and clapped a hairy hand on his shoulder."That last case was a wonder. I'm proud of you, and your brother here isindecently exalted. It was the Edwardes method, wasn't it? I saw it doneat his clinic in New York."
"Glad you liked it. Yes. Edwardes was a pal at mine in Berlin. A greatsurgeon, too, poor old chap!"
"There aren't three men in the country with the nerve and the hand forit."
O'Hara went out, glowing with his own magnanimity. Deep in his heartwas a gnawing of envy--not for himself, but for his work. These youngfellows with no family ties, who could run over to Europe and bring backanything new that was worth while, they had it all over the older men.Not that he would have changed things. God forbid!
Dr. Ed stood by and waited while his brother got into his streetclothes. He was rather silent. There were many times when he wished thattheir mother could have lived to see how he had carried out his promiseto "make a man of Max." This was one of them. Not that he took anycredit for Max's brilliant career--but he would have liked her to knowthat things were going well. He had a picture of her over his officedesk. Sometimes he wondered what she would think of his own untidymethods compared with Max's extravagant order--of the bag, for instance,with the dog's collar in it, and other things. On these occasions healways determined to clear out the bag.
"I guess I'll be getting along," he said. "Will you be home to dinner?"
"I think not. I'll--I'm going to run out of town, and eat where it'scool."
The Street was notoriously hot in summer. When Dr. Max was newly homefrom Europe, and Dr. Ed was selling a painfully acquired bond or twoto furnish the new offices downtown, the brothers had occasionally gonetogether, by way of the trolley, to the White Springs Hotel for supper.Those had been gala days for the older man. To hear names that he hadread with awe, and mispronounced, most of his life, roll off Max'stongue--"Old Steinmetz" and "that ass of a Heydenreich"; to hear themedical and surgical gossip of the Continent, new drugs, new technique,the small heart-burnings
of the clinics, student scandal--had broughtinto his drab days a touch of color. But that was over now. Max had newfriends, new social obligations; his time was taken up. And pride wouldnot allow the older brother to show how he missed the early days.
Forty-two he was, and; what with sleepless nights and twenty years ofhurried food, he looked fifty. Fifty, then, to Max's thirty.
"There's a roast of beef. It's a pity to cook a roast for one."
Wasteful, too, this cooking of food for two and only one to eat it. Aroast of beef meant a visit, in Dr. Ed's modest-paying clientele. Hestill paid the expenses of the house on the Street.
"Sorry, old man; I've made another arrangement."
They left the hospital together. Everywhere the younger man received thehomage of success. The elevator-man bowed and flung the doors open,with a smile; the pharmacy clerk, the doorkeeper, even the convalescentpatient who was polishing the great brass doorplate, tendered theirtribute. Dr. Ed looked neither to right nor left.
At the machine they separated. But Dr. Ed stood for a moment with hishand on the car.
"I was thinking, up there this afternoon," he said slowly, "that I'm notsure I want Sidney Page to become a nurse."
"Why?"
"There's a good deal in life that a girl need not know--not, at least,until her husband tells her. Sidney's been guarded, and it's bound to bea shock."
"It's her own choice."
"Exactly. A child reaches out for the fire."
The motor had started. For the moment, at least, the younger Wilson hadno interest in Sidney Page.
"She'll manage all right. Plenty of other girls have taken the trainingand come through without spoiling their zest for life."
Already, as the car moved off, his mind was on his appointment for theevening.
Sidney, after her involuntary bath in the river, had gone into temporaryeclipse at the White Springs Hotel. In the oven of the kitchen stove sather two small white shoes, stuffed with paper so that they might dryin shape. Back in a detached laundry, a sympathetic maid was ironingvarious soft white garments, and singing as she worked.
Sidney sat in a rocking-chair in a hot bedroom. She was carefullyswathed in a sheet from neck to toes, except for her arms, and she wasbeing as philosophic as possible. After all, it was a good chance tothink things over. She had very little time to think, generally.
She meant to give up Joe Drummond. She didn't want to hurt him. Well,there was that to think over and a matter of probation dresses to betalked over later with her Aunt Harriet. Also, there was a great deal ofadvice to K. Le Moyne, who was ridiculously extravagant, before trustingthe house to him. She folded her white arms and prepared to think overall these things. As a matter of fact, she went mentally, like an arrowto its mark, to the younger Wilson--to his straight figure in its whitecoat, to his dark eyes and heavy hair, to the cleft in his chin when hesmiled.
"You know, I have always been more than half in love with you myself..."
Some one tapped lightly at the door. She was back again in the stuffyhotel room, clutching the sheet about her.
"Yes?"
"It's Le Moyne. Are you all right?"
"Perfectly. How stupid it must be for you!"
"I'm doing very well. The maid will soon be ready. What shall I orderfor supper?"
"Anything. I'm starving."
Whatever visions K. Le Moyne may have had of a chill or of a feverishcold were dispelled by that.
"The moon has arrived, as per specifications. Shall we eat on theterrace?"
"I have never eaten on a terrace in my life. I'd love it."
"I think your shoes have shrunk."
"Flatterer!" She laughed. "Go away and order supper. And I can see freshlettuce. Shall we have a salad?"
K. Le Moyne assured her through the door that he would order a salad,and prepared to descend.
But he stood for a moment in front of the closed door, for the meresound of her moving, beyond it. Things had gone very far with the Pages'roomer that day in the country; not so far as they were to go, but farenough to let him see on the brink of what misery he stood.
He could not go away. He had promised her to stay: he was needed. Hethought he could have endured seeing her marry Joe, had she cared forthe boy. That way, at least, lay safety for her. The boy had fidelityand devotion written large over him. But this new complication--herromantic interest in Wilson, the surgeon's reciprocal interest in her,with what he knew of the man--made him quail.
From the top of the narrow staircase to the foot, and he had liveda year's torment! At the foot, however, he was startled out of hisreverie. Joe Drummond stood there waiting for him, his blue eyesrecklessly alight.
"You--you dog!" said Joe.
There were people in the hotel parlor. Le Moyne took the frenzied boy bythe elbow and led him past the door to the empty porch.
"Now," he said, "if you will keep your voice down, I'll listen to whatyou have to say."
"You know what I've got to say."
This failing to draw from K. Le Moyne anything but his steady glance,Joe jerked his arm free, and clenched his fist.
"What did you bring her out here for?"
"I do not know that I owe you any explanation, but I am willing togive you one. I brought her out here for a trolley ride and a picnicluncheon. Incidentally we brought the ground squirrel out and set himfree."
He was sorry for the boy. Life not having been all beer and skittles tohim, he knew that Joe was suffering, and was marvelously patient withhim.
"Where is she now?"
"She had the misfortune to fall in the river. She is upstairs." And,seeing the light of unbelief in Joe's eyes: "If you care to make a tourof investigation, you will find that I am entirely truthful. In thelaundry a maid--"
"She is engaged to me"--doggedly. "Everybody in the neighborhood knowsit; and yet you bring her out here for a picnic! It's--it's damnedrotten treatment."
His fist had unclenched. Before K. Le Moyne's eyes his own fell. He feltsuddenly young and futile; his just rage turned to blustering in hisears.
"Now, be honest with yourself. Is there really an engagement?"
"Yes," doggedly.
"Even in that case, isn't it rather arrogant to say that--that the younglady in question can accept no ordinary friendly attentions from anotherman?"
Utter astonishment left Joe almost speechless. The Street, of course,regarded an engagement as a setting aside of the affianced couple, anisolation of two, than which marriage itself was not more a solitude adeux. After a moment:--
"I don't know where you came from," he said, "but around here decent mencut out when a girl's engaged."
"I see!"
"What's more, what do we know about you? Who are you, anyhow? I'velooked you up. Even at your office they don't know anything. You may beall right, but how do I know it? And, even if you are, renting a room inthe Page house doesn't entitle you to interfere with the family. You gether into trouble and I'll kill you!"
It took courage, that speech, with K. Le Moyne towering five inchesabove him and growing a little white about the lips.
"Are you going to say all these things to Sidney?"
"Does she allow you to call her Sidney?"
"Are you?"
"I am. And I am going to find out why you were upstairs just now."
Perhaps never in his twenty-two years had young Drummond been so near athrashing. Fury that he was ashamed of shook Le Moyne. For very fear ofhimself, he thrust his hands in the pockets of his Norfolk coat.
"Very well," he said. "You go to her with just one of these uglyinsinuations, and I'll take mighty good care that you are sorry for it.I don't care to threaten. You're younger than I am, and lighter. Butif you are going to behave like a bad child, you deserve a licking, andI'll give it to you."
An overflow from the parlor poured out on the porch. Le Moyne had gothimself in hand somewhat. He was still angry, but the look in Joe's eyesstartled him. He put a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"You're wrong, old man," he said. "You're insulting the girl you carefor by the things you are thinking. And, if it's any comfort to you, Ihave no intention of interfering in any way. You can count me out. It'sbetween you and her." Joe picked his straw hat from a chair and stoodturning it in his hands.
"Even if you don't care for her, how do I know she isn't crazy aboutyou?"
"My word of honor, she isn't."
"She sends you notes to McKees'."
"Just to clear the air, I'll show it to you. It's no breach ofconfidence. It's about the hospital."
Into the breast pocket of his coat he dived and brought up a wallet.The wallet had had a name on it in gilt letters that had been carefullyscraped off. But Joe did not wait to see the note.
"Oh, damn the hospital!" he said--and went swiftly down the steps andinto the gathering twilight of the June night.
It was only when he reached the street-car, and sat huddled in a corner,that he remembered something.
Only about the hospital--but Le Moyne had kept the note, treasured it!Joe was not subtle, not even clever; but he was a lover, and he knew theways of love. The Pages' roomer was in love with Sidney whether he knewit or not.
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