CHAPTER XXI
Sidney went into the operating-room late in the spring as the result ofa conversation between the younger Wilson and the Head.
"When are you going to put my protegee into the operating-room?" askedWilson, meeting Miss Gregg in a corridor one bright, spring afternoon.
"That usually comes in the second year, Dr. Wilson."
He smiled down at her. "That isn't a rule, is it?"
"Not exactly. Miss Page is very young, and of course there are othergirls who have not yet had the experience. But, if you make therequest--"
"I am going to have some good cases soon. I'll not make a request, ofcourse; but, if you see fit, it would be good training for Miss Page."
Miss Gregg went on, knowing perfectly that at his next operation Dr.Wilson would expect Sidney Page in the operating-room. The other doctorswere not so exigent. She would have liked to have all the staff old andsettled, like Dr. O'Hara or the older Wilson. These young men came inand tore things up.
She sighed as she went on. There were so many things to go wrong. Thebutter had been bad--she must speak to the matron. The sterilizer inthe operating-room was out of order--that meant a quarrel with the chiefengineer. Requisitions were too heavy--that meant going around to thewards and suggesting to the head nurses that lead pencils and bandagesand adhesive plaster and safety-pins cost money.
It was particularly inconvenient to move Sidney just then. CarlottaHarrison was off duty, ill. She had been ailing for a month, and now shewas down with a temperature. As the Head went toward Sidney's ward,her busy mind was playing her nurses in their wards like pieces on acheckerboard.
Sidney went into the operating-room that afternoon. For her blueuniform, kerchief, and cap she exchanged the hideous operating-roomgarb: long, straight white gown with short sleeves and mob-cap,gray-white from many sterilizations. But the ugly costume seemed toemphasize her beauty, as the habit of a nun often brings out the placidsaintliness of her face.
The relationship between Sidney and Max had reached that point thatoccurs in all relationships between men and women: when things musteither go forward or go back, but cannot remain as they are. Thecondition had existed for the last three months. It exasperated the man.
As a matter of fact, Wilson could not go ahead. The situation withCarlotta had become tense, irritating. He felt that she stood readyto block any move he made. He would not go back, and he dared not goforward.
If Sidney was puzzled, she kept it bravely to herself. In her littleroom at night, with the door carefully locked, she tried to think thingsout. There were a few treasures that she looked over regularly: a driedflower from the Christmas roses; a label that he had pasted playfullyon the back of her hand one day after the rush of surgical dressings wasover and which said "Rx, Take once and forever."
There was another piece of paper over which Sidney spent much time. Itwas a page torn out of an order book, and it read: "Sigsbee may havelight diet; Rosenfeld massage." Underneath was written, very small:
"You are the most beautiful person in the world."
Two reasons had prompted Wilson to request to have Sidney in theoperating-room. He wanted her with him, and he wanted her to see him atwork: the age-old instinct of the male to have his woman see him at hisbest.
He was in high spirits that first day of Sidney's operating-roomexperience. For the time at least, Carlotta was out of the way. Hersomber eyes no longer watched him. Once he looked up from his work andglanced at Sidney where she stood at strained attention.
"Feeling faint?" he said.
She colored under the eyes that were turned on her.
"No, Dr. Wilson."
"A great many of them faint on the first day. We sometimes have themlying all over the floor."
He challenged Miss Gregg with his eyes, and she reproved him with ashake of her head, as she might a bad boy.
One way and another, he managed to turn the attention of theoperating-room to Sidney several times. It suited his whim, and it didmore than that: it gave him a chance to speak to her in his teasing way.
Sidney came through the operation as if she had been through fire--tautas a string, rather pale, but undaunted. But when the last case had beentaken out, Max dropped his bantering manner. The internes were lookingover instruments; the nurses were busy on the hundred and one tasks ofclearing up; so he had a chance for a word with her alone.
"I am proud of you, Sidney; you came through it like a soldier."
"You made it very hard for me."
A nurse was coming toward him; he had only a moment.
"I shall leave a note in the mail-box," he said quickly, and proceededwith the scrubbing of his hands which signified the end of the day'swork.
The operations had lasted until late in the afternoon. The night nurseshad taken up their stations; prayers were over. The internes weregathered in the smoking-room, threshing over the day's work, as wastheir custom. When Sidney was free, she went to the office for the note.It was very brief:--
I have something I want to say to you, dear. I think you know what itis. I never see you alone at home any more. If you can get off for anhour, won't you take the trolley to the end of Division Street? I'll bethere with the car at eight-thirty, and I promise to have you back byten o'clock.
MAX.
The office was empty. No one saw her as she stood by the mail-box. Theticking of the office clock, the heavy rumble of a dray outside, theroll of the ambulance as it went out through the gateway, and in herhand the realization of what she had never confessed as a hope, even toherself! He, the great one, was going to stoop to her. It had been inhis eyes that afternoon; it was there, in his letter, now.
It was eight by the office clock. To get out of her uniform and intostreet clothing, fifteen minutes; on the trolley, another fifteen. Shewould need to hurry.
But she did not meet him, after all. Miss Wardwell met her in the upperhall.
"Did you get my message?" she asked anxiously.
"What message?"
"Miss Harrison wants to see you. She has been moved to a private room."
Sidney glanced at K.'s little watch.
"Must she see me to-night?"
"She has been waiting for hours--ever since you went to theoperating-room."
Sidney sighed, but she went to Carlotta at once. The girl's conditionwas puzzling the staff. There was talk of "T.R."--which is hospital for"typhoid restrictions." But T.R. has apathy, generally, and Carlottawas not apathetic. Sidney found her tossing restlessly on her high whitebed, and put her cool hand over Carlotta's hot one.
"Did you send for me?"
"Hours ago." Then, seeing her operating-room uniform: "You've beenTHERE, have you?"
"Is there anything I can do, Carlotta?"
Excitement had dyed Sidney's cheeks with color and made her eyesluminous. The girl in the bed eyed her, and then abruptly drew her handaway.
"Were you going out?"
"Yes; but not right away."
"I'll not keep you if you have an engagement."
"The engagement will have to wait. I'm sorry you're ill. If you wouldlike me to stay with you tonight--"
Carlotta shook her head on her pillow.
"Mercy, no!" she said irritably. "I'm only worn out. I need a rest. Areyou going home to-night?"
"No," Sidney admitted, and flushed.
Nothing escaped Carlotta's eyes--the younger girl's radiance, herconfusion, even her operating room uniform and what it signified. Howshe hated her, with her youth and freshness, her wide eyes, her soft redlips! And this engagement--she had the uncanny divination of fury.
"I was going to ask you to do something for me," she said shortly; "butI've changed my mind about it. Go on and keep your engagement."
To end the interview, she turned over and lay with her face to the wall.Sidney stood waiting uncertainly. All her training had been to ignorethe irritability of the sick, and Carlotta was very ill; she could seethat.
"Just remember that I am rea
dy to do anything I can, Carlotta," shesaid. "Nothing will--will be a trouble."
She waited a moment, but, receiving no acknowledgement of her offer, sheturned slowly and went toward the door.
"Sidney!"
She went back to the bed.
"Yes. Don't sit up, Carlotta. What is it?"
"I'm frightened!"
"You're feverish and nervous. There's nothing to be frightened about."
"If it's typhoid, I'm gone."
"That's childish. Of course you're not gone, or anything like it.Besides, it's probably not typhoid."
"I'm afraid to sleep. I doze for a little, and when I waken there arepeople in the room. They stand around the bed and talk about me."
Sidney's precious minutes were flying; but Carlotta had gone into aparoxysm of terror, holding to Sidney's hand and begging not to be leftalone.
"I'm too young to die," she would whimper. And in the next breath: "Iwant to die--I don't want to live!"
The hands of the little watch pointed to eight-thirty when at last shelay quiet, with closed eyes. Sidney, tiptoeing to the door, was broughtup short by her name again, this time in a more normal voice:--
"Sidney."
"Yes, dear."
"Perhaps you are right and I'm going to get over this."
"Certainly you are. Your nerves are playing tricks with you to-night."
"I'll tell you now why I sent for you."
"I'm listening."
"If--if I get very bad,--you know what I mean,--will you promise to doexactly what I tell you?"
"I promise, absolutely."
"My trunk key is in my pocket-book. There is a letter in the tray--justa name, no address on it. Promise to see that it is not delivered; thatit is destroyed without being read."
Sidney promised promptly; and, because it was too late now for hermeeting with Wilson, for the next hour she devoted herself to makingCarlotta comfortable. So long as she was busy, a sort of exaltation ofservice upheld her. But when at last the night assistant came to sitwith the sick girl, and Sidney was free, all the life faded from herface. He had waited for her and she had not come. Would he understand?Would he ask her to meet him again? Perhaps, after all, his question hadnot been what she had thought.
She went miserably to bed. K.'s little watch ticked under her pillow.Her stiff cap moved in the breeze as it swung from the corner of hermirror. Under her window passed and repassed the night life of thecity--taxicabs, stealthy painted women, tired office-cleaners trudginghome at midnight, a city patrol-wagon which rolled in through the gatesto the hospital's always open door. When she could not sleep, she got upand padded to the window in bare feet. The light from a passing machineshowed a youthful figure that looked like Joe Drummond.
Life, that had always seemed so simple, was growing very complicatedfor Sidney: Joe and K., Palmer and Christine, Johnny Rosenfeld,Carlotta--either lonely or tragic, all of them, or both. Life in theraw.
Toward morning Carlotta wakened. The night assistant was still there. Ithad been a quiet night and she was asleep in her chair. To save her capshe had taken it off, and early streaks of silver showed in her hair.
Carlotta roused her ruthlessly.
"I want something from my trunk," she said.
The assistant wakened reluctantly, and looked at her watch. Almostmorning. She yawned and pinned on her cap.
"For Heaven's sake," she protested. "You don't want me to go to thetrunk-room at this hour!"
"I can go myself," said Carlotta, and put her feet out of bed.
"What is it you want?"
"A letter on the top tray. If I wait my temperature will go up and Ican't think."
"Shall I mail it for you?"
"Bring it here," said Carlotta shortly. "I want to destroy it."
The young woman went without haste, to show that a night assistant maydo such things out of friendship, but not because she must. She stoppedat the desk where the night nurse in charge of the rooms on that floorwas filling out records.
"Give me twelve private patients to look after instead of one nurse likeCarlotta Harrison!" she complained. "I've got to go to the trunk-roomfor her at this hour, and it next door to the mortuary!"
As the first rays of the summer sun came through the window, shadowingthe fire-escape like a lattice on the wall of the little gray-walledroom, Carlotta sat up in her bed and lighted the candle on the stand.The night assistant, who dreamed sometimes of fire, stood nervously by.
"Why don't you let me do it?" she asked irritably.
Carlotta did not reply at once. The candle was in her hand, and she wasstaring at the letter.
"Because I want to do it myself," she said at last, and thrust theenvelope into the flame. It burned slowly, at first a thin blue flametipped with yellow, then, eating its way with a small fine crackling,a widening, destroying blaze that left behind it black ash anddestruction. The acrid odor of burning filled the room. Not until it wasconsumed, and the black ash fell into the saucer of the candlestick, didCarlotta speak again. Then:--
"If every fool of a woman who wrote a letter burnt it, there would beless trouble in the world," she said, and lay back among her pillows.
The assistant said nothing. She was sleepy and irritated, and she hadcrushed her best cap by letting the lid of Carlotta's trunk fall on her.She went out of the room with disapproval in every line of her back.
"She burned it," she informed the night nurse at her desk. "A letter toa man--one of her suitors, I suppose. The name was K. Le Moyne."
The deepening and broadening of Sidney's character had been verynoticeable in the last few months. She had gained in decision withoutbecoming hard; had learned to see things as they are, not through therose mist of early girlhood; and, far from being daunted, had developeda philosophy that had for its basis God in His heaven and all well withthe world.
But her new theory of acceptance did not comprehend everything. She wasin a state of wild revolt, for instance, as to Johnny Rosenfeld, andmore remotely but not less deeply concerned over Grace Irving. Soonshe was to learn of Tillie's predicament, and to take up the cudgelsvaliantly for her.
But her revolt was to be for herself too. On the day after her failureto keep her appointment with Wilson she had her half-holiday. No wordhad come from him, and when, after a restless night, she went to her newstation in the operating-room, it was to learn that he had been calledout of the city in consultation and would not operate that day. O'Harawould take advantage of the free afternoon to run in some odds and endsof cases.
The operating-room made gauze that morning, and small packets oftampons: absorbent cotton covered with sterilized gauze, and fastenedtogether--twelve, by careful count, in each bundle.
Miss Grange, who had been kind to Sidney in her probation months, taughther the method.
"Used instead of sponges," she explained. "If you noticed yesterday,they were counted before and after each operation. One of these missingis worse than a bank clerk out a dollar at the end of the day. There'sno closing up until it's found!"
Sidney eyed the small packet before her anxiously.
"What a hideous responsibility!" she said.
From that time on she handled the small gauze sponges almost reverently.
The operating-room--all glass, white enamel, and shiningnickel-plate--first frightened, then thrilled her. It was as if, havingloved a great actor, she now trod the enchanted boards on which heachieved his triumphs. She was glad that it was her afternoon off, andthat she would not see some lesser star--O'Hara, to wit--usurping hisplace.
But Max had not sent her any word. That hurt. He must have known thatshe had been delayed.
The operating-room was a hive of industry, and tongues kept pace withfingers. The hospital was a world, like the Street. The nurses had comefrom many places, and, like cloistered nuns, seemed to have left theother world behind. A new President of the country was less real than anew interne. The country might wash its soiled linen in public; what wasthat compared with enough sheet
s and towels for the wards? Big buildingswere going up in the city. Ah! but the hospital took cognizance of that,gathering as it did a toll from each new story added. What news ofthe world came in through the great doors was translated at once intohospital terms. What the city forgot the hospital remembered. It tookup life where the town left it at its gates, and carried it on or sawit ended, as the case might be. So these young women knew the ending ofmany stories, the beginning of some; but of none did they know both thefirst and last, the beginning and the end.
By many small kindnesses Sidney had made herself popular. And there wasmore to it than that. She never shirked. The other girls had the respectfor her of one honest worker for another. The episode that had causedher suspension seemed entirely forgotten. They showed her carefully whatshe was to do; and, because she must know the "why" of everything, theyexplained as best they could.
It was while she was standing by the great sterilizer that she heard,through an open door, part of a conversation that sent her through theday with her world in revolt.
The talkers were putting the anaesthetizing-room in readiness for theafternoon. Sidney, waiting for the time to open the sterilizer, wasbusy, for the first time in her hurried morning, with her own thoughts.Because she was very human, there was a little exultation in her mind.What would these girls say when they learned of how things stood betweenher and their hero--that, out of all his world of society and clubs andbeautiful women, he was going to choose her?
Not shameful, this: the honest pride of a woman in being chosen frommany.
The voices were very clear.
"Typhoid! Of course not. She's eating her heart out."
"Do you think he has really broken with her?"
"Probably not. She knows it's coming; that's all."
"Sometimes I have wondered--"
"So have others. She oughtn't to be here, of course. But among so manythere is bound to be one now and then who--who isn't quite--"
She hesitated, at a loss for a word.
"Did you--did you ever think over that trouble with Miss Page about themedicines? That would have been easy, and like her."
"She hates Miss Page, of course, but I hardly think--If that's true, itwas nearly murder."
There were two voices, a young one, full of soft southern inflections,and an older voice, a trifle hard, as from disillusion.
They were working as they talked. Sidney could hear the clatter ofbottles on the tray, the scraping of a moved table.
"He was crazy about her last fall."
"Miss Page?" (The younger voice, with a thrill in it.)
"Carlotta. Of course this is confidential."
"Surely."
"I saw her with him in his car one evening. And on her vacation lastsummer--"
The voices dropped to a whisper. Sidney, standing cold and white by thesterilizer, put out a hand to steady herself. So that was it! No wonderCarlotta had hated her. And those whispering voices! What were theysaying? How hateful life was, and men and women. Must there always besomething hideous in the background? Until now she had only seen life.Now she felt its hot breath on her cheek.
She was steady enough in a moment, cool and calm, moving about her workwith ice-cold hands and slightly narrowed eyes. To a sort of physicalnausea was succeeding anger, a blind fury of injured pride. He had beenin love with Carlotta and had tired of her. He was bringing her hiswarmed-over emotions. She remembered the bitterness of her month'sexile, and its probable cause. Max had stood by her then. Well he might,if he suspected the truth.
For just a moment she had an illuminating flash of Wilson as he reallywas, selfish and self-indulgent, just a trifle too carefully dressed,daring as to eye and speech, with a carefully calculated daring, franklypleasure-loving. She put her hands over her eyes.
The voices in the next room had risen above their whisper.
"Genius has privileges, of course," said the older voice. "He is a verygreat surgeon. To-morrow he is to do the Edwardes operation again. I amglad I am to see him do it."
Sidney still held her hands over her eyes. He WAS a great surgeon: inhis hands he held the keys of life and death. And perhaps he had nevercared for Carlotta: she might have thrown herself at him. He was a man,at the mercy of any scheming woman.
She tried to summon his image to her aid. But a curious thing happened.She could not visualize him. Instead, there came, clear and distinct, apicture of K. Le Moyne in the hall of the little house, reaching one ofhis long arms to the chandelier over his head and looking up at her asshe stood on the stairs.
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