The Doctor [102]
brought back the heart to a steadier beat. "Now, my boy," he said to himself, as he took his place kneeling in the stern of the canoe, "give her every ounce you have." For half an hour without pause, except twice to give his patient stimulant, the sweeping paddle and the swaying body kept their rhythmic swing, till down the last riffle shot the canoe and in a minute more was at the Landing.
"Duprez! Here, quick!" The doctor stood in the door of the stopping place, wet as if he had come from the river, his voice raucous and his face white.
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the Frenchman, "what de mattaire?"
The doctor swept a glance about the room. "Sick man," he said briefly. "I want this bed. Get your buckboard, quick." He seized the bed and carried it out before the eyes of the astonished Duprez.
Duprez was a man slow of speech but quick to act, and by the time the bed had been arranged on the buckboard he had his horse between the shafts.
"Now then, Duprez, give me a hand," said the doctor.
"Certainment. Bon Dieu! Dat's de bon preechere! Not dead, heh?"
"No," said the doctor, glancing sharply into the haggard face while he placed his fingers upon the pulse. "No. Now get on. Drive carefully, but make time."
In a few minutes they reached the road that led to the hospital, which was well graded and smooth. Duprez sent along his pony at a lope and in a short space of time they reached the door of the hospital, where they were met by Orderly Ben Fallows on duty.
"Barney! By the livin' jumpin' Jemima Jebbs!" cried Ben. "What on earth--"
But the doctor cut him short. "Ben, get the Matron, quick, and get a bed ready with warm blankets and hot water bottles. Go, man! Don't gape there!"
Still gaping his amazement, Ben skipped in through the hall and up the stair as fast as his wooden leg would allow him. He reached the office door. "Miss Margaret," he gasped, "Barney's at the door with a sick man. Wants a bed ready. We 'aven't got one--and--"
The look upon the matron's face interrupted the flow of his words. "Barney?" she said, rising slowly to her feet. "Barney?" she said again, her hand clutching the desk and holding hard. "What do you mean, Ben?" The words came slowly.
"He wants a bed for a sick man and we 'aven't--"
Margaret took a step toward him. "Ben," she said, in breathless haste, "get my room ready. But first tell Nurse Crane to come to me quick. Go, Ben."
The orderly hurried away, leaving her alone. With trembling hands she shut the door, turned toward her desk, and there stood, both hands pressed hard to her heart, fighting hard to control the tumultuous tides that surged through her heart and thundered in her ears. "Barney! Barney!" she whispered. "Oh, Barney, at last!" The blue eyes were wide open and all aglow with the tender light of her great love. "Barney," she said over and over, "my love, my love, my--ah, not mine--" A sob caught her voice. Over her desk hung a copy of Hoffman's great picture, the Christ kneeling in Gethsemane. She went close to the picture. "O Christ!" she cried brokenly, "I, too! Help me!" A knock came to the door, Nurse Crane entered. Margaret quickly turned toward her desk again.
"Dr. Bailey is at the door with a patient," said the nurse.
"Dr. Bailey?" echoed Margaret, not daring to look up, her trembling hands fluttering among the papers on the desk. "Go to him, Nurse, and get what he wants. Take my room. I shall follow in a moment."
Once more she was alone. Again she stood before the picture of the Christ, the words of the great submission ringing through the chambers of her soul. "Not my will but Thine be done." She pressed nearer the picture, gazing into that strong, patient, suffering face through the rain of welcome tears. "O Christ!" she whispered, "dear blessed Christ! I understand--now. Help me! Help me!" Then, after a pause, "Not my will! Not my will!"
The strife was past. Quietly she went to the lavatory that stood in the corner of her office, bathed her eyes, smoothed away the signs
"Duprez! Here, quick!" The doctor stood in the door of the stopping place, wet as if he had come from the river, his voice raucous and his face white.
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the Frenchman, "what de mattaire?"
The doctor swept a glance about the room. "Sick man," he said briefly. "I want this bed. Get your buckboard, quick." He seized the bed and carried it out before the eyes of the astonished Duprez.
Duprez was a man slow of speech but quick to act, and by the time the bed had been arranged on the buckboard he had his horse between the shafts.
"Now then, Duprez, give me a hand," said the doctor.
"Certainment. Bon Dieu! Dat's de bon preechere! Not dead, heh?"
"No," said the doctor, glancing sharply into the haggard face while he placed his fingers upon the pulse. "No. Now get on. Drive carefully, but make time."
In a few minutes they reached the road that led to the hospital, which was well graded and smooth. Duprez sent along his pony at a lope and in a short space of time they reached the door of the hospital, where they were met by Orderly Ben Fallows on duty.
"Barney! By the livin' jumpin' Jemima Jebbs!" cried Ben. "What on earth--"
But the doctor cut him short. "Ben, get the Matron, quick, and get a bed ready with warm blankets and hot water bottles. Go, man! Don't gape there!"
Still gaping his amazement, Ben skipped in through the hall and up the stair as fast as his wooden leg would allow him. He reached the office door. "Miss Margaret," he gasped, "Barney's at the door with a sick man. Wants a bed ready. We 'aven't got one--and--"
The look upon the matron's face interrupted the flow of his words. "Barney?" she said, rising slowly to her feet. "Barney?" she said again, her hand clutching the desk and holding hard. "What do you mean, Ben?" The words came slowly.
"He wants a bed for a sick man and we 'aven't--"
Margaret took a step toward him. "Ben," she said, in breathless haste, "get my room ready. But first tell Nurse Crane to come to me quick. Go, Ben."
The orderly hurried away, leaving her alone. With trembling hands she shut the door, turned toward her desk, and there stood, both hands pressed hard to her heart, fighting hard to control the tumultuous tides that surged through her heart and thundered in her ears. "Barney! Barney!" she whispered. "Oh, Barney, at last!" The blue eyes were wide open and all aglow with the tender light of her great love. "Barney," she said over and over, "my love, my love, my--ah, not mine--" A sob caught her voice. Over her desk hung a copy of Hoffman's great picture, the Christ kneeling in Gethsemane. She went close to the picture. "O Christ!" she cried brokenly, "I, too! Help me!" A knock came to the door, Nurse Crane entered. Margaret quickly turned toward her desk again.
"Dr. Bailey is at the door with a patient," said the nurse.
"Dr. Bailey?" echoed Margaret, not daring to look up, her trembling hands fluttering among the papers on the desk. "Go to him, Nurse, and get what he wants. Take my room. I shall follow in a moment."
Once more she was alone. Again she stood before the picture of the Christ, the words of the great submission ringing through the chambers of her soul. "Not my will but Thine be done." She pressed nearer the picture, gazing into that strong, patient, suffering face through the rain of welcome tears. "O Christ!" she whispered, "dear blessed Christ! I understand--now. Help me! Help me!" Then, after a pause, "Not my will! Not my will!"
The strife was past. Quietly she went to the lavatory that stood in the corner of her office, bathed her eyes, smoothed away the signs