The Doctor [20]
died. At the postmortem"--here the doctor paused in his walk, lowering his voice almost to a whisper while he bent over the boy--"at the post-mortem the knife discovered an abscess on the vermiform appendix. The discovery was made too late." These were the days before appendicitis became fashionable. "Now, listen to me," continued the doctor, even more impressively, "I believe in my soul that the knife at the proper moment might have saved that boy's life! A slight incision an inch or two long, the removal of the diseased part, a few stitches, and in a couple of weeks the boy is well! Ah, boy! God knows I'd give my life to be a great surgeon! But He didn't give me the fingers. Look at these," and he held up a coarse, heavy hand; "I haven't the touch. And besides, He brought me my wife, the best thing I've got in the world, and my baby, which settled the surgeon business forever. Now listen, boy! You've got the nerve--plenty of men have that--but you've also got the fingers, which few men have. With your touch and your steady nerve and your mechanical ingenuity--I've seen your machines, boy--you can be a great surgeon! But you must know your subject. You must think, dream, sleep, eat, drink bones and muscles and sinews and nerves. Push everything else aside!" he cried, waving his great hands. "And remember!"--here his voice took a solemn tone--"let nothing share your heart with your knife! Leave the women alone. A woman has no business in science. She distracts the mind, disturbs the liver, absorbs the vital powers, besides paralysing the finances. For you, let there be one woman, your mother, at least till you are a surgeon. Now, then, there are my books and all my spare time at your command." At these words the boy's face, which had caught the light and glow of the old man's enthusiasm, fell.
"Well, what now?" cried the doctor, reading his face like a book.
"I have no right to take your books or your time."
The doctor sprang to his feet with an oath. The boy also rose and faced him, almost as if expecting a blow. For a moment they stood steadfastly regarding each other, then the doctor's old face relaxed, his eyes softened. He put his big hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Now, by the Lord that made you and me!" he said, "we were meant for a team, and a team we'll make. I'll help you and I'll make you pay." The boy's face brightened.
"How?" he cried eagerly.
"We'll change work." The doctor's old eyes began to twinkle. "I want fall ploughing done and my cordwood hauled."
"I'll do it!" cried Barney. A light broke in his eyes and flooded his face. At last he saw his path.
"Here," said the doctor, taking down a book, "here's your Gray." And turning the leaves, "Here's what happened to Ben Fallows. Read this. And here's the treatment," pulling down another book and turning to a page, "Read that. I'll make Ben your first patient. There's no money in it, anyway, and you can't kill him. He only needs three things, cleanliness, good cheer, and good food. By and by we'll get him a leg. Here's that Buffalo doctor's catalogue. Take it along. Now, boy, I'll work you, grind you, and you'll go for your first examination next spring."
"Next spring!" cried Barney, aghast, "not for three years."
"Three years!" snorted the doctor, "three fiddlesticks! You can do this first examination by next spring."
"Yes. I could do it," said Barney slowly.
The doctor cast an admiring glance at the line of jaw on the boy's face.
"But there's the mortgage and there's Dick's college."
"Dick's college? Why Dick's and not yours?"
The boy's rugged face changed. A tender light fell over it, filling in its cracks and canyons.
"Because--well, because Dick must go through. Dick's clever. He's awful clever." Pride mingled with the tenderness in look and tone. "Mother wants him to be a minister, and," he added after a pause, "I do, too."
The old doctor turned from him, stood looking out of the window a few minutes, and then came back. He put his hands on the boy's shoulders.
"Well, what now?" cried the doctor, reading his face like a book.
"I have no right to take your books or your time."
The doctor sprang to his feet with an oath. The boy also rose and faced him, almost as if expecting a blow. For a moment they stood steadfastly regarding each other, then the doctor's old face relaxed, his eyes softened. He put his big hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Now, by the Lord that made you and me!" he said, "we were meant for a team, and a team we'll make. I'll help you and I'll make you pay." The boy's face brightened.
"How?" he cried eagerly.
"We'll change work." The doctor's old eyes began to twinkle. "I want fall ploughing done and my cordwood hauled."
"I'll do it!" cried Barney. A light broke in his eyes and flooded his face. At last he saw his path.
"Here," said the doctor, taking down a book, "here's your Gray." And turning the leaves, "Here's what happened to Ben Fallows. Read this. And here's the treatment," pulling down another book and turning to a page, "Read that. I'll make Ben your first patient. There's no money in it, anyway, and you can't kill him. He only needs three things, cleanliness, good cheer, and good food. By and by we'll get him a leg. Here's that Buffalo doctor's catalogue. Take it along. Now, boy, I'll work you, grind you, and you'll go for your first examination next spring."
"Next spring!" cried Barney, aghast, "not for three years."
"Three years!" snorted the doctor, "three fiddlesticks! You can do this first examination by next spring."
"Yes. I could do it," said Barney slowly.
The doctor cast an admiring glance at the line of jaw on the boy's face.
"But there's the mortgage and there's Dick's college."
"Dick's college? Why Dick's and not yours?"
The boy's rugged face changed. A tender light fell over it, filling in its cracks and canyons.
"Because--well, because Dick must go through. Dick's clever. He's awful clever." Pride mingled with the tenderness in look and tone. "Mother wants him to be a minister, and," he added after a pause, "I do, too."
The old doctor turned from him, stood looking out of the window a few minutes, and then came back. He put his hands on the boy's shoulders.