The Story of a Doctor's Telephone Part 41

"What for?"

"O, she was mad."

"What did you do then?"

"Reached down in my pocket and took out another one just like it and told them to give it according to directions."

"Nothing like being prepared."

"I knew pretty well what I was up against before I went. The old complaint," said John, drawing on his slippers as he spoke.

CHAPTER XIV.

Mary had been down the street, shopping. "I'll drop in and visit with John a few minutes," she thought, as she drew near the office. When she entered her husband was at the telephone with his back toward her.

"h.e.l.lo. What is it?"

"Shake up your 'phone, I can't hear a word you're saying."

"Who?"

"Oh, yes, _I_ know." Exasperation was in every letter of every word.

"Take one every six months and let me hear from you when they're all gone." Slam! "There's always _some_ d.a.m.ned thing," he muttered, and turning faced his wife.

"A surprising prescription, John. What does it mean?"

"It means that she's one of these everlasting complainers and that I'm tired of hearing her. She's been to Chicago and St. Louis and Cincinnati. She's had three or four laparotomies and every time she comes back to me with a longer story and a worse one. They've got about everything but her appendix and they'll get that if she don't watch out."

"Why, I thought they always got that the first thing."

"You have no idea how it tires a man to have people come to him and complain, complain, _complain_. The story is ever new to them but it gets mighty old to the doctor. Then they go away to the city and some surgeon with a great name does what may seem to him to be best.

Sometimes they come back improved, sometimes not, and sometimes they come back worse than when they went. In all probability the operator never sees the patient again and so the last chapters of the story must be told to the home doctor over and over again."

Mary gave a little sigh. The doctor went on:

"In many cases it isn't treatment of any kind that is needed. It is occupation--occupation for the mind and for the hands. Something that will make people forget themselves in their work or in their play."

Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling.

"Is this you, Doctor?"

"Yes."

"I wanted to see if you were at the office. I'll be over there right away."

In a few minutes the door opened and a gentleman about thirty-five years of age entered. His manner was greatly agitated and he did not notice Mrs. Blank at the window near the corner of the room.

"Good morning, Mr. Blake," said the doctor, shaking hands with him, "back again, are you?"

Mr. Blake had been to C--, his native city. He had not been well for some time and had evinced a desire to go back and consult his old physician there, in which Dr. Blank had heartily concurred.

"How long do you think I can live?" Mr. Blake asked now.

"What do you mean?" replied the doctor, regarding him closely.

"I want to know how much time I have. I want to get my business fixed up before--"

"Blake, you couldn't die if you wanted to. You're not a sick enough man for that."

The patient took a letter from his pocket and handed it in silence to the doctor. The latter took it, looked carefully at the superscription, read it slowly through, then folded it with cool deliberation and put it back into the envelope.

"I thought you were going to your old physician," he said.

"Dr. Kenton was out of the city so I went to the great specialist."

"Did he tell you what was in this letter he sent to me?"

"No, but the letter was not sealed and I read it. I was so anxious to know his opinion that I couldn't help it. Tuberculosis of the larynx--"

his voice faltered.

"Yes," said the doctor, calmly, "that is a thing a man may well be frightened about. But listen to me, Blake. You've not got tuberculosis of the larynx."

"Do you think a great physician like Dr. Wentworth doesn't know what he is talking about?"

"Dr. Wentworth is a great physician; I know him well. But he is only a man like the rest of us and therefore liable to err in judgment sometimes. He knew you half an hour, perhaps, before he p.r.o.nounced upon your case. I have known you and watched you for fifteen years. I say you have not got tuberculosis _and I know I am right_."

Mary saw Mr. Blake grasp her husband's hand with a look in his face that made her think within herself, "Blessings on the country doctor wherever he may be, who has experience and knowledge and wisdom enough to draw just and true conclusions of his own and bravely state them when occasion demands."

When the patient had gone Mary said to her husband, "One gets a kaleidoscopic view of life in a doctor's office. What comes through the ear at home comes before the eye here. The kaleidoscope turned a bright-colored bit into the place of a dark one this time, John. I am glad I was here to see."

As she spoke footsteps were heard on the stairs. Slow and feeble steps they were, but at last they reached the landing and paused at the open door. Looking out Mary saw a poorly clad woman perhaps forty years of age, carrying in her hands a speckled hen. She was pale and trembling violently, and sank down exhausted into the chair the doctor set for her. He took the hen from her hands and set it on the floor. Its feet were securely tied and it made no effort to escape. The doctor had never seen the woman before but noting the emaciated form and the hectic flush on the cheek he saw that consumption was fast doing its work. Mary took the palm leaf fan lying on the table and stood beside her, fanning her gently.

When the woman could speak she said, "I oughtn't to 'a' tried to walk, Doctor, but there didn't seem to be anyone pa.s.sin' an' this cough is killin' me. I want something for it."

"How far did you walk?" asked Mary, kindly.

"Four mile."

"Four miles!" she looked down at the trembling form with deep pity in her brown eyes.

"I didn't have any money, Doctor, but will the hen pay for the medicine?" her eyes were raised anxiously to his face and Mary's eyes met the look in the eyes of her husband.

"I don't want the hen. We haven't any place to keep her. Besides my wife, here, is afraid of hens." A little smile flitted across the wan face.