around them as they opened their diplomas. Ethel, with tears in her
eyes, found Jean and walked with her up to meet her family.
Mr. and Mrs. Craig embraced their daughter. Mrs. Craig cried a little
as she saw Ralph’s flowers.
“My own girl,” she cried. “A real, bona fide nurse!”
16. Double Triumph
“And these guys do all their own work, too,” Tommy continued. The Craig
family was at lunch and at the moment was listening with mounting
interest to Tommy’s story about Mercyville. For Tommy had been spending
many afternoons out at the boys’ town with his new chum, Bert Cramer.
“They make their own butter and cheese from their own milk. And they’ve
a neat carpentry shop, too! They make furniture and stuff. But they
seem to have lots of time for games and swimming and stuff. Timmy is
making a swell adjustment. He’s crazy about the place.” He grinned. “I
wouldn’t mind living there myself.”
Mr. Craig smiled. “I guess we’ll have to lose you somewhere, son. Maybe
Mercyville will take you in.”
Mrs. Craig nodded. “I thought they already had. Seems to me Tommy’s
been out there almost constantly.”
“Mother,” Tommy asked, “would it be okay if I brought Bert home to
dinner?”
“My goodness, Tommy,” Mrs. Craig said, “I was wondering when you were
going to invite him here. You’ve been out there so much.”
“Would tonight be okay? He’s having his tryout this afternoon here in
town, and he could come after that.”
“Tonight would be fine,” Mrs. Craig agreed.
“You say he plays the violin?” Mr. Craig asked.
“Well, I’ve never heard him play. But that’s what he said,” Tommy said.
“What does he look like?” Kit asked.
“Aw, I don’t know. Like a fellow. He’s taller’n me. But he’s older.”
Mrs. Craig smiled. “Tonight we’ll have a dinner for our musicians. We
were going to have a special dinner for Doris, anyway.”
“Jeepers!” Tommy cried. “That’s swell! Excuse me, please. I’ll call him
right away before he leaves Mercyville!” He jumped from the table.
“I think I hear Becky in the kitchen,” Mrs. Craig said, getting up from
the table. She went into the hall and called to Becky.
“I’m just putting some fresh cookies into your jar,” Becky called back.
“Land but I’ve a mess of ’em here. Judge Ellis would be sick for a week
if I left them around the house for him to nibble at.”
She bustled into the hall. “Well, Marge,” she said. “So this is the big
day. Just get over one and you have another. Jean sure is right smart
in her cap ’n’ everything.”
“Thank you, Becky,” Mrs. Craig said. “We’re pretty proud of her. And
yes, this is Doris’s day. And now Tommy has invited a friend from
Mercyville for dinner, so we’ll have a little party. We can use the
cookies, you see.”
“You’re welcome to ’em, child. I’ve heard about this Mercyville place.
It’s wonderful, I understand.” She picked up her basket. “I have to
run, Marge. But you let me know first you hear about how Doris comes
out.”
Mrs. Craig walked with her to the door. “I certainly will, Becky. And
thanks so much for the cookies.”
After lunch, Doris went into the living room to practice. Mrs. Craig
worried about whether or not Doris should practice just before her
try-out, but she kept silent, not wanting to upset her daughter. As
she heard Doris’s skillful fingers run over scales and arpeggios,
she relaxed and went about her household chores with a light heart.
Certainly Doris couldn’t fail to impress the examiners!
At three o’clock they arrived. Mrs. Tyler, Doris’s music teacher,
appeared with Mr. Hensen and Miss Smythe of the college. Mrs. Craig
brought them into the parlor where Doris was still limbering up her
fingers.
“This is Doris,” she said, introducing her child to the young teachers.
“I’m glad we had the chance to break in on your practicing,” Mr. Hansen
said. “It’s sometimes easier to tell about a performance when the girl
doesn’t realize we’re listening.”
Doris smiled shyly and sat down on the bench. “I know you’re in a
hurry, so I’ll start right off,” she said.
She opened her small program with a Bach prelude. Her fingers moved
with precision and grace. Then she played the first movement of a
Beethoven sonata, and she closed with a Chopin etude.
Mr. Hansen and Miss Smythe were silent for a moment after Doris had
finished. Finally Mr. Hansen stood up. “Forgive me if I appear to be
rude, Mrs. Craig, but I would like to talk to Miss Smythe alone for a
minute.”
“Of course!” Mrs. Craig cried, jumping up. Doris and Mrs. Tyler
followed her out into the hall.
“You were just perfect, Doris,” Mrs. Tyler said. “I never heard you
play so well.” She wiped her eyes.
“Oh, Mother,” Doris sighed, leaning against Mrs. Craig. “I’m scared.”
Mrs. Craig patted her arm. “Relax, darling. We probably won’t know
for several months whether or not you won. If not, you can always try
again.”
Mr. Hansen stepped into the hall. He stroked his chin thoughtfully as
they all went back into the living room.
“I don’t understand it,” he said thoughtfully. “I simply don’t
understand it at all. Miss Smythe and I have been traveling the length
of the East Coast, and right here in Elmhurst we do something we’ve
never done before. Not once, but twice!”
Doris clutched her mother’s hand.
“It’s our usual procedure,” Mr. Hansen continued, “to award five
scholarships to Timothy College a year. We make quite comprehensive
notes about each student and then talk it over later and award them
just before the opening of school after we’ve completed our trip. But
this afternoon we heard a young man ... a violinist ... who prompted us
to choose him without any further discussion. He’s _extremely_ gifted.
I haven’t heard talent in such a youngster for years!
“And now your daughter. She is very gifted, Mrs. Craig. Both Miss
Smythe and I have no hesitation in inviting Doris to Timothy for a year
of study.”
Doris stared wide-eyed at the man. “You mean...?”
He nodded. “This seems to be good climate for musicians. I hope you’ll
decide to accept our scholarship, Doris. You’ve a precious talent, my
dear.”
Doris burst into tears and ran from the room. Mrs. Craig looked after
her uncertainly.
“Let her go, Mrs. Craig,” Miss Smythe said. “She’ll be all right in a
few minutes.”
Mrs. Craig gestured with her hands. “I ... I don’t know what to say.
Except thank you. Thank you very much.”
Mr. Hansen chuckled. “We’re more than thanked by hearing such a
promising youngster. I really would like to know what you people do to
produce such talent up here!”
“I hope you can stay to tea,” Mrs. Craig said.
Miss Smythe shook her head regretfully. “I hate to turn you down, Mrs.
Craig. But we have a train to catch in one hour.”
Still in a daze, Mrs. Craig watched them as they went down the long
driveway. And as she stood in the doorway, she saw Tommy and his new
friend, Bert, drive up toward the house. They waved at the passing car
and then they spotted her. Bert brought his car to a halt and they
jumped out. The older boy brought along his violin and tucked it under
his arm.
“Hey, Mom, here’s Bert Cramer,” Tommy called as they dashed up the
porch steps. “And you know what?”
Mrs. Craig grinned as she clasped the boy’s hand. “Yes, I do,” she
said. “And I think it’s perfectly marvelous!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Craig,” Bert said. “My winning that scholarship will
mean a lot to us all out there.”
“Just as Doris’s winning means a lot to us,” Mrs. Craig answered.
Tommy stared at his mother. “Aw, you’re kidding!” he said. “They told
Bert they hardly ever tell before they get back to Timothy.”
Mrs. Craig said, “I know. They made an exception in Bert’s case. _And_
in Doris’s case, too!”
Tommy turned a handspring in the hall. “Dopey old Doris!” he cried.
“Why, Tommy!” his mother said.
“Isn’t she wonderful, Mom?” he cried. “Isn’t she just about the most
wonderful girl ever?”
“Take Bert upstairs to see Jack,” Mrs. Craig told her son. “I think
Doris is up with him, now. We have a son in bed with rheumatic fever,”
she explained to Bert.
“Yes, ma’am, I know,” Bert said. “I’m very sorry.”
“Come on, Bert,” Tommy cried. “You’ll like Jack.”
Upstairs, Doris was pouring out the story of the afternoon to Jack, who
lay back on his pillow, grinning from ear to ear.
“I told you you could do it, Doris,” he said as Tommy and Bert came in.
“Hi, Tommy,” he said.
“Doris, this is Bert Cramer,” Tommy said. “And this is my brother,
Jack.”
Doris turned to face the boys. Her large dark eyes were shining with
happiness and her cheeks were flushed. Bert looked at her as if he were
seeing an angel. Suddenly he tore his gaze away and strode over to
Jack’s cot.
“Hi, there, Jack,” Bert said. “Tommy’s told me a lot about you.”
“Bert won a scholarship, too, kids.”
“Jeepers! What talented company I have!” Jack cried. “And here I
thought that Doris was just family. I guess I’ll have to be more polite
to the genius in the future!”
“Jack, you’re a goose!” Doris said, hugging him. “And Bert, I think
it’s wonderful that you won.”
“Thank you, Doris,” Bert said. “I’m just now beginning to realize _how_
lucky I was to win.”
Doris looked at him. She saw his honest brown eyes looking straight
into hers, and she blushed.
Dinner was hilarious. Mr. Craig and Tommy and Jack, who was permitted
to eat downstairs now, kept everyone in stitches with old jokes and
bad puns. And after a dessert of apple pie and ice cream, the family
adjourned to the parlor.
“I wonder,” Mr. Craig mused, “whether we might hear our young geniuses
perform.”
Without hesitation, Bert said, “I left my violin in the hall. If you
like, I’ll get it.”
“He’s a pretty poised youngster for one so young,” Mr. Craig said,
watching him go out to the hall.
“My, he’s a nice kid,” Kit said.
“You can say that again!” Tommy agreed. “I’m gonna get the gang
together next time he comes for dinner. We’ll have a peachy time.”
They could hear Bert tuning his violin in the hall.
“Tommy,” Mr. Craig said, “isn’t Bert a little old for your gang?” He
glanced over at Doris. “I have a hunch that next time he comes to
dinner, he might be calling on someone else.”
Bert came back into the parlor and handed Doris some sheet music. “This
isn’t exactly fair. You have to do all the sight reading. I know it by
heart.”
Doris sat down at the piano. “I don’t mind,” she said. “Oh good!
Scarlatti! Why, I know this sonata!”
They began to play. The music transported everyone in the room, and
they played together as if they had practiced together for years. As he
played, Bert looked down at Doris, and Mr. Craig nodded and stroked his
chin. It was obvious to him that they would see a great deal of Bert
Cramer this summer, and not as part of Tommy’s gang.
17. Judge Ellis Is Trapped
After great spluttering and fussing, Judge Ellis had finally yielded to
Aunt Becky’s ultimatum that he go to the clinic for a checkup.
“Confound that woman!” he muttered under his breath as he clamped
his straw hat on his massive white head and tucked his walking cane
under his arm. The impressive man of law had met his match when he had
married the stern New England woman a few years before.
Aunt Becky stood in the front door waiting for the judge to get ready
to go out. She looked fondly at her husband as he surveyed himself in
the old-fashioned, full-length mirror which stood in the hall.
“And you can stop muttering those terrible things about me, too!” she
commanded.
“Bah!” Judge Ellis snorted. Then he leaned over and laid his cheek
against hers. The tender little gesture was a token of the great love
these two strong-willed people had for each other.
Aunt Becky held him back at arm’s length and studied his appearance.
“You’re a shameful man,” she said gently, “to be so handsome at your
age!”
“Humph!” the judge exclaimed. “You talk as if I belonged in my grave!”
“Oh, scat! Out with you!” Becky cried.
Whistling jauntily, Judge Ellis strolled down the walk and turned
toward town. He would walk on such a fine day. This visit to the clinic
was sentimental nonsense, he told himself. But if it would please
Becky....
Dr. Daley, the clinic internist, was waiting for the judge when he
arrived. The doctor was a comparatively young man, and he fervently
hoped that he would find Judge Ellis in good shape. He knew what a
chore it would be to try to convince the eminent citizen of Elmhurst to
take any sort of treatment.
Dr. Daley’s heart sank as he saw the older man’s sagging waistline. But
he smiled cheerfully and invited the patient into his office.
“This stuff and nonsense,” Judge Ellis snorted, “is a complete waste
of time, young man.” He glowered at the doctor. “Why aren’t you taking
care of _sick_ people? I’m a well man, as you can tell by looking at
me. And right this minute I should be down at City Hall. An important
committee meeting is awaiting me.”
Dr. Daley nodded. “You look pretty good, sir,” he admitted. “Now if
you’ll take off your coat and shirt, I’ll listen to your heart.”
Grudgingly the Judge obeyed.
The doctor nodded as he listened to the tired old heart. “And now the
blood pressure,” he commented as he adjusted the gadget around the
Judge’s arm.
After he had been weighed, Judge Ellis put his shirt and coat back
on and knotted his tie carefully. Dr. Daley, thinking hard, sat down
behind his desk and looked over Judge Ellis’ medical history.
“Of course this is nowhere near a complete examination. I want to have
some lab tests made,” the doctor said.
“Humph,” was Judge Ellis’ reply. “This is a waste of both your time and
mine.”
The doctor nodded. “Judge Ellis,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d
give me a little advice. You see, my father is a prominent surgeon in
New York City, and you can’t tell him anything. He has studied medicine
all his life, and he is a very wise man ... medically speaking, of
course.”
“Glad to hear it,” the judge grunted.
Dr. Daley sighed. “But he’s a baby in some ways. A couple of years ago
he made some bad financial investments. He knew what he was signing
when he made the transactions. Now he wants to sue the company. But his
lawyer ... a young man about my age ... but _very_ good ... advises him
not to sue.”
Judge Ellis grunted. “Why not?”
Dr. Daley shrugged. “He’d be throwing good money after bad. The company
couldn’t pay even if he did sue. He won’t get a cent.”
“Who’s handling the case? Your father’s lawyer, I mean?”
“Stanley Jordan of Smith, Perkins and Jordan.”
Judge Ellis nodded gravely. “Jordan is an excellent man. Your father
should have implicit faith in him. Know him well!”
A smile spread across the doctor’s face. “But, sir, you don’t know my
father. He thinks because Jordan is a young man and he is much older,
that he knows better.”
Judge Ellis banged the desk with his fist. “Thunderation, man! Then why
did your father go to Jordan in the first place? What in heaven’s name
does a doctor know about the law, anyway?” He sniffed. “You tell your
father that Judge Ellis, who is undoubtedly his age or better, tells
him to stop being a fool and to listen to what Jordan says!”
Dr. Daley repressed a chuckle. “Thank you, sir,” he said.
“Is that all, young man?” the judge demanded.
Dr. Daley scribbled something on a pad and held it out to Judge Ellis.
“I think so, for today.”
The judge stood up and shook hands with the doctor. Then he went out to
the corridor and opened the note Dr. Daley had given him.
Judge Ellis:
Your blood pressure is up enough to warrant further laboratory
tests. If you will report to the lab, they will make all the
arrangements for your convenience. Also, I want you to take off at
least twenty pounds. I’m sure Mrs. Ellis can arrange a fat-free and
low carbohydrate diet for you. You should adhere to this diet for
at least a year. The weight should come off slowly, just as it was
put on. If you smoke, do so in moderation.
Judge Ellis scowled and turned menacingly towards the doctor’s office.
Then he looked at the note again.
There was a postscript.
Thank you, sir, for the advice about my father. I don’t know why
he thinks that just because he is an elderly man and famous in his
field, he knows all there is to know about every other profession.
Judge Ellis began to chuckle. His chuckle grew into a full-bodied roar.
The girl at the desk looked up, startled.
“Young lady!” he boomed. “Can you direct me to the laboratory?”
In his office, Dr. Daley chuckled a little over the episode. He put
aside Judge Ellis’s medical history and snapped on his inter-office
phone. “Send in the next patient, Miss Babcock,” he said.
The girl outside answered, “But Dr. Daley, Dr. Barsch has an operation
he wants you to attend in a half hour. You haven’t forgotten it, have
you?”
The young doctor’s hands grew clammy at the thought of the operation
he was to attend. “Thank you, Miss Babcock,” he said. “Thank you for
reminding me.”
His face was grim as he left his office and went upstairs to prepare
for the operation. He met Jean on the second floor corridor. She was
armed with her sketch pad.
“So you’re to try your hand at sketching a cancer operation, Miss
Craig,” Dr. Daley said.
“Yes, sir,” Jean answered.
The doctor shook his head. “This will probably be very unpleasant. I’m
frankly scared to death every time we attempt to remove a cancer.”
“I know,” Jean replied solemnly as they went into the operating room.
Howard Mills, a middle-aged farmer, had developed cancer in his lung,
and Dr. Barsch was dubious as he prepared for the operation. If the
malignant cells had been confined to one lung, Mr. Mills could be
pulled through. But if the cancer had invaded the surrounding tissues,
there was little hope for his life.
“The worst part about this operation,” Dr. Barsch told Jean as they
scrubbed in the operating room lavatory, “is that one never knows. The
surrounding tissues may look fine and normal, but cancer cells can
break away and get into the blood stream and be carried far from the
spot of operation.”
“It’s a grisly business,” Dr. Daley affirmed.
“It’s terrible!” Jean cried.
Dr. Barsch sighed and turned his attention to his scrubbing. Dr. Daley
said, “If Mr. Mills had come in for regular checkups, this might not
have happened. Someday people will learn.”
Eileen Gordon came in briskly and rolled up her sleeves to scrub. Dr.
Barsch looked at her with fond exasperation.
“So you’re going to assist me,” he commented dryly.
She looked up at him, puzzled. “Yes, sir,” she answered. “This is too
important to let anyone else handle.”
The doctor chuckled a little. “Of course you know that Dr. Benson will
be on hand, too. Dr. Daley will stand by while I work, and Dr. Benson
will do the probing when we make the incision. That boy has the makings
of a fine surgeon,” he added, almost to himself.
Eileen reddened. “I didn’t know, sir. Honest.”
Dr. Barsch turned from the sink. “I won’t have it!” he bellowed. “I
simply won’t have it! I get a girl trained and some young nincompoop
rushes her off to the altar! How many supervisors do you think I can
train in the space of two years?”
Eileen giggled. “Oh, goodness, doctor. Dr. Benson hasn’t even _talked_
about marriage! We’re just good friends.”
Dr. Barsch patted his hands with a sterile towel. “Good friends,
indeed! I’ve seen that young idiot mooning about here as if he invented
falling in love!”
“Here he comes, Doctor,” Jean warned.
“Let him hear me,” Dr. Barsch said defiantly, but he lowered his voice.
If Dr. Benson had been mooning about, he showed no evidence of it this
morning. He glanced at the clock as he began to scrub. Each person in
the room was required to scrub for ten minutes. Then he meticulously
scoured his hands and arms with a small brush, taking particular care
to clean around the base of the nails where dirt can be imbedded.
When he had finished, he bathed his hands and arms in an antiseptic
solution. He didn’t even glance at Eileen, who was scrubbing at the
next basin.
The patient was wheeled in and transferred to the operating table. In
spite of the fact that he was under opiates, Mr. Mills moaned. Dr.
Henry waited till he was ready for the anesthetic and then fitted
a cone over the man’s nose and mouth. Watching the blood pressure
carefully, he checked the pulse rate every few seconds. At last the
moaning stopped, and Dr. Henry nodded.
Dr. Barsch stood beside the patient’s chest ready to make the incision.
Gerald Benson stood on the other side of Mr. Mills. A step behind Dr.
Barsch, Dr. Daley stood. Dr. Henry was stationed at the patient’s head.
Eileen and Jean were on a level with the patient’s hips. They all wore
sterile hospital gowns, masks and gloves. Not a single strand of hair
escaped from the sterile white caps on their heads.
Dr. Barsch let out his breath slowly and made his incision. Jean
watched carefully as he opened the chest. The incision was more
difficult to make than one for an abdominal operation, but Dr. Barsch
cut skillfully, and soon the lung was exposed. They all shuddered as
they saw the cluster of malignant cells imbedded at the base of the
lung. Jean sketched quickly. She was fascinated at the sight of the
exposed heart beating slowly and calmly as if it were undisturbed.
Then the cutting out of the cancer began. Dr. Barsch cut under the
growth, praying that he would find healthy tissue beneath. But there
was more cancerous material below. He sighed and cut down again.
Finally, he reached normal tissue. Then he and Dr. Benson began the
long, tedious and important task of exploring the entire cavity for
more malignant tissue. The clock ticked away minutes as they probed.
“All right,” Dr. Barsch said finally. “Take my side.”
They changed places, and Dr. Benson then went over the parts that
Dr. Barsch had checked while the older doctor explored Dr. Benson’s
territory.
Eileen handed them instruments without instruction, anticipating
their needs. And Jean bent her head over her task as she recorded the
entire lung and the surrounding organs. She tried to draw every small
capillary which extended out into the lung area to form a structure
which looked like a branch of a tiny bush. Dr. Henry watched over the
patient’s breathing and pulse rate as carefully as a mother watches
over a newborn child.
Finally Dr. Henry spoke. “That’s all,” he said hoarsely. “We can’t take
any more chances. His pulse rate is falling.”
As long as the patient was under anesthetic, Dr. Henry was the general.
As soon as he spoke the other doctors were quick to follow his
instructions.
Dr. Barsch shook his head. “All right,” he said grimly. “But I don’t
like it.” Silently he began to sew up the wound. First he drew it
together with soluble clamps, and then he stitched the chest together
as if it were a piece of cloth.
Jean, clutching her sketch pad and pencil, looked at all their faces.
Dr. Barsch’s was grim and determined as he sewed. Dr. Daley’s face was
expressionless. Dr. Benson’s was white and drawn. He looked as if he
were in pain. Dr. Henry shook his head from side to side as he worked
over the man’s respiratory system. Eileen’s face was a white mask. Jean
knew that the color had left her own face as well.
She knew, too, that they were all praying to a Higher Power whose
Presence is always very much felt in an operating room. No one in
the room had ever known Mr. Mills before he came to the clinic. But
that didn’t matter. His was a precious life ... a human life. And his
body was the scene of a battle of that greatest of all wars since the
beginning of the human race. Man was at war with his natural enemy,
disease.
18. Just Among Girls
Billy Ellis and Buzzy Hancock raced up the Craig driveway, hooting and
howling as they ran.
Tommy appeared on the front porch just as they reached the steps. He
waved at them vigorously and called, “Hey, guys! C’mon! Hurry up!”
Billy and Buzzy hurdled the porch rail and collapsed on the porch
swing. “Jeepers!” Buzzy panted. “We’ve run just about a mile!” He
fanned himself with his open hand. “What’s the big news?” He snorted.
“Hurry ’n’ tell us, because we gotta get back to school and pick up the
stuff for the game.”
“Jack went to the clinic last night,” Tommy said importantly.
Billy and Buzzy stared at each other in consternation.
“Aw, gee,” Billy said quickly. “He isn’t sick again, is he?”
Tommy paused a moment, enjoying the scene. “Dr. Loring had him put in
the hospital because he thinks he’s well again--”
“Zowie!” Buzzy cried. “Really?”
“And they had to make lab tests to be sure,” Tommy continued
importantly.
“Well, tell us. When’re they going to know if he’s okay?”