THE RING THAT BUILT A HOSPITAL
It was a hot June night. Not a breath of air was stirring, and in the
great Danbury Hospital every window was opened its widest. Yet the
patients lay panting and sweltering on their cots. Peace, in her room,
tossed and turned restlessly, dozed a few minutes, then wakened, changed
her position, trying to find a cooler spot, and finally in desperation,
raised her hand and jerked the bell-cord dangling at the head of her
bed. She could hear the answering whir in the hall outside, but no one
came to minister to her wants, and after an impatient wait of a few
seconds, she repeated the summons.
Still no one came.
"What in creation can be the matter with Miss Hays, I wonder," she
muttered, and savagely pulled the cord for the third time.
There was a faint patter of rapid steps through the corridor, and the
night nurse, flushed and perspiring, flew into the room. "What is it?"
she asked crisply, mopping her warm face after a hasty survey of the
small patient.
"O," exclaimed Peace in relief. "It's you at last! I thought you were
never coming. Is it hot outside tonight, or is it just me that's hot?"
Poor, hurried, steaming Miss Hays glared down at the tumbled figure on
the bed, and snapped, "It's _me_ that's hot! Did you chase me clear down
two flights of stairs just to ask that question?"
"You _do_ look warm," said Peace in conciliatory tones, not quite
understanding the cause of Miss Hays' evident wrath.
"I _am_ warm,--decidedly warm under the collar!" Suddenly the funny side
of the situation burst upon her, and she laughed hysterically. It was
utterly ridiculous to think of the haste she had made to answer the
frantic summons of that bell!
Then, with an effort she controlled her merriment, and asked soberly,
"Was there anything you wanted?"
"No--that is--Hark! What is that noise? It sounds like a little baby
crying. That's the third time tonight I've heard it squall."
Miss Hays obediently strained her ears to listen. "It does sound like a
child, doesn't it?" she admitted, as the plaintive wail was repeated.
"Who can it be?"
"Seems as if it came from the other part of the building," said Peace,
peering across the moonlit court toward the windows of the opposite
wing.
"But there are no babies over there," the nurse objected. "Nearly all
the patients in that section are old men, and the nurses' rooms are on
the top floor."
"Well, that's where the crying comes from anyway," Peace insisted, as
another low, persistent wail rose on the midnight air. "Are you _sure_
there ain't _any_ babies over there?"
"None that I know of. I'll go investigate. It's queer that Miss Gee did
not mention it to me if any new patients were brought in there today."
Puzzled Miss Hays turned to go when Peace stopped her with an
imperative, "Wait! There's a nightcap sticking out of a topfloor window.
I guess it's going to holler."
"Nightcap? Where?" demanded the nurse, again staring out over the court
toward the other wing of the hospital.
"It looked like one, but it's gone in out of sight. O, I know I saw it.
There! What did I tell you!"
Peace was right. From an open window in the nurses' quarters a
white-capped head slowly protruded, followed by a huge pitcher. There
was a sound of splashing water, a startled caterwaul from the lawn
below, some excited spitting and scratching, and two black shapes
streaked across the court to the street. The wailing ceased. Silence
reigned.
"Cats!" exclaimed Miss Hays in disgust.
"Making that crying noise?" demanded incredulous Peace.
"Yes."
"Not babies at all?"
"No."
"Well, I'll--Say, that water splashed in through the window of the room
below. Listen to that man--swear! He's saying dreadful things! Can't you
hear him?"
"I must go," the nurse ejaculated, when a swift survey of the windows
opposite had proved that the child's observations were correct; but even
as she darted through the doorway, the buzzer in the hall whirred
viciously, and Peace heard her mutter, "My sakes! but the old gentleman
is mad!"
Once more quiet descended over the great building, and for a long time
Peace lay chuckling over the night's unusual adventure. Then in spite of
the heat she at length fell asleep. Nor did she waken until the sun was
high in the sky and the bustle of the busy city floated up through the
open window.
The first thing she was conscious of was the sound of Dr. Shumway's
voice sharp with bitter disappointment, and by craning her neck almost
to breaking point, she could catch a glimpse of his coat-tails through
the open door, as he said to some invisible audience, "No, we can hope
for absolutely nothing from that source now, and we do need that
addition so badly. Why, man alive it would mean a chance for hundreds of
helpless babies. We simply haven't the room to accept charity cases now.
Every bed in the institution filled this morning! What a record! But we
have had to turn away ten cases this past month because we were too
crowded to take charity patients."
"What did the old codger have to say to the committee?" asked another
voice, which Peace recognized as that of Dr. Race, though she could not
see him.
"He wasn't even _decent_ about it. Said if his father had seen fit to
spend half his fortune erecting this hospital, it was no sign that he
intended to follow his example. What is more, he declared that we never
would see another red cent of Danbury money if he could help it. Called
his father an old fool and every other uncomplimentary name he could
think of."
"Did you remind him that his father had intended to build this addition
that we are so anxious for?"
"Yes, and got laughed at for my pains. If only old John Danbury could
have lived to see his building completed! He used to say he cared for no
other monument than Danbury Hospital."
"Do you know," said a new voice thoughtfully, "I think he recognized the
worthlessness of his profligate son, and planned to sink his whole
fortune in this institution? Money has been the curse of Robson
Danbury's life, and his father knew that the only hope of making
anything like a man out of him was the cutting him off without a cent,
but the Death Angel claimed him before he had finished his plans."
"Well, that doesn't help us out of our predicament," said Dr. Race in
his crisp, curt tones. "How are we to get our addition built?"
"Go to the Church for it,--that's our only course now," suggested Dr.
Shumway resignedly.
"The Church! Good gracious, man! The church is bled to death now with
its collections for this and subscriptions for that," declared Dr.
Rosencrans impatiently. "They won't listen to our cry for help. I'm
sorry this hospital is a denominational institution. It is a serious
handicap."
"It ought not to be," said Dr. Shumway stoutly. "Our people should be
proud of the chance to give to such a cause."
"But the fact still remains that they raise a howl or have a fit every
time they are asked for a copper," returned Dr. Rosencrans
pessimistically.
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" demanded Dr. Race briskly.
"Got anything tangible to work upon?"
"I happen to know that the bishop will give us his heartiest
co-operation," Dr. Shumway answered. "We must confer with him and plan a
state-wide campaign. We've simply _got_ to have that addition."
"Then it's to be the same old song and dance?" inquired Dr. Rosencrans
in deep disgust. "We'll send out a professional beggar to the different
churches of the state, and then sit back and wait for the money to roll
in?"
"What is your plan?" quietly asked Dr. Shumway, but in such a tone that
Peace, straining to catch every word, fairly jumped from her cot, and
wondered whether there was to be a fight.
"I have none," was the sulky reply, "but I'm tired of this
lemon-squeezing farce. We can never raise a thousand dollars, let alone
seventy-five thousand."
"I suggest that we take twenty-four hours to think on this thing before
we make any decisions," suggested Dr. Race in soothing tones. "It is too
important a question to settle without considerable thought."
"Good idea," seconded another voice, and after a brief parley as to
their next meeting, the group of physicians just outside Peace's door
dispersed about their various duties.
But they had left the brown-eyed maid much food for thought. Some of
their conversation had puzzled her, but she gathered from their remarks
that an addition to the hospital had become necessary, and for some
reason seemed unobtainable, except by appealing to the churches for the
money to build, which the doctors seemed loath to do.
"I'll ask Gail, she'll know," Peace promised herself, when she found
that she could not untangle the puzzling questions without further
explanation.
So when Gail entered the white room that afternoon, the small sister was
ready with an avalanche of queries. "Why ain't the hospital big enough
as 'tis? What do they need an _edition_ for? Why won't Robinson Danbury
give them any money, and why do they think he ought to? What's the
matter with the churches and how do they bleed to death?"
Gail stopped short in her tracks. "Why, girlie!" she cried
apprehensively, noting the scarlet flush on the thin cheeks, "what do
you mean? What is the matter? Have you been dreaming? What are you
talking about?"
So Peace told her of the conference held that morning just outside her
door, and Gail listened attentively, surprised that the small maid
should display such interest in a question supposed to concern only her
elders.
"What's all the fuss about?" Peace asked a second time before Gail could
decide whether or not it would be advisable to try to explain.
"Well," she said at length, "it happens that this is the only hospital
in the state which belongs to our church,--that is, to our denomination,
you understand. A man by the name of John Danbury planned and built it
with his own money, and gave it to the church with the understanding
that it was to be supported by our people. His plan was to have the
hospital take only poor patients, but even with the church's help they
couldn't anywhere nearly pay their way when they did that, and they have
had to accept pay patients almost entirely. So rather than give up this
pet idea of his, Mr. Danbury decided to build an addition just for
charity cases. But he died without a will,--that is, without anything to
show how he wanted his money spent, and his son, Robson, got it all. The
son was hurt in a railroad accident about a month ago, and was brought
here to be treated. Up to that time, he had absolutely refused to give
the Hospital Board a dollar toward carrying out his father's wishes,
although he himself knew what the plans had been. But while he was here,
he sort of changed his mind. I suppose he had never before realized how
many people a hospital reaches; and he hinted that perhaps after all he
might do a _little_ to help the Board build its addition. The committee
was to visit him this morning and get his definite answer, but last
night some cats got to squalling in the court under his window, and--"
"I know," Peace interrupted. "It sounded, like a baby. I started Miss
Hays off to find out who it was."
"Well, it bothered the nurses who were off duty, too, and finally Miss
Gee could stand it no longer, so she deluged the cats with a pitcher of
water,--"
"Yes, and some of it landed on the sill just under her window, and
spattered a sick man inside. Mercy! how he swore!"
"And that sick man was Robson Danbury."
"Goodness gracious!" gasped Peace. "No wonder he won't build any more
hospital."
"It is such a pity to act so childish about it."
"I s'pose it does seem so to everyone else, but just s'posing _you_ had
got settled comfortable on a _boiling_ hot night, and someone spilled
water all over you. How would you like it?"
"But it was purely an accident, Peace."
"Accidents don't always make a fellow feel nice," the child asserted.
"And the committee oughtn't to have visited him just after he got half
drowned. They might have known he'd be ugly."
"They knew nothing whatever of the accident until he told them. It seems
that even Miss Gee herself did not realize that anything but the cats
had been soaked, He was so angry that he refused to stay here any
longer, and as soon as he could get his clothes on, the ambulance took
him home. It is such a shame, for the hospital does need more room so
badly, and now--"
"'F I was the hospital, I'd just show him that I could build all the
rooms I wanted to without any of his old money."
"O, they intend to try to raise seventy-five thousand dollars by
subscriptions from the churches. That was decided today. But it will be
a hard job."
"Who's going to do it?"
"Do what?"
"Why, the work, of course. You said it would be a hard job."
"O, they mean to open the campaign next Sunday in Martindale, and the
bishop is to preach the first sermon. After that, Rev. Mr. Murdock will
do most of the preaching. He is secretary of the Hospital Association,
you know."
"Is the bishop to preach in _our_ church?"
"Yes."
"And take up a collection?"
"A subscription one."
"And I won't be there! Why couldn't they wait till I got home?"
"They must begin at once, dear, if they hope to raise such a great sum
before Conference."
"What's the difference between a collection and a _perscription_?"
"_Sub_scription, child. Well--er--we take up collections every Sunday
in our regular services, but a subscription gives the people a longer
time to pay what they have promised."
The conversation turned to other subjects, but had Gail only known it,
the busy brain under the curly brown thatch was puzzling over ways and
means of taking part in that important subscription when she was miles
away and absolutely bankrupt. She had given her last mite to help
purchase a typewriter for her little author lady.
But while the nurse was making her ready for the night, a sudden thought
came to her, and holding up the slender finger on which gleamed her
birthday ring, one of her most prized possessions, she asked, "How much
do rings cost, Miss Keith?"
"Rings like yours?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'm not much of a judge of jewelry, but I should say that was
worth maybe ten or fifteen dollars. That stone looks like a real ruby."
"'Tis a real ruby, though 'tain't very big."
"I never owned but one ring in my life, and that was a plain band. I
don't know anything about precious stones, but no doubt your ring cost a
pretty penny."
When she had gone on to her next charge, Peace sat warily up in bed,
snatched paper and pencil from the stand close by and scribbled a brief
and hurried note, which read:
"Deer Bishup,--I can't be at church Sunday when you take up a
subscription to build some more Danbury Hospittle, cause I am in the
hospittle myself, and I have spent all my money. Nurse says my ruby ring
which Grandpa gave me on my last birthday cost as much as 10 or 15
dolars; so I am sending my ring for your collection. You can sell it to
some honest jueler and give the Money to the hospittle. It has been worn
only a little while for my birthday was New Years, and I've been in the
hospittle ever since, so the ring is reely as good as new. I would sell
it myself if I could get out but I can't.
Yours truly,
PEACE GREENFIELD."
When the bishop rose to face the select and fashionable audience in the
South Avenue Church the following Sabbath Day, his heart misgave him.
What message could he bring to this people which would open their hearts
and pocketbooks to help in the Lord's great work? He had prepared a most
careful and elaborate sermon for the occasion, but as he stood looking
down into that sea of critical faces before him, he realized that here
was a people who needed a soul's awakening, and with a sudden
determination he cast aside his scholarly efforts, and drawing from his
pocket a hastily scrawled letter and a small, ruby ring, he told their
simple story so beautifully and so well that purse-strings, as well as
heart-strings, responded instantly, and the following day a telegram
reached Danbury Hospital which read, "Fifteen thousand dollars
subscribed at South Avenue Church. Thank God for our 'Peace which
passeth understanding.'"
The hospital staff was at a loss to explain these strange words until a
visit from the bishop himself made everything clear. Then great was the
rejoicing, for instinctively each heart knew that the simple little ring
had won the fight. The story of its giving was an "open Sesame" wherever
it was told, and the much needed addition to Danbury Hospital was made
possible through the sacrifice of one childish heart's dearest treasure.
Verily, "A little child shall lead them."