BELINDA OF THE RED CROSS
BY ROBERT W. HAMILTON
FRONTISPIECE BY
A. O. SCOTT
NEW YORK
SULLY AND KLEINTEICH
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY
SULLY AND KLEINTEICH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
[Illustration: BELINDA]
CONTENTS
I. A YOUNG MAN OUT OF THE AIR
II. THE WRECK OF HIS HOUSE OF CARDS
III. CROSSED WIRES
IV. A DECISION
V. THE RUNAWAY SHIPMASTER
VI. FELLOW VOYAGERS
VII. THE MONSTER
VIII. "POUR LA PATRIE"
IX. FIRST EXPERIENCES
X. BELINDA AT WORK
XI. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
XII. THE OTHER SIDE OF THE SHIELD
XIII. THE PREPARATION
XIV. AMID WAR'S ALARMS
XV. AT THE MERCY OF THE ENEMY
XVI. A THREATENING SITUATION
XVII. EXCITEMENT ENOUGH
XVIII. PERILS INCREASE
XIX. OVER THE ENEMY'S LINES AT NIGHT
XX. THE DUEL
XXI. ACROSS BURNING SANDS
XXII. LOVE AT WAR
XXIII. BECLOUDED
XXIV. HER FEARS ARE SHARPENED
XXV. PAUL IN A WHIRLPOOL OF DOUBT
XXVI. TOUCH AND GO
XXVII. RENAUD
XXVIII. THE HERO
XXIX. AT LAST
XXX. "THOSE EYES--THAT HAND!"
XXXI. THE ESCAPE
XXXII. FROM WAR TO PEACE
BELINDA OF THE RED CROSS
CHAPTER I
A YOUNG MAN OUT OF THE AIR
Two white-uniformed orderlies guided the stretcher on its rubber-tired
wheels into the corridor--the corridor which was all white tile,
marble, enameled steel and glass.
The military-looking surgeon stalking ahead had not adjusted his mask;
the jetty, cropped beard he wore on his full chin gave his countenance
an especially sinister expression. His black eyes--their glance of a
peculiarly penetrating quality--embraced the two immaculately dressed
nurses on the settee beside the door of the operating room. Sue Blaine
and Belinda Melnotte had just been speaking of the Herr Doktor; perhaps
they looked conscious under his swift, keen scrutiny.
Sue Blaine had begun tragically: "Belinda, I hear the elevator creaking
again. It's either you or me to assist the Herr Doktor. And I'm so
tired of it all!"
"Yet you took upon yourself the novitiate of a trained nurse for two
years." Belinda Melnotte's laugh was low, full, delicious. It was no
saccharine giggle, but came from a splendid chest in a robust body with
a bell-like tone to it that delighted the ear. "Two whole years, Sue!
Still, I wish I were just entering, after all."
"What?" gasped the other. "Why! when I am through here I shall
incinerate my apron, cap and first-aid kit with appropriate ceremonies
in our back-yard. I'll refuse even to do up my little brother's finger
if he cuts it. No, I am through--_through_!"
"Hush! The Herr Doktor!" Belinda Melnotte breathed.
The black-browed surgeon arrived.
"You will please to act with me, Miss Belinda. It is perhaps an
important case."
Belinda Melnotte's cheeks burned warmly. It secretly angered her that
she should blush when Doctor Herschall looked at her or spoke to her.
But she almost always betrayed that mark of confusion. He was the only
member of the great hospital's medical staff who called her by her
given name.
He was quite a wonderful man, she knew, this tall and broad-shouldered
surgeon. Many of the nurses admired him immensely, for he was not
unsocial in spite of his stern and aggressive appearance.
He was a keen and analytical surgeon, with ten years of practice in the
city to add to his first fame gained in his own country. He was but
thirty-five. Others of the medical staff of the hospital, ten years his
senior, were of sprightlier manner than Doctor Herschall and seemed to
Belinda far younger. Then there were his personal peculiarities--the
boring glance of his black eyes, the almost feline touch of his
hand--which were obnoxious to the nurse.
Having been called into consultation as a specialist in her father's
case, Doctor Herschall had met Belinda in her own home. Therefore he
assumed a familiar manner toward her from the very beginning of her
hospital training that incensed her, yet it was too indefinite for her
to show open resentment.
Had she wished to do so, this was not a time to display her private
distaste for the Herr Doktor, as he was called throughout the hospital.
The rolling stretcher was at hand. Under the canvas sheet was a
still form; but a high, querulous voice--the unmistakable tones of
delirium--babbled like a running brook:
"What d'you think of her, Doc? And after all I'd done for the old girl!
Talk about ingratitude! Nursing her along all this way--clear from the
Hempstead grounds; and then, when I had to land her, doing it as though
I were putting her to sleep in a feather-bed--cranky old thing! I
hopped out to see what was wrong with the propeller, and what does she
do to me? Slapped me! That's what she did. _Slapped me_--and I never
did a thing to her----"
His shaking, querulous voice trailed off into indistinct mutterings.
The two nurses looked curiously at the face of the man on the stretcher
while the surgeon was opening the door and the wheeled conveyance was
rolled into the spotless operating room.
The nurses were not usually curious regarding the cases brought in by
the ambulances. There were so many each day that Belinda Melnotte, with
all her interest in the work, thought of them only in numbers. There is
little variety in city accident cases.
But the babbling of this young man, whose strained, flushed face
appeared at one end of the ambulance sheet, caught her attention.
It suggested something out of the ordinary; the victim might be an
extraordinary person.
"Oh, Belinda!" whispered Sue Blaine, suddenly seizing Belinda's arm. "I
know who he is. Sandy Sanderson!"
Belinda repeated the name questioningly. "You know him?" she asked.
"From his pictures in the papers. Don't you remember? The flying
man--Sandy Sanderson they call him. He won one of the flying events at
the Sheepshead Bay maneuvers only last month. Surely you remember?"
Belinda shook her head negatively; but her eyes remained fixed upon the
face of the victim of the accident. "He is feverish," she murmured,
following the stretcher into the operating room. This was indeed no
ordinary case. She half understood already the meaning of the young
man's muttered phrases. He might be seriously injured. An aviator!
"This way," said the surgeon gutturally, speaking to the men who lifted
the patient. The latter screamed weakly as he was moved; then he fell
silent and into a syncope.
"Much fever here. Hum!" muttered Doctor Herschall, straightening the
limbs of the young man on the high table. The attendants departed. The
nurse had been arranging the stand of instruments, and now wheeled it
to the doctor's hand. The cone, sponge, and can of ether were ready.
The surgeon continued to examine deftly the body before him.
"The left shoulder blade. Hum! Much laceration--scraped to the bone.
Hum! Fine physique. An athlete, this fellow, though he won't weigh a
hundred and twenty pounds. Hum! We must save this torn cuticle if we
can. If we _must_ graft--hum!--well, we must."
He had removed the ambulance surgeon's bandages. Those over the left
shoulder and the bandage about the victim's head seemed to indicate
all the injuries the young man had suffered. Yet Doctor Herschall was
thorough in his examination. His attention to detail in even the least
important case was characteristic of the man. He possessed the exact
German mind, as well as the Prussian bearing and look.
"Fever--fever," he repeated. "Much fever. And not entirely induced by
these wounds. He has only just now been brought in from Van Cortlandt
Park and, the interne tells me, could not have been long injured when
he was found beside his fallen machine."
Doctor Herschall had this habit of talking while at work--even after
adjusting his mask. At first, when Belinda chanced to assist him, he
had addressed his remarks directly to her. She never replied if she
could help it; therefore of late he merely carried on a monologue
of comment as though he were addressing a class in the operating
auditorium. His final words on this occasion startled the nurse into
speaking.
"A flying machine, Doctor? Did he fall?"
"He came down, at least," growled Doctor Herschall. "_Ach_, these
American airmen are mere amateurs! No training. Everything is haphazard
in this country. Anybody reckless and bold enough is allowed to ascend
in an aeroplane. Not like European methods--especially our own army
methods. In Germany a man must be trained for his work ere he is
allowed to pilot even a _taube_."
The deft-handed nurse made no further comment, feeling that she had
already been unwise in opening the way for his direct address. Doctor
Herschall went skilfully about his work; nor did the nurse fail in
the least of her duties. A murmured word--even a gesture--brought the
required instrument, or whatever was needed. She watched the doctor
closely, rather than looked at the raw wound he was at work upon.
She had never got over that first feeling of creeping horror that
clutched her when she beheld a gory wound. Yet she possessed such
splendid control that few suspected Belinda Melnotte even owned nerves.
She approached almost every operation with reluctance and aversion.
Abundant physical health and perfect mental poise enabled her to hide
her real feelings.
The shoulder was dressed. The cut upon the head just at the roots of
the hair, where the scar might easily be hidden, was superficial. The
head bandage being removed, the nurse gained a better view of the
airman's countenance.
There was a roach of reddish, sandy hair over the broad brow; but the
eyebrows and lashes were dark enough to lend to his features a certain
dignity. These features were sharp rather than noble of outline; yet
he possessed a good mouth and a firm chin. The twenty-four hours'
growth of beard gave unmistakable reason for his being dubbed "Sandy"
by his friends and admirers.
Belinda thought him a particularly interesting-looking young man. It
was seldom that she so quickly felt concern in the personality of a
patient.
"This fever, superinduced by the wounds, has a deeper foundation,
however," muttered Doctor Herschall. "Watch his temperature, Miss
Belinda. Speak to Doctor Potter--although I shall make a note of the
case myself."
The attendants were summoned and the Herr Doktor went away to wash
his hands and remove the spotted rubber apron. The superintendent of
nurses--by courtesy "matron"--bustled in as the still unconscious
patient was lifted to the stretcher.
"Let Miss Blaine clean up here and boil the instruments," said the
brisk little woman. "I want you to take this patient, Miss Melnotte.
Room A-a. He's just been telephoned in about. Why, he's quite a public
character!"
"I understand," Belinda said, "that he is a flying-man."
"Yes. Mr. Frank Sanderson. Quite famous, in a way. He fell with his
plane over Van Cortlandt Park in the night. There must be something
behind it--more than a mere practice flight, it would seem to me. They
do not usually go up at night, do they?"
"I really do not know, Mrs. Blythe."
"Well, he is to have the best of everything. And so young a man!"
sighed the matron, gazing down upon the face of the aviator. "Give him
your best attention, Miss Melnotte. I really feel safe when I put a
patient in your care. I wish you were not going to leave us so soon."
"I wish, too, that there might be an opening here," the girl said
wistfully.
"Do you, really? It is always the way," sighed the matron. "We graduate
so many more nurses than we can possibly use. But _you_ will have small
trouble in getting placed, my dear. So many are going into Red Cross
work just now."
"I had thought of that," murmured Belinda dreamily.
"Not you!" the matron cried. "You have too much sense, I hope, my dear.
Those who go to France for service on the battlefields take their lives
in their hands."
"But so we do if we go into some of those East Side tenements to nurse
contagious cases," the girl said quietly. "And the Red Cross nurses do
such a noble work--don't you think so?"
"Sentimentalism!" snapped Mrs. Blythe. "I hope all my girls have too
much sense."
Belinda shook her head, but made no rejoinder, although she could not
subscribe to the matron's tenets.
At the moment, too, her mind was given to thoughts of the young man out
of the air. She followed to the private room engaged for his comfort,
and helped the attendant put him to bed.