DORIS
Contrast to the rules of the hospital, the head-surgeon was chatting
rather intimately with Pete's nurse. They were in the anteroom of the
surgical ward. She was getting ready to go on duty.
"No, Miss Gray," said the surgeon positively, "he can't hold out much
longer unless we operate. And I don't think he could stand an
operation. He has amazing vitality, he's young, and in wonderful
condition--outdoor life and pretty clean living. But he don't seem to
care whether he lives or not. Has he said anything to you about--"
The surgeon paused and cleared his throat.
"No. He just stares at me. Sometimes he smiles--and, Dr. Andover,
I've been here two years--and I'm used to it, but I simply can't help
feeling--that he ought to have a chance."
The surgeon studied her wistful face and for a moment forgot that he
was the head-surgeon of the General, and that she was a nurse. He
liked Doris Gray because of her personality and ability. Two years of
hard work at the General had not affected her quietly cheerful manner.
"You're wearing yourself out worrying about this case," said the
surgeon presently. "And that won't do at all."
She flushed and her seriousness vanished. "I'm willing to," she said
simply.
The doctor smiled and shook his finger at her. "Miss Gray, you know a
good nurse--"
"I know, Dr. Andover, but he hasn't a friend in the world. I asked him
yesterday if I should write to any one, or do anything for him. He
just smiled and shook his head. He doesn't seem to be afraid of
anything--nor interested in anything. He--oh, his eyes are just like
the eyes of a dog that is hurt and wants so much to tell you something,
and can't. I don't care what the newspapers say--and those men from
the police station! I don't believe he is really bad. Now please
don't smile and tell me I'm silly."
"I thought you just said he didn't have a friend in the world."
"Oh, I don't count--that way." Then hurriedly: "I forgot--he did ask
me to write to some one--the first day--a Jim Ewell, in Arizona. He
asked me to say he had 'delivered the goods.' I don't know that I
should have done it without reporting it, but--well, you said he
couldn't live--"
"Some outlaw pal of his, probably," said Andover, frowning. "But that
has nothing to do with his--er--condition right now."
"And sometimes he talks when he is half-conscious, and he often speaks
to some one he calls 'The Spider,'" asserted Doris.
"Queer affair. Well, I'll think about it. If we do operate, I'll want
you--"
The surgeon was interrupted by a nurse who told him there was a man who
wanted to see Peter Annersley: that the man was insistent. The
head-nurse was having supper, and should the caller be allowed in after
visiting hours?
"Send him in," said the surgeon, and he stepped into the
superintendent's office. Almost immediately The Spider sidled across
the hallway and entered the room. The surgeon saw a short, shriveled,
bow-legged man, inconspicuously dressed save for his black Stetson and
the riding-boots which showed below the bottom of his trousers. The
Spider's black beady eyes burned in his weather-beaten and scarred
face--"the eyes of a hunted man"--thought the surgeon. In a peculiar,
high-pitched voice, he asked Andover if he were the doctor in charge.
"I'm Andover, head-surgeon," said the other. "Won't you sit down?"
The other glanced round. Andover got up and closed the door. "You
wish to see young Annersley, I understand."
"You looking after him?"
Andover nodded.
"Is he hurt pretty bad?"
"Yes. I doubt if he will recover."
"Can I see him?"
"Well,"--and the surgeon hesitated,--"it's after hours. But I don't
suppose it will do any harm. You are a friend of his?"
"About the only one, I reckon."
"Well--I'll step in with you. He may be asleep. If he is--"
"I won't bother him."
The nurse met them, and put her finger to her lips. Andover nodded and
stepped aside as The Spider hobbled to the cot and gazed silently at
Pete's white face. Then The Spider turned abruptly and hobbled down
the aisle, followed by Andover. "Come in here," said the surgeon as
The Spider hesitated.
Andover told him briefly that there was one chance in a thousand of
Pete's recovery; that the shock had been terrific, describing just
where the bullet was lodged and its effect upon the sensory nerves.
Andover was somewhat surprised to find that this queer person knew
considerable about gun-shot wounds and was even more surprised when The
Spider drew a flat sheaf of bills from his pocket and asked what an
operation would cost. Andover told him.
The Spider immediately counted out the money and handed it to Andover.
"And get him in a room where he can be by himself. I'll pay for it."
"That's all right, but if he should not recover from the operation--"
"I'm gambling that he'll pull through," said The Spider. "And there's
my ante. It's up to you."
"I'll have a receipt made out--"
The Spider shook his bead. "His life'll be my receipt. And you're
writing it--don't make no mistake."
Andover's pale face flushed. "I'm not accustomed to having my
reputation as a surgeon questioned."
"See here," said The Spider, laying another packet of bills on the
surgeon's desk. "Where I come from money talks. And I reckon it ain't
got tongue-tied since I was in El Paso last. Here's a thousand. Pull
that boy through and forget where you got the money."
"I couldn't do more if you said ten thousand," asserted Andover.
"Gambling is my business," said The Spider. "I raise the ante. Do you
come in?"
"This is not a sporting proposition,"--Andover hesitated,--"but I'll
come in," he added slowly.
"You're wrong," said The Spider; "everything is a sporting proposition
from the day a man is born till he cashes in, and mebby after. I don't
know about that, and I didn't come here to talk. My money 'll talk for
me."
Andover, quite humanly, was thinking that a thousand dollars would help
considerably toward paying for the new car that he had had in mind for
some time. He used a car in his work and he worked for the General
Hospital. His desire to possess a new car was not altogether
professional, and he knew it. But he also knew that he was overworked
and underpaid.
"Who shall I say called?" asked Andover, picking up the packet of bills.
"Just tell him it was a friend."
Andover was quite as shrewd in his way as was this strange visitor, who
evidently did not wish to be known. "This entire matter is rather
irregular," he said,--"and the--er--bonus--is necessarily a
confidential matter!"
"Which suits me,"--and The Spider blinked queerly.
Dr. Andover stepped to the main doorway. As he bade The Spider
good-night, he told him to call up on the telephone about ten-thirty
the next morning, or to call personally if he preferred.
The Spider hesitated directly beneath the arc-light at the entrance.
"If I don't call up or show up--you needn't say anything about this
deal to him--but you can tell him he's got a friend on the job."
The doctor nodded and walked briskly back to the superintendent's
office, where he waited until the secretary appeared, when he turned
over the money that had been paid to him for the operation and a
private room, which The Spider had engaged for two weeks. He told the
secretary to make out a receipt in Peter Annersley's name. "A friend
is handling this for him," he explained.
Then he sent for the head-nurse. "I would like to have Miss Gray and
Miss Barlow help me," he told her, in speaking of the proposed
operation.
"Miss Gray is on duty to-night," said the head-nurse.
"Then if you will arrange to have her get a rest, please. And--oh,
yes, we'll probably need the oxygen. And you might tell Dr. Gleason
that this is a special case and I'd like to have him administer the
anaesthetic."
Andover strode briskly to the surgical ward and stopped at Pete's
couch. As he stooped and listened to Pete's breathing, the packet of
crisp bills slipped from his inside pocket, and dropped to the floor.
He was in the lobby, on his way to his car, when Doris came running
after him. "Dr. Andover," she called. "I think you dropped
this,"--and she gave him the packet of bills.
"Mighty careless of me," he said, feeling in his inside pocket.
"Handkerchief--slipped them in on top of it. Thank you."
Doris gazed at him curiously. His eyes wavered. "We're going to do
our best to pull him through," he said with forced sprightliness.
Doris smiled and nodded. But her expression changed as she again
entered the long, dim aisle between the double row of cots. Only that
evening, just before she had talked with Andover about Pete, she had
heard the surgeon tell the house-physician jokingly that all that stood
between him and absolute destitution was a very thin and exceedingly
popular check-book--and Andover had written his personal check for ten
dollars which he had cashed at the office. Doris wondered who the
strange man was that had come in with Andover, an hour ago, and how Dr.
Andover had so suddenly become possessed of a thousand dollars.