One Monday evening the doctor and his wife sat chatting cosily before
the fire. In the midst of their conversation, Mary looked up suddenly.
"I had a queer little experience this morning, John, I want to tell you
about it."
"Tell ahead," said John, propping his slippered feet up on the fender.
"Well, I got my pen and paper ready to write a letter to Mrs. E. I
wanted to write it yesterday afternoon and tell her some little
household incidents just while they were taking place, as she is fond of
the doings and sayings of boys and they are more realistic if reported
in the present tense. But I couldn't get at it yesterday afternoon. When
I started to write it this morning it occurred to me to date the letter
Sunday afternoon and write it just as I would have done yesterday--so I
did. When I had got it half done or more I heard the door-bell and going
to open it I saw through the large glass--"
Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling.
The doctor went to the 'phone.
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Where do you live?"
"I'll be right down."
He went back, hastily removed his slippers and began putting on his
shoes. Mary saw that he had clean forgotten her story. Very well. It
wouldn't take more than a minute to finish it--there would be plenty of
time while he was getting into his shoes--but if he was not enough
interested to refer to it again she certainly would not. In a few
minutes the doctor was gone and Mary went to bed. An hour or two later
his voice broke in upon her slumber. "Back again," he said as he settled
down upon his pillow. In a minute he exclaimed, "Say, Mary, what was the
rest of that story?"
"O, don't get me roused up. I'm _so_ sleepy," she said drowsily.
"Well, I'd like to hear it." The interest in her little story which had
not been exhibited at the proper time was being exhibited now with a
vengeance. She sighed and said, "I can't think of it now--tell you in
the morning. Good night," and turned away.
When morning came and they were both awake, the doctor again referred to
the unfinished story.
"It's lost interest for me. It wasn't a story to start with, just a
little incident that seemed odd--"
"Well, let's have it."
"Well, then," said Mary, "I was writing away when the door-bell rang. I
went to open it and saw through the glass the laundry man--"
Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling.
"Go on!" exclaimed her husband, hurriedly, "I'll wait till you finish."
"I'll not _race_ through a story in any such John Gilpin style," said
Mary, tartly. "Go, John!"
The doctor arose and went.
"No."
"I think not."
"Has she any fever?"
"All right, I'll be down in a little bit."
Then he went back. "Now you can finish," he said.
"Finis is written _here_," said Mary. "Don't say story to me again!" So
Mary's story remained unfinished.
But a few days later, when she was in the buggy with her husband she
relented. "Now that the 'phone can't cut me short, John, I will finish
about the odd incident just because you wanted to know. But it will fall
pretty flat now, as all things do with too many preliminary flourishes."
"Go on," said the doctor.
"Well, you know I told you I dated my letter back to Sunday afternoon,
and was writing away when I heard the door-bell ring. As I started
toward the door I saw the laundry man standing there. I was conscious of
looking at him in astonishment and in a dazed sort of way as I walked
across the large room to open the door. I am sure he must have noticed
the expression on my face. When I opened the door he asked as he always
does, 'Any laundry?'"
"'Any laundry _today_?' The words were on my tongue's end but I stopped
them in time. You see it was really Sunday to me, so deep into the
spirit of it had I got, and it was with a little shock that I came back
to Monday again in time to answer the man in a rational way. And now my
story's done."
"Not a bad one, either," said John, "I'm glad you condescended to finish
it."
* * * * *
The doctor came home at ten o'clock and went straight to bed and to
sleep. At eleven he was called.
"What is it?" he asked gruffly.
"It's time for Silas to take his medicine and he won't do it."
"Won't, eh?"
"No, he vows he won't."
"Well, let him alone for a while and then try again."
About one came another ring.
"We've both been asleep, Doctor, but I've been up fifteen minutes trying
to get him to take his medicine and he won't do it. He says it's too
damned nasty and that he don't need it anyhow."
"Tell him I say he's a mighty good farmer, but a devilish poor doctor."
"I don't know what to do. I can't make him take it."
"You'll have to let him alone for awhile I guess, maybe he'll change his
mind after awhile."
At three o'clock the doctor was again at the telephone.
"Doctor, he just will _not_ take it," the voice was now quite
distressed. "I can't manage him at all."
"You _ought_ to manage him. What's a wife for? Well, go to bed and don't
bother him or me any more tonight."
But early next morning Silas' wife telephoned again.
"I thought I ought to tell you that he hasn't taken it yet."
"He'll get well anyway. Don't be a bit uneasy about _him_," said the
doctor, laughing, as he rung off.
* * * * *
"It's time to go, John."
Mary was drawing on her gloves. She looked at her moveless husband as he
sat before the crackling blaze in the big fireplace.
"This is better than church," he made reply.
"But you promised you would go tonight. Come on."
"It isn't time yet, is it?"
"The last bell will ring before we get there."
"Well, let's wait till all that singing's over. That just about breaks
my back."
Mary sat down resignedly. If they missed the singing perhaps John would
not look at his watch and sigh so loud during the sermon. And it might
not be a bad idea to miss the singing for another reason. The last time
John had gone to church he had astonished her by sliding up beside her,
taking hold of the hymn-book and singing! It happened to be his old
favorite, "Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood."
Of course it was lovely that he should want to sing it with her--but the
_way_ he sang it! He was in the wrong key and he came out two or three
syllables behind on most of the lines, but undismayed by the sudden
curtailment went boldly ahead on the next. And Mary had been much
relieved when the hymn was ended and the book was closed. So now she
waited very patiently for her husband to make some move toward starting.
By and by he got up and they went out. No sooner was the door closed
behind them than the "ting-a-ling-ling-ling" was heard. The doctor threw
open the door and went back. Mary, waiting at the threshold, heard one
side of the dialogue.
"Yes."
"Down where?"
"Shake up your 'phone. I can't hear you."
"That's better. Now what is it?"
"Swallowed benzine, did she? How much?... That won't kill her. Give her
some warm water to drink. And give her a spoonful of mustard--anything
to produce vomiting...... She has? That's all right. Tell her to put her
finger down her throat and vomit some more..... No, I think it won't be
necessary for me to come down..... You would? Well, let me hear again in
the next hour or two, and if you still want me I'll come. Good-bye."
They walked down the street and as they drew near the office they saw
the figure of the office boy in the doorway silhouetted against the
light within. He was looking anxiously in their direction. Suddenly he
disappeared and the faint sound of a bell came to their ears. They
quickened their pace and as they came up the boy came hurriedly to the
door again.
"Is that you, Doctor?" he asked, peering out.
"Yes."
"I told a lady at the 'phone to wait a minute, she's 'phoned twice."
Mary waited at the door while her husband went into the office and over
to the 'phone.
"Yes. What is it?.... No. No. _No!_.... Listen to me..... Be _still_ and
listen to _me_! She's in no more danger of dying than _you_ are. She
couldn't die if she tried..... Be still, I say, and listen to me!" He
stamped his foot mightily. Mary laughed softly to herself. "Now don't
hang over her and _sympathize_ with her; that's exactly what she don't
need. And don't let the neighbors hang around her either. Shut the whole
tea-party out..... Well, tell 'em _I_ said so..... I don't care a damn
_what_ they think. Your duty and mine is to do the very best we can for
that girl. Now remember..... Yes, I'll be down on the nine o'clock train
tomorrow morning. Good-bye." He joined his wife at the door. "If anybody
wants me, come to the church," he said, turning to the boy.
Mary laid her hand within her husband's arm and they started on. They
met a man who stopped and asked the doctor how soon he would be at the
office, as he was on his way there to get some medicine.
"I'd better go back," said the doctor and back they went. It seemed to
Mary that her husband might move with more celerity in fixing up the
medicine. He was deliberation itself as he cut and arranged the little
squares of paper. Still more deliberately he heaped the little mounds of
white powder upon them. She looked on anxiously. At last he was ready to
fold them up! No, he reached for another bottle. He took out the cork,
but his spatula was not in sight. Nowise disturbed, he shifted bottles
and little boxes about on the table.
"Can't you use your knife, Doctor?" asked Mary.
"O, I'll find it--it's around here somewhere." In a minute or two the
missing spatula was discovered under a paper, and then the doctor
slowly, _so_ slowly, dished out little additions to the little mounds.
Then he laid the spatula up, put the cork carefully back in the bottle,
turned in his chair and put two questions to the waiting man, turned
back and folded the mounds in the squares with the most painstaking
care. In spite of herself Mary fidgeted and when the powders with
instructions were delivered and the man had gone, she rose hastily.
"_Do_ come now before somebody else wants something."
The singing was over and the sermon just beginning when they reached the
church. It progressed satisfactorily to the end. The doctor usually made
an important unit in producing that "brisk and lively air which a sermon
inspires when it is quite finished." But tonight, a few minutes before
the finale came, Mary saw the usher advancing down the aisle. He stopped
at their seat and bending down whispered something to the doctor, who
turned and whispered something to his wife.
"No, I'll stay and walk home with the Rands. I see they're here," she
whispered back.
The doctor rose and went out. "Who's at the office?" he asked, as he
walked away with the boy.
"She's not there yet, she telephoned. I told her you was at church."
"Did she say she couldn't wait?"
"She said she had been at church too, but a bug flew in her ear and she
had to leave, and she guessed you'd have to leave too, because she
couldn't stand it. She said it felt _awful_."
"Where is she?"
"She was at a house by the Methodist church, she said, when she 'phoned
to see if you was at the office. When I told her I'd get you from the
other church, she said she'd be at the office by the time you got
there."
And she was, sitting uneasily in a big chair.
"Doctor, I've had a flea in my ear sometimes, but this is a different
proposition. Ugh! Please get this creature out _now_. It feels as big as
a bat. Ugh! It's crawling further in, hurry!"
"Maybe we'd better wait a minute and see if it won't be like some other
things, in at one ear and out at the other."
"O, hurry, it'll get so far in you can't reach it."
"Turn more to the light," commanded the doctor, and in a few seconds he
held up the offending insect.
"O, you only got a little of it!"
"I got it all."
"Well, it certainly felt a million times bigger than that," and she
departed radiantly happy.