The next day we procured a specialist from Los Angeles to come out and
examine Helen. He was an elderly man with white hair and whiskers,
together with what I thought were objectionably brusque manners. I was
partly reassured by the speed and skill with which he worked--"the old
devil is efficient for all his rudeness," I thought. I had a documentary
history of the case, prepared by our doctor in London. This I gave him.
He stuffed it into his pocket without so much as glancing at it. He
spoke sharply once or twice to Miss Brock because that young woman did
not move quickly enough to suit him. To Helen he said almost nothing
beyond asking a half dozen brief questions. When he had finished--he was
about an hour at it, all told--he turned to me and said: "Come to my
office tomorrow, Mister--let's see, what is your name? ah, yes,
Jevons"--(consulting his note-book). "I'll give you my opinion of your
wife's case then. Here's the card of a local doctor--a good man. Use
him. I'll come out again, if you wish or your doctor sends for me. Good
morning." He was off without waiting for further reply.
"Ted, he's a beast," Helen exclaimed. "Don't let him near me."
I tried to explain that a great scientist and expert perhaps lost, in
time, some of his human touch. His reputation we knew to be supreme in
his field; it was best to take him as we found him.
"I shan't worry about his manners, sweetheart, while he is curing you,"
I concluded.
I went in to Los Angeles the next morning to call at the doctor's
office. The waiting room was full of all sorts and conditions of men and
women, seated on chairs around the four walls. I stood, for there were
no more empty chairs. A young lady, the doctor's secretary, took my card
and laid it on her desk.
"The doctor is engaged just now," she said. More arrived, but none was
shown into the doctor's office. I stood, my heart beating wildly, almost
frenzied by the delay. The door opened, and the old physician looked
into his waiting room. He beckoned to a lady in a far corner. She arose
and went toward him. In my anxiety, I forgot all etiquette.
"Doctor!" I pleaded. "One moment."
"What is it?" he turned, vexed. "Can't you wait your turn?"
"Just a word and then I'll wait all day, if necessary."
"Well?"
"My wife--you examined her yesterday--can you tell me--?" I stumbled
over my words.
"Let's see--what name?"
"Mrs. Jevons," I answered.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Jevons--that case." He spoke in a loud tone of voice. All
the waiting room was listening.
"There's absolutely no hope, Mr. Jevons. I don't think she will live
three months. Good morning."
"No--no--hope! Doctor!" I knew my voice was breaking, and I could feel
the eyes of all those sitting there upon me.
"You came too late," he said. "What's the use of coming out here with a
case in its last stages? There's no hope."
He went into his room, followed by the woman patient, and banged the
door. I stood stunned, dazed, so weak I did not trust myself to take a
step; and still the eyes from all around the room stared at me. "You God
damned brute!" I muttered under my breath, "God damn your dirty soul!"
and staggered toward the doctor's closed door. Then I paused. "After
all," I thought, "why should we matter to him?" A great rage against the
others sitting there seized me. Had they no decency to stare at me like
that? I stiffened. "I won't give them any more show for their money, the
loathsome hounds," and I went to the secretary's desk to pay the fee. I
was surprised to note that I counted out the bills with a steady hand.
She handed me a receipt.
"I am sorry, Mr. Jevons," she said, so the others could not hear.