Amid the tense stillness, with the group of sympathetic spectators
motionless and attentive, the surgeon performed his duty with the
deftness and skill of long experience. Jack compressed his lips, when
his attendant said with cheerful gentleness:
“Brace yourself; it will be over in a minute.”
The adjustment of the fractured bones caused shooting pangs of pain, but
the patient did not flinch.
“Good for you!” said the doctor; “you are a hero; the worst is over.”
Then followed the application of splints and bandages and the little
niceties of a scientific operation. The doctor, making sure everything
was right, drew down the coverlet over the shapeless leg and sat back in
his chair, and then Mike Murphy spoke with the gravity of an owl:
“Docther, ye were just saying that one broken leg looks beautiful; then
two broken legs would look twice as purty; so why not bust t’other leg,
so Jack will have a pair of ’em?”
The astounding question broke the spell that had weighed down all. Dr.
Spellman laughed, Scout Master Hall chuckled, and every Boy Scout
grinned appreciatively, excepting of course the youth who had asked the
amazing question. His freckled countenance could not have looked graver
had the occasion been a funeral.
“I’m afeard me wisdom is throwed away, as Tim Flanagan said whin he
suggisted to his taycher that he tie tails to the boys the better to
yank ’em back whin they tried to jump out the windys.”
Even Jack Crandall’s white face lighted up at the whimsicalities of the
irrepressible wag. Dr. Spellman said:
“I think I shall appoint you nurse, Mike; you will do Jack more good
than I can by any further services.”
“It will give me plisure, docther,—more I reckon than it will Jack.”
The physician issued his final directions. Having set the leg, all
subsequent work must be done by nature, which was sure to do it well.
The bones would speedily knit and though the patient would have to
suffer more or less pain during the process, the progress would be
steady. All the lad had to do was “suffer and be strong,” which as has
been said is only a poetical variation of the homely injunction “grin
and bear it.”
“How long shall I have to lie here?” asked Jack.
“If all goes well—and there is no reason why it should not—you will be
promenading along Gosling Lake on crutches in three weeks. After that
your recovery will be rapid.”
“You would not advise our sending him home?” asked Scout Master Hall,
who could have answered the question himself.
“Nothing could be more ill-advised. It would torture him, even if he
were carried on a litter over the rough road to the highway and thence
to Boothbay Harbor, with the long railway or steamboat journey home.
There is no better place in the world for him than right here in this
pure air, surrounded by friends ready to do all they can for his comfort
and to administer to his every want. I shall drop in to-morrow and keep
track of my Jack.”
The doctor shook hands with the lad, who thanked him for his kindness.
Then husband and wife passed to the couch where their little one was
sleeping. She lay on one dimpled arm, her gentle breath issuing from the
rosy lips without the slightest sound. Each parent leaned over and
touched his and her lips to the pink cheek. Ruth opened her eyes,
recognized them and, childlike, threw her arms around the neck of her
mother and asked to be taken home.
“I don’t see how I consented to part with you for one night,” replied
the parent; “you shall go with us.” So her clothing was donned, and,
lifting the little one in his arms, the father bade his friends good
night and carried her down to the waiting canoe.
The Boy Scouts gave a fine exhibition of the spirit which dominates that
admirable organization. There was not one of them who was not eager to
do everything in his power for the comfort of the member who had
suffered his mishap. Scout Master Hall arranged that two of them should
be on watch all the time, he insisting upon taking his turn, and that he
should be called, if asleep, should there seem to be a necessity for it.
They were to watch during periods of two hours each, thus making sure of
their wakefulness. This was to be the rule night and day. The little,
round alarm clock that the Scout Master had brought with him sat on the
mantel over the fireplace, where the hands and figures showed in the
yellow illumination of lamp and hearth fire.
Mike and Alvin assumed guard from nine to eleven, when they were to be
succeeded by Chester and Gerald for the same period, and so on. In the
bigness of his heart, Mike proposed that when the hour hand had crept
close to the characters “XI,” they should stop the clock and continue on
duty till daylight. While Alvin was quite willing, he decided it was
better to obey in spirit and letter the instructions of their leader.
On the morrow, Jack’s face was flushed and he showed signs of a fever,
but the doctor, when he arrived early in the day, assured his friends
that that was to be expected and was not alarming. The leg was examined
and pronounced in the best condition possible. The skilled cooks, of
whom there were several in the troop, prepared the dishes prescribed by
the doctor and filled the room with hope and cheerfulness.
“The conditions could not be more favorable,” said the medical man; “the
weather is perfect, the air full of ozone, the water as pure as that at
Poland Springs or even Squirrel Island, which goes Poland one degree
better, and the companionship of the boys helps to make the situation
ideal for a convalescing patient. Do you think of sending for his
friends?”
“Far from it; Jack has a sister and widowed mother; he would not alarm
them for the world; they will never know what has befallen him until he
returns home.”
It may as well be said that this took place. Jack wrote to his loved
ones every day and never were his letters more cheerful. He told them of
the fragrant leafy woods, the song birds, the crystalline lake, the
invigorating air, his keen appetite and nutritious food, and above all
the genial companionship of the Boy Scouts.
“It strikes me, mother,” he wrote, “that for twenty youngsters to be
thrown together as intimately as we have been, without a hasty word
being spoken by a single one, and with all trying for a chance to do a
good turn,—it strikes me, I say, that that’s pretty good:—what do
_you_ think?”
Mother agreed with her son.
All physicians will tell you that the best medicine for the sick room is
cheerfulness. Moral sunshine has far more to do with ultimate recovery
than all the medicaments that were ever compounded. Jack Crandall was
never without optimistic companions. When he opened his eyes in the
middle of the night, two of them sat almost within arm’s reach, ready to
anticipate his slightest wish. Earlier in the evening, before the hour
for retiring, the room was full of happy youngsters, who under the
vigilant eye of Scout Master Hall never overdid things. All were in
overflowing spirits, and Jack could not help imbibing the benign tonic.
As may be supposed, the particular star at these times was Mike Murphy.
Never did he so abound with waggishness, humor and wit. When called
upon, he sang songs always of a bright or humorous turn. He did not
utilize hymns except on Sunday afternoons or evenings, and then he made
sure they were not lugubrious but overflowing with Christian hope.
Not even Alvin and Chester, who thought they knew him well, suspected
the limitless extent of their chum’s imagination. Some of the yarns he
spun fairly took away his listener’s breath, while his whimsies in their
way were irresistible. The solemn gravity with which his most humorous
fancies were uttered added to their effect. Thus one evening as the
Scouts were gathered in the room where Jack Crandall lay, he said:
“Since the docther robbed us of our Sunbeam, I’ve made it me dooty to
drop in at his home nearly ivery day to make sure her father and mither
are treating her right.”
“Did you find they are doing so?” gravely asked Scout Master Hall.
“I ’spose they’re doing as well as could be ixpicted. I tried to impriss
upon them that it was their dooty niver to refuse Sunbeam anything,—no
matter what she asked. I’ve been trying to do the same wid dad and me
mither as to mesilf, but haven’t been able to bring them to my way of
thinking. I paddled over this morning and had a talk wid the docther
about Jack’s game leg.”
“And what did he say?” inquired the subject of the query.
Mike sighed as if loath to reply.
“I asked him whither it didn’t sometimes happen whin a felly had his leg
broke and it was mended that it was longer or shorter than t’other, to
which he replied, yis. I then said if the same was found to be the case
wid Jack, he oughter saw off the longer leg so as to make itself aven
with t’other and Jack wouldn’t hev to limp.”
“How did the idea strike him?” asked the grinning boy on his couch.
“He was much imprissed, as Larry Coogan said whin a keg of nails dropped
from the roof onto his head. I offered to taich Jack the words of a song
I heerd some time ago, which, he is to sing while the wrong leg is being
made right.”
“What is that?”
“‘Just Tell ’Em that you Saw Me.’”
All laughed except the perpetrator of the jest who added:
“Anither thing is that the crutches which ye use, Jack, is to hev a
contrivance fixed to the same so that ye can climb trees to peep into
birds’ nists, without using yer legs at all.”
“I never heard of such a thing,” remarked Jack.
“Of course not; it’s an idea of me own.”
This time will serve as well as any for a statement which it gives me
pleasure to make. It was told me in confidence by Dr. Spellman, with the
understanding that in no circumstances was I to repeat it. You will
accept it as confidential and make sure that it goes no farther.
The credit of the incident belongs to Alvin Landon. A few days after the
accident to Jack Crandall, Alvin told Scout Master Hall that he thought
it would be a good thing for the other Boy Scouts to unite and buy a
pair of crutches and present them to Jack, as soon as the doctor gave
him permission to use them.
“Capital!” exclaimed the Scout Master; “I am glad it occurred to you;
take charge of the matter, Alvin, and let me lead off with my
contribution.”
“I shall arrange to have Dr. Spellman buy the crutches, he knows the
size needed, what the quality should be and where to get them. With your
permission, I’ll attend to the matter.”
The next day Alvin told the leader that the doctor was much pleased and
would send to Boston at once for the aids, so they should be ready when
needed. One dollar apiece from the Boy Scouts was all that was required
and it was best that the contribution should be the same in each case.
This amount was cheerfully provided, each lad insisting that he should
be allowed to give more if the amount ran short. Alvin promised his
friends to call upon them if necessary.
Now the secret which Dr. Spelhnan told me is this: The dollar apiece did
not pay one-half the cost of the implements, for they were made of
maple—the best material—and were silver mounted, with a suitable
inscription engraved in the metal. The extra cost was paid by Alvin, who
perhaps after all did not deserve special praise, inasmuch as he was the
son of a millionaire who was as pleased as he to do such charitable
acts, especially where a Boy Scout was concerned. All the same, as you
learned long ago, Alvin was one of the kindest hearted of youths.
On Thursday, the 22d of August, Jack Crandall, happy and grateful,
walked across the floor and out of doors on his new crutches.
Here it is well that I lay down my pen, or rather stop the clicking of
my typewriter. Sunshine bathed wood and lake and enfolded the clubhouse
which the Boy Scouts made their headquarters during those memorable
summer days in Southern Maine.
None dreamed of the cloud that was already gathering over that joyous
camp, and which was to bring an experience to all that they will
remember as long as they live. That experience and its strange series of
adventures will be fully told in “_The Boy Patrol Around the Council
Fire_,” the concluding volume of the “Boy Patrol Series.”
End of Project Gutenberg's The Boy Patrol on Guard, by Edward S. Ellis