In a moment the room was cleared of all save the four
and Crozier, who knew that upon the coming operation
depended his life. He had been conscious when
the Young Doctor said this was so, and he was thinking,
as he lay there watching these two women out of his
nearly closed eyes, that he would like to be back
in Ireland at Castlegarry with the girl he had married
and had left without a good-bye near five years gone.
If he had to die he would like to die at home; and
that could not be.
Kitty had the courage to turn towards him now.
As she caught sight of his face for the first time—she
had so far kept her head turned away—she
became very pale. Then, suddenly, she gathered
herself together. Going over to the bed, she
took the limp hand lying on the coverlet.
“Courage, soldier,” she said in the colloquialism
her father often used, and she smiled at Crozier a
great-hearted, helpful smile.
“You are a brick of bricks, Kitty Tynan,”
he whispered, and smiled.
“Here comes the Young Doctor,” said Mrs.
Tynan as the door opened unceremoniously.
“Well, I have to make an excursion,” Crozier
said, “and I mayn’t come back. If
I don’t, au revoir, Kitty.”
“You are coming back all right,” she answered
firmly. “It’ll take more than a horse-thief’s
bullet to kill you. You’ve got to come back.
You’re as tough as nails. And I’ll
hold your hand all through it—yes, I will!”
she added to the Young Doctor, who had patted her shoulder
and told her to go to another room.
“I’m going to help you, doctor-man, if
you please,” she said, as he turned to the box
of instruments which his assistant held.
“There’s another—one of my
colleagues—coming I hope,” the Young
Doctor replied.
“That’s all right, but I am staying to
see Mr. Crozier through. I said I’d hold
his hand, and I’m going to do it,” she
added firmly.
“Very well; put on a big apron, and see that
you go through with us if you start. No nonsense.”
“There’ll be no nonsense from me,”
she answered quietly.
“I want the bed in the middle of the room,”
the Young Doctor said, and the others gently moved
it.
A STORY TO BE TOLD
A great surgeon said a few years ago that he was never
nervous when performing an operation, though there
was sometimes a moment when every resource of character,
skill, and brain came into play. That was when,
having diagnosed correctly and operated, a new and
unexpected seat of trouble and peril was exposed,
and instant action had to be taken. The great
man naturally rose to the situation and dealt with
it coolly; but he paid the price afterwards in his
sleep when, night after night, he performed the operation
over and over again with the same strain on his subconscious
self.
