The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXI, Issue 41, 8 October 1903, Page 23

The Storyteller

AN HOSPITAL INCIDENT ' What shall we do, Sister ? The Father has come ; there is no boy to serve him, and Sister Rita is sick. Is there no one io take her place ? ' ' Let me think. Ah, there is Doctor Randall ! ' ' Here, Sister Agnes ; always near when you're about,' laughed a musically manly voice, and Doctor Randall stepped from an adjoining room and faced the two Sisters whose low words had reached his ears. ' That is right,' responded the aged Sister, whose sweet face showed little evidence of the many years spent in the service of the poor, the sick, and the ignorant. 4 You can always be depended on. You see, Father is preparing for Mass and the Sister who serves him is ill. So, in the abs-ence of a boy we are at a loss for a server. If you will be so kind, get ready, doctor, please, as there is little time to spare.' It was not the first call for the doctor's services in such emergencies as this, tie was the only Catholic physician on the staft as noted for his piety as for his remarkable cleverness and skill. Did a boy fail to make his appearance for Mass or Benediction, Doctor Randall, when not engaged in hospital work, was always ready to assume the duty of waiting upon the priest. lie loved to do so, he had frequently asserted, because it reminded him of his childhood days, when tar away in a home beyond the Rockies he had trudged weary miles to the little log mission, where, in the humblest of temples, he had assisted at the greatest of sacrifices. The young doctor was at leisure this morning, so, Mass over, he re-entered the pretty chapel and for a long time remained absorbed in silent prayer. It was a beautiful spot — this tiny hospital chapel— with its marble altars and its handsome paintings and decorations. The young doctor's favorite image was one of the Blessed Virgin, for it represented her whose share in his aftections were well known. In trials and difficulties the doctor sought consolation and assistance at Mary's feet. No day passed at did not find him kneeling before her image praying fervently, and lie was fond of attributing much of his success to her. ' Next to our Lord Himself the Blessed Mother is my best triend,' he was fond of saying, and the Sisters at least, knew well that he never took up an instrument to perform an operation with out first invoking her aid. To-day, if the doctor prayed even more earnestly than usual, it was because he was desirous of securing a certain favor. There was a vacancy in the hospital — that of resident physician — and the honor of .succeeding to the position was being eagerly sought after by several of the young assistants. The choice seemed to stand between Doctor Randall and a certain Doctor K canard, whose ability was undisputed, though he lacked the charm of manner and sympathetic tenderness which made the former popular with nurses and patients alike. Doctor Kcnnaid was the child of a rich man. Honors would not be so difficult for him to acqjuire as time went on With Randall it was different. The only son of a poor widow, his college education had been secured at the cost of great sacrifice on the mother's part and on that of a sister, whose savings from her salary as a teacher went far to defray ' brother Jack's ' expenses It meant much to him, this longed-for position. A term as resident physician in the renowned hospital of St. Ambrose would aftord him an entree into the medical circles of the West, where he intended eventually to locate. So, day after day he knelt at our Lady's feet, asking her to ' adopt him as her child,' and to secure for him the favor he so ardently desired. The doctor left the chapel to hnd a slight commotion in the corridor Sister Agnes was Hitting by him, but on seeing the young man, paused for a moment to whisper : 'An accident, Doctor. Come, right away. You will be needed.' Doctor Randall followed promptly, keenly alive to the requirements of the occasion, for he was a surgeon to his finger-tips. Sister Agnes led the way to the operating room, where, on a stretcher, a shabbily dressed man was lying. He was moaning in pain, having fallen down a cellarway, and from the manner in which he moved one leg, it was believed that it was broken. Doctor Randall made a thorough examination, found no injuries, save a few trilling bruises on the face and an abrasion of the skin on the right leg. lie dressed these wounds and remarked to the students standing near : ' Their aie no bones broken, gentlemen ; merely some slight scratches. The man is intoxicated. This is no place for him, and he is discharged.'

The man was removed from the hospital, and so far as Dr. Randall was concerned was forgotten. For only a short time, however. On the evening of the next day, as the young man entered the hospital, after an absence* of a few hours, he was met by Sister Agnes, who, with a deeply->troubled countenance, addressed him : ' Come to my office, Doctor,' she said, in her soft, low voice, which, he now remarked, trembled with emotion. ' 1 have something very important to tell you.' ' Wonder what's irp,' soliloquised the young man, as he followed her to the spot designated, and closed the door behind him. ' Doctor, something very strange has happened. Do you recall the man who was brought here yesterday, whom you discharged as having but little the matter ? Well, whilst you were out this afternoon he was brought to us again, in much the same condition, and Doctor Kennard being in charge, made the examination. To the surprise of everyone, he pronounced the man to be suffering from a broken leg, and expressed himself in no complimentary terms regarding the doctor who had discharged him yesterday. Of course, all knew that you were the man, and the students, after watching the setting of the limb, withdrew into little groups to discuss the afiair in whispers. I wished you to know this, Doctor, in order to prepare for any coolness that you may notice in the students' manners. I trust the matter may blow over, but it gives me no little uneasiness.' The young man sat as if stunned. His face had paled during Sister Agnes' recital* and it was some time before he found ms voice. He knew quite well what this meant to him— the slurs and innuendos of the college students, the loss of the coveted position as resident physician—in a word, a blight on his professional reputation, which would doubtless follow him through life. ' Sister,' he exclaimed huskily, ' I cannot understand it ! I could have taken an oath that nothing ailed the man save intoxication, with the exception of a few bruises, which you remember I attended to. It is very strange, and I thank you for preparing me ; but Sister,' he broke off suddenly, as she rose from her chair, * tell me that you at least believe in me, and that you will not forsake me.' It was never a difficult matter to touch Sister Agjies's heart. Now, with the boyish face looking down upon her with such a pleading glance, it fairly melted, and the tears rose into her mild blue eyes as she laid his hand kindly on his arm. ' Cheer up, my friend, all may yet be well. As for me, my confidence in you is unchanged. I am sure there is some sad mistake which may yet be remedied ; but Whether 'or not it be discovered, I am still your friend- Put all your faith in God, and do not be disheartened.' ' A look of deepest gratitude rewarded Sister Agnes's loyal speech, and the doctor proceeded to the accident ward, where, on a spotless cot, lay the man who figured in this curious incident. The leg had been neatly bandaged and placed in splints, and had there been any doubt as- to the man's identity, a survey of his rough, ill-kept beard and bloated face was ample proof that his patient of yesterday now lay before him. It took but a few days to realise the young physician's gravest fears. He perceived a loss of caste in the averted faces of his fellow-doctors, in the open sneers of the medical students, and in the supercilious manner of many of the nurses, with whom he had hitherto been a favorite. The Sisters alone remained unchanged, Sister Agnes, in particular, openly and energetically championing his cause. Meanwhile the meeting of the Board, which would render a decision as to the new resident physician, was rapidly approaching, and there seemed little conjecture now as to the man destined to occupy the physician. Everything seemed to point to Doctor Kennard, who went about his accustomed tasks with an easy self-assurance, betraying more plainly than words me comlidence he felt in his victory. Had Jack Randall still hoped to secure the coveted position, his expectations would have been cruelly dashed to the ground by a conversation accidentally overheard one morning as the doctor was making his daily rounds. Two nurses in a neighboring room were talking in no low tones. 1 Oh, don't tell me, Janet,' one said. ' There is not a grain of hope for Doctor Randall. At one time, yes, docidedly but that was before the unfortunate affair over that man m the accident ward. Pity the doctor couldn't see that he had a broken leg ; but then the students all say Doctor Randall passed the poor man because he was intoxicated. He hates liqjuor, you know. Well, he has ruined himself in this hospital, anyway, and perhaps for life, I fear.' ' Well, it's too bad,' rejoined another and gentler voice. ' I always liked Dr. Randall, and he is very popular with the Sisters.' ' Yes, but we all know the reason for that— Doctor Randall is a Catholic' 1 Oh, nonsense, that is- not the only reason, Nettie— Dr. Randall is a gentleman.'

Their voices were suddenly hushed by the sharp ringing of a bell which hurried these talkative nurses to distant portions of the building. The subject of their light remarks had been, unavoidably, a listener to this painful criticism, and it was with a sad face and a heavy heart that he turned his steps into the corridor. The chapel door stood open. Through it could be seen the image of the Virgin Mother, seeming to look out towards him with pitying eyes. He started to pass the chapel, but something seemed to draw him to its sweet mclosure. In a moment he had stepped within, and, closing the door, knelt at the altar rail. The young doctor's heart was very sore to-day. Before him rose the picture of his mother's face and that of his darling sister, who had , toiled .so patiently for him— he simply could not face her ! No wonder, then, that a fervent prayer went up to the Sacramental King — -no wonder that he lifted pleading hands to the Mother who had never yet forsaken him. He said the ' Memorare ' as he had never said it before, and when he had left the altar it was with a lighter step and an easier mind than he had known for dqys. ' Doctor,' called a well known voice from a room at hand ', and Sister Agnes made her appearance at the door. ' You are wanted right away. Professor Miles intends to address the students on fractures, and wishes to see you at once. Ah, there he comes now, so he can speak for himself.' Simultaneously the gray-haired professor stepped to the young man's side, and with a pleasant smile remarked : ' Doctor, let me have a subject, will you ? The class is already assembled in the lecture-room, and there is no time to lose. Is there a patient with a broken limb ? ' The doctor winced, but he answered simply, that the only one at present in the hospital was the man whom Doctor Kennard had treated. ' Very good, let us have him,' briskly ejaculated the old professor, who heard the story, but who liked Doctor Randall too much to give him intimation of the fact. ' Order him brought down at once.' Fully a hundred students were seated in the grand auditorium as the professor and Doctor Randall entered. Several physicians, members of the Board, were grouped on the lecture platform ; among them was Doctor Kennard, who chatted composedly with a fellow surgeon. In a moment there was wheeled into the room a table bearing on its snow-white surface the figure of the sufferer, whose recent accident had wrought such havoc to Doctor Randall's peace of mind. A careful observer at that moment might have seen a slight change in the features of Dr. Kennard as the sick man was brought into the room. A look of surprise, mingled with a certain anxiety, showed itself upon his face, but it changed again as did that of each man present as the name of Doctor Randall was uttered. Simultaneously a hiss, scarcely audible at first, but gaining strength as half a hundred voices took it up, went round the lecture hall— the expression of bitter indignation against him who had shirked his duty. Dr. Randall's cheeks paled. One hand clutched the chair near where he stood, but bravely enough he faced the accusing assembly, his clear, honest eyes never wincing. One imperative gesture from the gray-haired professor silenced the declaration of scorn before his voice, thrilling with righteous indignation, spoke : ' Gentlemen, ' he said, ' I am shocked at such an insult offered to a member of our staff. This unfortunate a,ccijdent might have happened while the victim of it was on his way to the station house, whence, I understand, he was taken on leaving here. I will now proceed with the lecture, if you please.' ' You will see, gentlemen,' remarked the professor, after speaking at some length, ' we have arrived at that point where, to better illustrate our lesson, it will be necessary to examine the subject's broken limb. Please draw closer, gentlemen.' The professor bent and examined the recumbent form as the bandages were slowly removed. At once his countenance changed. He stooped low, and for a moment there was an impressive silence as the lecturer carefully moved his fingers up and down over the iniured member. Then he stood erect, and his voice, thrilling with emotion, rang through the auditorium in tones they never forgot. 1 Gentlemen, there has been a great injustice done. The surgeon who examined this man the second time has either been guilty of the same blunder of which Doctor Randall stands accused or he has perpetrated a malicious imposture ! Examine this limb for yourselves and prove to your satisfaction what I now declare is the truth— this man's leg is not and never has been broken ! ' As the professor's voice ceased, a profound silence fell upon the astounded gathering. It was broken a moment later by the loud utterance of Doctor Randall's name, accompanied by a wild cheering that made the great room ring. They who had refused to join in the

recent expression of disapproval now crowded round the late object of scorn, shaking his hand and congratulating him warmly, while the others, thoroughly ashamed and hesitating to approach, hung back until Doctor Randall with rare magnanimity, heartily reached out his hand to receive the most friendly of pressures. . Only one man failed to share in the general reioicing, and he was Doctor Kennard. As Professor Miles suggested that the bandages be removed, he had hastily quitted the room, and when the students and surgeons thoroughly incensed against him, sought the man, he was nowhere to be found. The post of resident physician was immediately tendered Doctor Randall by the St. Ambrose Board of Directors, who felt they could scarcely recompense the young physician for his recent bitter trial. Professor Miles, however, supplemented the offer by another on his own account. ' I am going to Europe for some months, doctor 'he said to the young physician, ' and 1 must have a competent man to take charge of my sanatorium in my absence. I have always admired your qualities and feel every confidence in you. I desire you to take entire charge during my stay abroad, and on my return to become my assistant. Do you accept ? ' This oner, made in the presence of the entire hospital corps, was received with much applause by all assembled. The young doctor, now the lion of the hour did not make his decision until in the quiet chapel he had sought counsel of his Lord. At the conclusion of a few minutes spent in earnest prayer, his resolution was taken, and Sister Agnes was the first to learn it. ' I shall be sorry to see you go, dear friend,' she exclaimed, warmly clasping his outstretched hands, ' but I feel that a golden opportunity lies before you. It would be unwise to let it pass. Embrace It and labor diligently for advancement, but bear in mind that we are nothing' if we stand alone anu mat even for material things we must ask for heaven's aid.'—' The Church Progress.'