Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1940)

BY MAX BRAND hands the authority of an experienced physician! God forgive them both, but the Blair Hospital never! . . . You are well out of this, young Doctor Lane! It is very well for you that you performed your operation with the apparent authorization of Gillespie through his baby-faced assistant, otherwise we should. . . ." "I beg your pardon, Doctor Carew," said Lane. "I was my own single authority for that operation. Authorization, did you say? From Doctor Gillespie through Kildare? There was not a word from either of them!" Carew stopped again and passed a handkerchief across his forehead. "I hope I'm not going quite mad," he said. "Do you mean to say that when correction was about to fall on you — like a sword, in fact — another man dared to stand between you and — Doctor Lane, how in God's name does this make the slightest sense?" "Did Kildare tell you that he had authorized the operation in the name of Doctor Gillespie?" demanded Lane. "He did. In my office. In almost exactly those words." Lane shook his head slowly, bewildered. "I can't understand it," he said. "God knows it was not from any friendship. We're strangers, practically. . . ." "Let's get on to Kildare. In the old days," said Carew, as he hurried forward again, "all roads led to Rome, and when there is trouble in the Blair Hospital, apparently all roads lead to young Doctor Kildare — a state of affairs which presently may be remedied — very presently!" ^HEY came to Room 412. There v/ere twenty people curiously looking on at various distances in the corridor. "Shall I go in first, Doctor Carew?" asked Mary Lamont. "We'll have no forerunners," said Carew. "Let him take the full brunt, as he deserves to take it! You shall enter first, Doctor Lane!" That was the order of entrance, Lane first, with Carew behind him, and Mary Lamont closing the door hastily behind them to shut out as much of the expected scene as possible from the eyes and the ears of the people in the hall. But Kildare was not there. They had before them only Henry Thornton with an extra pillow cushioning his head. The dimness and the wandering was utterly gone from his eye. "Good morning," he said. "I hope you're bringing those jelly sandwiches that Doctor Kildare promised me? And the milk?" The rage of Doctor Carew, quite ready to be poured forth even in the presence of an insane patient, was checked at its source by this revelation. He went slowly toward the bed, holding out his hand a little, in an attitude humorously like that of a man approaching a flighty horse. "My dear Mr. Thornton," he said, "do you feel quite well?" "Extraordinarily well," said Thornton, too full of smiles to attempt to control them. "I seem to have been quite ill — or else I've been having very bad dreams." "Chiefly dreams, Mr. Thornton — chiefly dreams, my dear fellow," said Carew. He seemed to have forgotten everything else in a good doctor's delight in an unexpected cure. "Chiefly dreams," repeated Carew, "and rather a bad knock in the head." "Silly of me to be bowled over like that, wasn't it?" said Thornton, almost laughing. "But do you mind me bringing up the subject of those jelly sandwiches, if you please? I'm half starved." "You shall have a mountain of them," said Carew. "You shall have a whole mountain of them . . . And did Doctor Kildare leave you very long ago?" "Hardly five minutes, I believe," said Thornton, still with that cheerful smile. Here a special nurse came in with a whole tray of sandwiches and a bottle of milk with melted frost running down its sides. "Ah, here it comes!" said Thornton, reaching out a welcoming hand. "This is a very pleasant sight, nurse!" The special, seeing the change in him, almost dropped the tray. She threw a wild glance toward Carew, who said instantly: "We seem to be quite out of the woods, this morning. Quite out of the woods, indeed!" The head of the hospital withdrew from the room with Lane and Mary Lamont. He stood bewildered, but still smiling, in the corridor. "I saw him yesterday," said Carew, "and the poor fellow's condition wrung my heart! To see a change like this — it's a reward that makes a life of work "39— seem a small thing, doesn't it, Lane?" "It does, sir," said Gregory Lane. They smiled on one another. "It's an act of God!" said Carew. "Nothing else could have made the change in him so quickly. It's an act of God!" "Or of Doctor Kildare?" suggested Mary Lamont softly. "Ha? Kildare?" echoed Carew. "Extraordinary, damned, difficult young scoundrel . . . Nurse, what did he do to Thornton last night?" "I don't know," she said, brokenly. "But it seemed to be his own life that he was taking in his hands!" "I don't blame you," said Carew, patting her shoulder. "I don't blame tears. It's the rarest thing in the world when a man ventures his reputation, his career, his whole future, his whole honor, and in spite of the confounded rule-makers like "You've run Kildare out of this hospital, out of medicine, out of his chance to serve the world," Gillespie told Carew Walter Carew, dares to be right ... a damned touching thing!" He went off down the corridor in a happy dream, still shaking his head. "You're knocked to pieces; you've been through a pretty thick slice of hell, I think," said Gregory Lane. "Let me take you somewhere so that people won't stare at you, dear." "I'm all right," she said. But she was trembling as she added: "He's done it before, and he's only saved himself by being right . . . but someday he'll put his neck in the noose for other people, and it won't turn out this way. Some day it'll go wrong; and then all his work, and all his life, will be ruined! Don't you see, Gregory?" "It's Kildare you mean," said Lane, looking intently at her. "He's always committing himself to the lost causes," she said. "And someday the ship will sink under him, and take him down with it!" "I've got to find him," said Lane. "I'll go along," she agreed. CHAPTER XVII BUT Mary Lamont and Doctor Lane found no trace of Kildare in the hospital. Noon came and there was no Kildare in Gillespie's office. Stephen Kildare came in at that time to say he had been a trifle worried about his son when he last saw him that morning. "When did you see him?" asked Gillespie. "About eight-thirty this morning," said old Kildare. "Isn't he back at the hospital?" "There's no sign of him," said Gillespie. "What was he talking about when you saw him?" "He asked for fifty dollars." "For what?" "I don't know." "You mean, you didn't give it to him?" "Oh, yes. I happened to have that much, so of course I gave it to him." "Ha!" growled Gillespie. "You had the money so of course you gave it to him . . . And then what?" "He took a hot bath, a pony of brandy, a cup of coffee, and left at once." "Without saying a word of where he was going?" "No, doctor." At seven that night there still was no Kildare. Gillespie telephoned to Carew. "Will you come down to see me, or shall I come up to see you?" he asked. "Is it important?" "It's as important as the devil, to me." "I'll come down," said Carew. When he reached the office of Gillespie, the diagnostician was in a strange smiling humor but it was one that was familiar to Carew and he looked instantly askance at the great man. "I hear that Henry Thornton is much better, Walter," he said, genially. "Much, much better," said Carew. "Then Lane's to be congratulated for his fine work, eh?" "Not altogether Lane. Your man Kildare seems to have turned the trick last night." "Not the young interne! Not the stupid young fool you were going to run out of the hospital, Walter!" Carew said nothing. He seemed to see what was coming. "As a matter of fact," said Gillespie, "I'm really astonished to hear what you have to say. The truth is that I thought you'd lived up to your word — I thought that you had run Kildare out of the hospital!" "Nonsense, Leonard," said the head of the hospital. "You know perfectly well that I never would have taken final action without first warning you." "Then why isn't he here?" roared Gillespie. "Here? In this office?" "Yes, or in the entire hospital. There's no sign of him! What did you do with him, Carew?" "Nothing, Leonard. Not a thing. I did not dismiss him." "What did you last say to him?" "I don't remember the exact words." "Damn the exact words. What was the intent? Did you leave him feeling that he was on a good basis with you and the hospital?" "I'm afraid net. Leonard, I want you to consider the case of a mere interne who pretends to have used your name to authorize a dangerous operation; and who then without permission from the doctor in charge invades the room of a patient and seems on the verge of killing him with a treatment which is not even written down on the chart!" "Do you think that every man in the world is a fool or a criminal unless he stands your height, has your weight, and fits your shoes? Are we going to have nothing in the world but Prussian disciplinarians like Walter Carew? Are you going to deny to young physicians the chance to use the brain and imagination that God gave them, so that you can lead them around by apron strings? Is that what you want?" thundered Gillespie. "Every word you say is unfair," complained Carew. "You've frightened Kildare out of this hospital, out of medicine, out of his chance to serve the world," declared Gillespie. "Go back and sit down with the thought. It will be a warm comfort for you. And remember all the time that you've remained inside your rights. By God, Carew, I call what you've done, intellectual murder!" Carew did not stay to argue; he walked soundlessly from the office, a small and shrinking figure. AT fifteen minutes before noon, on this Friday, a telephone call was put through to Gregory Lane. The voice of Kildare came none too clearly to him. "Hai, Jimmy!" called Lane. "Where are you, fellow? There's been a regular manhunt and hell to pay, trying to find you. Where are you?" "Authorize them to connect me with Thornton," said Kildare. "The trouble is that Thornton is none too well," said Lane. "He was bright and fine for a number of hours after you treated him but then. . . ." "This is long distance and I haven't much money. I don't care what his condition is. Put me through to him!" They put Kildare through to Thornton. Lane, sweating with anxiety, hovered at the door of the room. Mary Lamont was inside it, listening. She held to the ear of Thornton the telephone receiver which his hands did not seem able to hold. Thin as a spider thread she heard the voice of Kildare coming over, saying: "Thornton, I'm here in Clerfayt and she's with me. Marian is with me and everything is all right." "Marian? Where is she?" cried Thornton. His hand suddenly grasped the receiver and he sat up in the bed. "She's here, in Clerfayt, but we're leaving right away. She's coming back to you. Thornton. We're coming back as fast as an airplane can take us. And she's going to stay with you forever. Do you ^ «.«.>*«. «.<*>«. >*.>»^.«.<«.w>*'