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Page 15
When the President called the meeting to order every trustee was
present, as well as the heads of the four wards, the Superintendent,
and the two surgeons. The Senior Surgeon sat next to the President;
the House Surgeon sat where he could watch equally well the profiles of
the Youngest and Prettiest Trustee and Margaret MacLean. His heart had
always been inclined to intermit; or--as he put it to himself--he
adored them both in quite opposite ways; and which way was the better
and more endurable he had never been able to decide.
"In view of the fact," said the President, rising, "that the Senior
Surgeon can be with us but a short time this afternoon, and that he has
a grave and vital issue to present to you, we will postpone the regular
reports until the end of the meeting and take up at once the business
in hand." He paused a moment, feeling the dramatic value of his next
remark. "For some time the Senior Surgeon has seriously questioned
the--hmm--advisability of continuing the incurable ward. He wishes
very much to bring the matter before you, and he is prepared to give
you his reasons for so doing. Afterward, I think it would be wise for
us to discuss the matter very informally." He bowed to the Senior
Surgeon and sat down.
The Meanest Trustee snapped his teeth together in an expression of grim
satisfaction. "That ward is costing a lot of unnecessary expense, I
think," he barked out, sharply, "and it's being run with altogether too
free a hand." And he looked meaningly toward Margaret MacLean.
No one paid any particular attention to his remark; they were too
deeply engrossed in the Senior Surgeon. And the House Surgeon,
watching, saw the profile of the Youngest and Prettiest Trustee become
even prettier as it blushed and turned in witching eagerness toward the
man who was rising to address the meeting. The other profile had
turned rigid and white as a piece of marble.
Now the Senior Surgeon could do a critical major operation in twenty
minutes; and he could operate on critical issues quite as rapidly.
Speed was his creed; therefore he characteristically attacked the
subject in hand without any prefatory remarks.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the board, the incurable ward is doing
nothing. I can see no possible reason or opportunity for further
observation or experimentation there. Every case in it at the present
time, as well as every Case that is likely to come to us, is as a
sealed document as far as science is concerned. They are
incurable--they will remain incurable for all time."
"How do you know?" The question came from the set lips of the nurse in
charge of Ward C.
"How do we know anything in science? We prove it by undeniable,
irrevocable facts."
"Even then you are not sure of it. I was proved incurable--but I got
well."
"That proves absolutely nothing!" And the Senior Surgeon growled as he
always did when things went against his liking. "You were a case in a
thousand--in a lifetime. Because it happened once--here in this
hospital--is no reason for believing that it will ever happen again."
"Oh yes, it is!" persisted Margaret MacLean. "There is just as much
reason for believing as for not believing. Every one of those
children, in the ward now might--yes, they might--be a case in a
thousand; and no one has any right to take that thousandth of a chance
away from them."
"You are talking nonsense--stupid, irrational nonsense." And the
Senior Surgeon glared at her.
The truth was that he had never forgiven her for getting well. To have
had a slip of a girl juggle with the most reliable of scientific data,
as well as with his own undeniable skill as a diagnostician, and grow
up normally, healthfully perfect, was insufferable. He had never quite
forgiven the Old Senior Surgeon for his share in it. And to have her
stand against him and his great desire, now, and actually throw this
thing in his face, was more than he could endure. He did not know that
Margaret MacLean was fighting for what she loved most on earth, the one
thing that seemed to belong to her, the thing that had been given into
her keeping by the right of a memory bequeathed to her by the man he
could not save. Truth to tell, Margaret MacLean had never quite
forgiven the Senior Surgeon for this, blameless as she knew him to be.
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