Miss Mink's Soldier and Other Stories

								

can be that waits momentarily for an interrupting sound.
Suddenly it came in a prolonged, imperative ring of the telephone bell.
So insistent was the call that the nurse's hand closed over the
transmitter long before the burr ceased. The office was notifying Ward B
that an emergency case had been brought in and an immediate operation
was necessary.
With prompt efficiency the well-ordered machinery for saving human life
was put in motion. Soft-footed nurses emerged from the shadows and
moved quickly about, making necessary arrangements. A trim, comely
woman, straight of feature and clear of eye, gave directions in low
decisive tones. When the telephone rang the second time she answered it.
"Yes, Office," she said, "this is Miss Fletcher. They are not going to
operate? Too late? I see. Very well. Send the patient up to No. 16.
Everything is ready."
Even as she spoke the complaining creak of the elevator could he heard,
and presently two orderlies appeared at the end of the corridor bearing
a stretcher.
Beside it, with head erect and jaw set, strode a strangely commanding
figure. Six feet two he loomed in the shadows, a gaunt, raw-boned old
mountaineer. On his head was a tall, wide-brimmed hat and in his right
hand he carried a bulky carpet sack. The left sleeve of his long-tailed
coat hung empty to the elbow. The massive head with its white flowing
beard and hawklike face, the beaked nose and fierce, deep-set eyes,
might have served as a model for Michael Angelo when he modeled his
immortal Moses.
As the orderlies passed through the door of No. 16 and lowered the
stretcher, the old man put down his carpet sack and grimly watched the
nurse uncover the patient. Under the worn homespun coverlet, stained
with the dull dyes of barks and berries, lay an emaciated figure, just
as it had been brought into the hospital. One long coarse garment
covered it, and the bare feet with their prominent ankle bones and the
large work-hardened hands might have belonged to either a boy or a girl.
"Take that thar head wrappin' off!" ordered the old man peremptorily.
A nurse carefully unwound the rough woolen scarf and as she did so a
mass of red hair fell across the pillow, hair that in spite of its
matted disorder showed flashes of gleaming gold.
"We'll get her on the bed," a night nurse said to an assistant. "Put
your arm under her knees. Don't jar the stretcher!"
Before the novice could obey another and a stronger arm was thrust
forward.
"Stand back thar, some of you-uns," commanded a loud voice, "I'll holp
move Sal myself."
In vain were protests from nurses and orderlies alike, the old
mountaineer seemed bent on making good use of his one arm and with quick
dexterity he helped to lift her on the bed.
"Now, whar's the doctor?" he demanded, standing with feet far apart and
head thrown back.
The doctor was at the desk in the corridor, speaking to Miss Fletcher in