Miss Mink's Soldier and Other Stories

								

agent to send them to the best hospital the train ran to. Neither of
them had ever seen a train before. It's a miracle she's lived this
long."
"Does he realize her condition?"
"I don't know. I suppose I ought to tell him that the end may come at
any time."
But telling him was not an easy matter as Miss Fletcher found when she
joined him later in the linen closet. He was busy spreading his varied
possessions along the shelves on top of the piles of immaculate linen,
stopping now and then to refresh himself with a bite of salt pork and
some corn pone that had been packed for days along with Sally's shoes
and sunbonnet and his own scanty wardrobe.
"I suppose you know," Miss Fletcher began gently, trying not to show her
chagrin at the state of the room, "that your daughter is in a very
serious condition."
He looked at her sharply. "Shucks! Sal'll pull through," he said with
mingled defiance and alarm. "You ain't saw her afore in one of them
spells. Besides, hit meks a difference when a gal's paw and grandpaw and
great-grandpaw was feud-followers. A feud-follower teks more killin'
then ordinary folks. Her maw was subjec' to cramp colic afore her."
"But this isn't cramp colic," Miss Fletcher urged, "it's her appendix,
and it wasn't taken in time."
"Well, ain't they goin' to draw it?" he asked irritably. "Ain't that
whut we're here fer?"
"Yes; but you don't understand. The doctor may decide not, to
operate."
The old man's face wore a puzzled look, then his lips hardened:
"Mebbe hit's the money thet's a-woriyin' him. You go toll him that Jeb
Hawkins pays ez he goes! I got pension money sewed in my coat frum the
hem clean up to the collar. I hain't askin' none of you to cure my gal
fer nothin'!"
Miss Fletcher laid her hand on his arm. It was a shapely hand as well as
a kindly one.
"It isn't a question of money," she said quietly, "it's a question of
life or death. There is only a slight chance that your daughter will
live through the day."
Someone tapped at the door and Miss Fletcher, after a whispered
consultation, turned again to the old man:
"They have decided to take the chance," she said hurriedly. "They are
carrying her up now. You stay here, and I will let you know as soon as
it is over."
"Whar they fetching her to?" he demanded savagely.
"To the operating-room."
"You take me thar!"
"But you can't go, Mr. Hawkins. No one but the surgeons and nurses can
be with her. Besides, the nurse who was just here said she had regained
consciousness, and it might excite her to see you."
She might as well have tried to stop a mountain torrent. He brushed past
her and was making his way to the elevator before she had ceased
speaking. At the open door of the operating-room on the fourth floor he
paused. On a long white table lay the patient, a white-clad doctor on
either side of her, and a nurse in the background sorting a handful of
gleaming instruments. With two strides the old man reached the girl's