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UNHOLY BOND
CHPATER I
The young man in the stern of
the canoe let his paddle drift
aimlessly. “A penny for your
thoughts, Janet,” he said.
“They’re not worth that much,
Cliff.”
“I’ll settle for a tax token,
then.”
“I was thinking of the way
Dr. Eynon handled a child in the
clinic this morning.
“Well, I like that! You have
a date with me and mentally
you’re off with old Four-Eyes.”
“For Heaven’s sake, don't call
him that awful name!”
He grinned teasingly. “All the
interns call him that. You’ll have
to admit that he does look rath
er owlish with those specs of his.”
“Maybe—”
Her voice was noncommittal.
She stared off across the placid
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artificial lake while Dr. Clifford
i Bronson studied the soft curve
; of her cheek and the highlights
• of h«r taffy-colored hair, caught
and intensified by the late after
noon sun. Mannishly, his eyes
dropped to her pale blue sweater
and the slim legs emerging from
flannel shorts. Janet had a trim
figure, he thought; it was an ex
> travagant waste to humanity's
eyes that so often it was conceal
ed benearth the starched non
comforting folds of a nurse's uni
form.
“What’s so remarkable about
Eynon’s methods?” he demand
ed.
“It isn’t anything dramatic
just away he has —a —a kind of
calming influence.”
Cliff shot her a keen, probing
glance. “You’re not in love with
him, are you?”
“No. How could I be? Some
times I believe he just thinks of
nurses as atomatons, ready with
j the swab or eye-dropper when ne
needs them. If he notices me at
all, I’m sure it’s just as a female
lof undetermined age who goes
by the name of Janet Harris
R. N.”
Dr. Eugene P. Hamner
VETERINARIAN
j Office over McGinnis Drug Co.
Phone 204
JWHaMHHmaiaHmraßßKKMßaEaannaa
W WUaar VKaonr ■—uni vr**av waarau
DR. PAUL IF. BAKER, JR.
Dentist
Summerville-Trion Hospital
Office Phone 199 - Res. 165-J
THE SUMMERVILLE NEWS: SUMMERVILLE, GEORGIA
“His eyesight must be worse
than I suspected.”
She trailed her fingers lazily
in the water. “No ... I think
he’s just terribly interested in
his work.”
Eynon is one of the ca
reer boys.”
“Why do you say that?”
He flicked an insect off his
trousers before replying. “Several
of us have noticed it, Janet. He’s
terribly ambitious forever
burning the midnight oil. And.
he’s so chummy with the Chief.”
“Dr. Farquhar?”
“Yes. They’re always having
him over there on his evenings
off.”
“What’s so significant about
that?”
“Nothing except that it’s one
way of furthering his profession
al standing. They have a daugh-,
ter. you know.”
Janet’s gray eyes sparkled hu
morously. “Why is it that the
weaker sex alone is accused of
feline instincts?”
He flushed painfully. “Don’t get
fresh, or I’ll rock the boat ”
“Well, Naomi Farquhar is at
tractive.”
She recalled the pretty, dark
haired girl who dashed into the
hospital occasionally to visit Dr.
Farquhar. There was something
so vital and fresh and healthy
about her—it was as though a
breath of spring suddenly blew
through the citadel of pain and
healing. Usually she emerged
from her father’s office waving
a check, the ink still wet, blew
a kiss and ran out as swiftly as
she came.
“He's a good doctor, though,
Cliff. It takes skill as well as in
fluence to hold down his job.”
“Yes, he’s a good doctor.
Amen.”
Encouraged by a light breeze,
the canoe began to drift of its
own volition. The drooping, elon
gated leaves of willows bordering
the lake trailed across the two,
dappling their faces alternately
with light and shade. Cliff Bron
son got out cigarettes, lit one ner
vously, and hunched himself for
ward, elbows on knees.
“Janet, why don’t you forget
all about the children, and the
clinic and Eynon and marry me?”
For a long moment she studied
his good-looking face, the dark
hair sweeping back from an en
viable widow’s peak, the eager,
hopeful brown eyes.
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» “Cliff,” she said softly, “if I
only could make your under
stand. . .
“I know,” he interrupted, “I’m
too young; you don’t think in
terns should marry, even if they
have an outside income; and be
sides, you don’t love me.”
“You make it sound so cut and
dried —and the last reason is the
only important one.”
“Well—”
“Cliff, I (Jidn’t take up nursing
just for something to do. I want
to make use of it some way in my
future life. I’m really interested
in it.”
“Exactly what I’m saying. Mar
ry me, then you’ll have a husband
and your own babies to practice
on.”
“You know that isn’t what I
mean.”
“No; that is, I’m not certain
yet.”
He laughed good-naturedly.
“Well, don’t think I’m giving up
hope.” He glanced casually at his
expensive wrist watch. “Only one
more hour for me and thee, then
back to the grind.”
Janet stretched her arms in
an indolent gesture and looked
across the lake to where the im
pressive silhouette of Cosmopoli
tan Hospital dwarfed the remain
der of the skyline.
“Gosh, I hate to exchange this
for those sterile white walls.”
“What you need, my dear, are
the four cozy walls of a love
nest.”
“You never say die, do you?”
Cliff laughed. “Doctors don’t.”
She studied him soberly—
If Cliff only could be serious
for more than five minutes. This
was not the first time he had pro
posed to her nor in all probabil
ity would it be the last, but there
was something lacking . . . The
deep understanding, the determi
nation to make a go of it in spite
of adversity were missing. To
Cliff, marriage was a noble ex
periment and a lark—if it didn’t
pan out it was unfortunate but
not catastrophic.
Her marriage, when it came
wouldn’t be like that at all.
* * ♦
It was a prematurely warm
night. Janet sat at her desk by
the elevator, her slim fingers
adding last-minute entries to the
stack of hospital charts before
her.
Dr. Eynon lit his pipe and
watched her a moment, in si
lence. Suddenly he spoke—
“ You take your nursing quite
seriously, don’t you, Miss Har
ris?”
“I do when I’m on duty, Dr
Eynon.”
Some impulse prompted her to
go on, though she knew it
sounded impertinent. “You take
being a doctor quite seriously,
don’t you?”
He looked surprised but not of
fended. Before answering, he ran
his large hand through his thick
sandy hair. “Yes, I guess I do.
You see, it means a great deal
to me.”
He lit several matches and
drew slowly on his pipe, which
finally caught again. “You see,
Miss Harris, I grew up in the
shadow of a slag pile.”
For the first time, he looked
directly into her eyes. They were
hardly aware of it, a moment
later, when the elevator stopped
and Cliff Bronson stepped out.
* * ♦
Janet stared uncertainly at the
two men beside her desk—
Cliff Bronson in a freshly
starched intern’s jacket, his
stethoscope dangling profession
ally from his pocket. His eyes
were puzzled and a little hurt as
though discovering her talking
with Dr. Eynon was like catch
ing her in a deception. She won
dered suddenly if that was what
he thought. Only that afternoon
she had told him that Eynon was
hardly aware of her existence.
She’d have to explain that this
was the first time, she decided.
It was the only way she could
dispel that jealous light in Cliff’s
eyes. Then she caught herself up
mentally . . . She wasn’t engag
ed to Cliff; she really owed him
no explanations of her conduct.
Dr. Eynon was still fooling with
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his pipe. He seemed completely
unaware of any tension in the at
mosphere.
The light over old Mr. Harti
gan’s door flashed on with star
tling abruptness and Janet rose
briskly, thankful for the inter
ruption.
As she moved down the bare,
dark linoleum corridor she won
dered what he wanted. Probably
a mild sedative to make him
sleep. Poor old man. He insisted
on his rest, although it wouldn’t
be long before that was all he
had. It was amazing he had last
ed this long. His weakened heart
pumped along slowly as though
each beat would be its last Yet
still he lingered.
She opened the door gently and
smiled in at him.
He had switched on his bed
lamp and now his wizened,
gnome-like face topped by feath
ery wisps of white hair crinkled
into a welcoming grin.
“Janet. I want to make out a
will.”
She was startled out of her
professional equanimity.
“Surely not tonight, Mr. Harti
gan! ”
“Yes, tonight. Right now.” His
bright dark eyes glittered deter
minedly.
“Wouldn’t it be better to wait
until tomorrow, then I’ll call your
lawyer and he can draw up the
proper papers?”
“No,” he said vehemently.
“Just what I don’t want! J. D.
is not going to approve of this
will and he’d try to talk me out
of it.”
Satisfy him. she thought; he’s
a nice old gentleman and he de
serves to be happy during his
last days.
She crossed over to his dress
er and selected some of his per
sonal stationery. It was thick,
expensive vellum, with Oakhart
scrolled in gold at the top, be
neath which was the family crest
with gold acorns in one of the
quarterings.
When she had bolstered him
up with pillows and arranged the
papers for him, he waved her
away with a claw-like hand.
“Now you can go on about your
business, my dear. I’ll ring for
you in about 15 minutes.”
A quarter of an hour later, Mr.
Hartigan’s light flashed on and
she went to his door. He looked
up from a sheet of paper, now
covered with his fragile, spidery
writing.
“Now you've got to round up
some witnesses for me—three or
’em. Anybody around?” he de
manded querulously.
“There are two doctors out
here and myself, that makes
three.”
“Got to get someone else. I
don’t want you signing this doc
ument, Janet.”
“Why not?”
(To Be Continued Next Week)
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Thursday, September 5, 1946