Newspaper Page Text
Page 2
i \\ ■■l II H Hj B H PB B B IX-iff 4 j~\ i
Synopsis of Preceding Chapter
Dr. Clifford Bronson, an in
tern, goes canoeing with Janet
Harris, a nurse from his hospi
tal. He suggests that she forget
all about Dr. Eynon and the
clinic and marry him. But Ja
net wasn’t ready to give an an
swer. Back at the hospital, old
Mr. Hartigan, whose death was
expected almost any day, tells
Janet he wants to make out his
will and urges her to round up
three witnesses for him.
CHAPTER II
“Never mild. I used to be a
lawyer at one period of my long
life and I know what I’m doing.
Isn’t there someone else—anyone
who can read and write will do?”
Janet felt bewildered and a lit
tle hurt. “There’s Charlie, the
elevator man on night duty. I
don’t want to arouse any of the
other patients.”
“No need to, Charlie will do
fine. Get him, Janet, and bring
all three of them in here at
once.”
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As she left the room she heard
him emit a dry, smug little
chuckle.
Dr. Eynon had returned from
the laboratory. He and Cliff
Bronson were standing facing
each other and the shaded night
light threw their features into
queer, gargoylish silhouettes
against the ceiling.
* * *
Janet Harris was still puzzled
over old Mr. Hartigan as she
made her way to the operating
theater the next afternoon.
She had asked Dr. Eynon and
Cliff to come into his room last
night along with Charlie, the ele
vator man. The two doctors un
derstood at once that it was bet
ter to humor the old gentleman
and they signed their names and
addresses at the bottom of the
document. Charlie doubted if he
knew what it was all about.
Mr. Hartigan’s frail, claw-like
hand shielded the rest of the pa
per so none of them saw the
terms of the will. It was all very
mysterious.
When she had stopped in to
see him a few hours ago he had
grinned up at her mockingly . . .
“Still hanging on,” he chuc
kled.
Except for a faint blue tinge
around his withered old lips, he
looked unchanged and she felt
unreasonably glad.
“Won’t you let me call your
lawyer now, Mr. Hartigan?”
“I suppose you'd better,” he
agreed amiably. “The deed is
done. All that remains is for J.
D. to put it in the phraseology of
the legal profession.”
She had laughed then. “I am
afraid he’s going to be annoyed
with you.”
THE SUMMERVILLE NEWS: SUMMERVILLE, GEORGIA
He chortled dryly, “Small
doubt of it.” Then his features
stiffened and grew stern. “I’m in
my right mind, Janet, and this
is my last will and testament —
don’t ever let anyone persuade
you otherwise.”
His tone had been so vehement
that she had said, “What do you
! mean?”
But he had refused to explain
further.”
She had phoned J. D. Prentice
and even now the prominent
lawyer was closeted with Mr
Hartigan.
* * *
She moved down the corridor
to Dr. Eynon’s office. For once
the little anteroom was empty
of patients, and she went on into
his office.
He turned to ner. “You havf.n’t
seen Dr. Bronson recently, have
you?”
Her voice echoed her surprise.
“Why, yes, I just left him. Why?”
“I was just wondering how he
was taking it . . .”
For Clifi’s sake, she decided to
be frank. “To tell you the truth,
he's worried to death at not hear
ing from you and Dr. Windell.’
“Then Winded hasn’t spoken to
him yet?”
“Apparently not.”
“Hmm,” he studied her solemn
ly for long seconds, then, “You’re
engaged to Dr. Bronson, aren’t
you, Miss Harris?”
“Engaged! No; no, I’m not.
Did you think I was?”
What had instilled that idea?
Was Cliff trying to give that im
pression to people?
“I’m afraid I did. In fact, Na
omi Farquhar told me as much
and I’ve seen you together so
often that I just assumed it was
so.”
She smiled. “It isn’t. Cliff
Bronson and I are just very good
friends—we like to do the same
things—but that’s ad it amounts
to.”
“Then I can speak frankly to
you?”
What did he mean? “Os course,
Dr. Eynon.”
“About Dr. Bronson’s opera-
Your child is suffering when
coated tongue often the
sign a laxative is needed. jgSj
I Faulty elimination often
makes children sluggish and
restless. Your child can get
relief with Triena —the fam
ous laxative made with sen
na. And children like to take
tg Triena, because it’s flavored
!■ with real P rune^>2—^
HH juice. Don’t up
» set your child—
|S| to give him
319 medicine. Get Wa
I™ T R I E N A . II
Caution, use f fia
only as di- Ba
rectcd! 30c,
tion yesterday . . . Dr. Winded
is going to discuss it with him
this afternoon. We’ve hesitated
because it’s a difficult thing to
explain.”
Janet felt uneasy. What was
he getting at? Surely Cliff’s per
formance had been faultless.
“Os course I’m not a surgeon,”
she said, “but I have assisted at
hundreds of appendectomies. I
thought Dr. Bronson was almost
perfect.”
He nodded. “Too perfect.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It isn’t natural for a doctor
to be so calm, so—wed, carefree
—at his first operation. To put
it inelegantly, when a doctor
doesnt’ perspire over a major op
eration, there’s something wrong
with him.”
Janet glanced down at her fin
gers. This wasn’t so bad; at least
Cliff hadn’t made some glaring
error. “He told me he had stage
fright badly before he entered
the amphitheater, but that it
vanished when he began his
work.”
“Wed, that helps some at
least he isn’t entirely devoid of j
sensibdity.”
“I hope Dr. Winded won’ be
too severe,” she protested. “Aft
er ad, it’s something Dr. Bron
son may overcome in a very short
time —perhaps his very next op
eration.”
Dr. Eynon stared at her pecu
liarly. “You may not be engaged
to Bronson,” his eyes said, “but
you certainly think a great deal
of him.”
Dr. Eynon filled his pipe with
a fresh mixture and stared curi
ously at Janet.
“Miss Harris, I was wondering
if sometime, perhaps tonight, you ;
wouldn’t like to—that is—”
The ring of the telephone was j
strident.
He picked it up too quickly in j
his relief. Janet could not help
but overhear the warm appeal
ing voice of Naomi Farquhar.
Dr. Eynon’s words confirmed her
suspicion.
“Hello, Naomi ... He did? ...
That would be splendid . . . To
night? For dinner? . . . What
time? Fine, I’ll be there ....
Goodbye”
Looking exultant, he replaced
the receiver. For several minutes,
he seemed absorbed in his
thought, then he turned to face
Janet, seeming almost surprised
at finding her still there.
“What was it you were saying,
Dr. Eynon?” she prompted.
“What? Oh, oh, nothing—noth
ing of importance.”
She rose to go, feeling almost
angry and annoyed. “Then that
will be all?”
He stared up at her curiously, |
“ T es, that will be all, Miss Har
ris.”
Out in the corridor she stood
before the elevators watching the
big dial over one of them. It had
halted at four, then slowly it be
gan to move as the elevator de
scended without further stops
The doors slid apart and one
of the hospital stewards wheel
ed out an oxygen tank. Janet felt
a sharp premonitory twinge . . .
“Someone on the fourth floor
taking oxygen, Frank?”
“They ordered it for old Mr.
Hartigan.”
“He’s had another attack?”
“He’s gone, Miss Harris—slip
ped away in his sleep, they said.
It was too late for the oxygen
when they found him.”
In spite of herself, Janet’s eyes
filled with tears.
Two weeks later Janet stood
before the full-length mirror of
her room in the nurses’ residence
and nervously put the finishing
touches to her hair and uniform.
What could this summons from
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Dr. Farquhar, the head of Cos
mopolitan Hospital mean? She
ran rapidly over her conduct of
the past month and could think
of no infringement of the rules
Besides, reprimands always came
from the head senior nurse un
less they verged on dismissal
which was a very rare occur
rence.
The corridor to Dr. Farqua
har’s offices seemed very long.
In answer to her knock, his bluff,
hearty voice asked her to come
in.
He was a big, jovial man with
a face almost dangerously red.
Strangers expected him to keel
over with apoplexy but he had
been that way all his life and
well-earned vacations spent
hunting and fishing merely
heightened his color.
“Come in, come in, Miss Har
ris,” he said cordially. “I believe
you’ve already met Mr. Prentice?”
Janet murmured a greeting.
What was J. D. Prentice, Mr.
Hartigan’s irrascible lawyer, do
ing here? Probably wanted to
question her about the will. He
tilted his head back and peered
down his long nose through the
upper half of his bi-focal pince
nez.
“How do you do, Miss Harris,
I recall seeing you at the serv
ices for Mr. Hartigan last week.”
“Yes, he was a fine old gentle
man; I became very fond of
him.”
“Miss Harris, did Mr. Hartigan
act normal the night of his
death?”
(To Be Continuedl
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Thursday, September 12, 1946