Part 2

Ted smiled again. “Nothing will happen, Mrs. Craig,” he reassured her.

“What ... what do you think it is?” she asked timidly.

Ted hesitated. “I don’t know, of course,” he said.

“You mean, you don’t want to tell me?” she asked.

He drew a long breath. “Very well,” he said. “I’m afraid it may be rheumatic fever.”

Mrs. Craig drew a long sigh of relief. “Oh, good heavens. And here I’ve been really worried. I was so afraid of polio. I know it isn’t the right season for polio, but you don’t know how a mother worries about such things!”

Ted ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t think you understand, Mrs. Craig. Do you know what rheumatic fever is?”

Mrs. Craig shook her head. “A sort of rheumatism, isn’t it? That would explain the aching and the tiredness and swelling of the joints.”

Ted sighed. “It’s a type of rheumatism, all right. But compared to rheumatic fever, polio is a pink tea party.”

Mrs. Craig gasped. “Oh, no!” she cried.

Ted drummed his fingers against the desk. “I don’t mean to under-rate the seriousness of polio. But almost always polio can be diagnosed ... at least the mother knows the child is really sick. But this mean villain of a germ which Jack may have is one of the slickest criminals of the medical world. Rheumatic fever doesn’t cripple outwardly ... doesn’t disfigure a person the way polio does. But it can cripple and kill.”

Mrs. Craig caught Ted’s hand. “Oh, Ted!” she cried.

Ted covered her hand with his. “Now, it’s not going to kill Jack. I can promise you that.” He ran his fingers through his hair again. “But you have no idea how many youngsters contract the disease and no one ever knows it.”

“How does it work, Ted?” she asked.

“It usually starts in the form of a strep throat. You remember you told me Jack had not one but two sore throats with his cold? Probably he caught the infection while his resistance was low from his cold. Then, after a while, the throat heals and the patient is presumably well. Only he doesn’t really feel good. He hasn’t much appetite. He’s listless. He aches in the joints. He isn’t exactly sick, but he isn’t well, either. Lots of people ignore these symptoms. So the strep then attacks the heart. If the patient is lucky, after that, he manages to fight off the infection, or arrest it, and survives with a badly damaged heart.”

Mrs. Craig covered her mouth with her hand. “And if the patient isn’t lucky?” she asked.

Ted shook his head. “Let’s not talk about it any more,” he said.

“You mean, he dies?”

Ted nodded. “But you must remember this. Jack doesn’t fit either case. Thanks to you, we’ve caught the villain. Jack’s going to have help in his fight.”

Dr. Jenkins came down into the lobby and nodded to them. “I think we’ve found the root of the trouble,” he said calmly.

Mrs. Craig shook her head as if to fight off a bad dream. “Dr. Jenkins,” she said slowly, “your specialty is heart trouble, isn’t it?”

Dr. Jenkins smiled. “Of course I’m just past my internship, Mrs. Craig. Someday I hope to be a heart specialist, though. But for right now, I’d like to call in a specialist from Boston. We want to be very sure to do exactly the right things.”

Ted looked at the other doctor. “I was right, Fred?” he asked.

Dr. Jenkins nodded. “And if Mrs. Craig wants to see Jack now....”

“Oh, please!” Mrs. Craig cried. “Ted, will you call Mr. Craig and tell him? But please don’t let him tell the girls till the party is over.”

Jack was lying flat on his back in a small single room near the pediatric ward. He managed a grin as Mrs. Craig came into the room.

“Jeepers, you should see all the things they did to me,” he said as gaily as he could. “Mother, it sorta makes a guy feel important with a couple of doctors fussing over him.”

Mrs. Craig knelt beside his bed. “All right, baby, everything is going to be fine.”

Jack grimaced. “I’m not a baby,” he protested weakly. “They gave me some aspirin and stuff. My head doesn’t ache so much. Hey, will you ask Tommy if he ever had a car--cardio--you know what I mean?”

“A cardiograph? I’m sure Tommy never had one. You’ll be able to tell him all about it in a few days,” Mrs. Craig smiled.

“They gave me a pill. I feel sorta dopey. But don’t hang around all night or anything, because I’m gonna be okay.”

Mrs. Craig caressed his forehead gently. “Of course you are, Jack.”

Jack dozed off. But as he relaxed, a spasm of pain hit him, and he cried, “Mother!” Too near to sleep to act like a man any longer, he whimpered like a young child. Mrs. Craig stroked his black hair tenderly.

Dr. Barsch appeared in the doorway. “I think he’s asleep, Mrs. Craig. If you want to stay here tonight, there is a room next to this one....”

“Is it all right if I stay right with him?” she asked. “I’m not very sleepy.”

Dr. Barsch came in and sat down beside the bed. “You’re a wonderful woman, Mrs. Craig,” he said softly. “This boy is so lucky. And what a boy he is! The exam we gave him wasn’t very pleasant for him. He’s in a lot of pain. But he joked and grinned and ...” he turned his head away a little. “I don’t know. Sometimes a youngster like this can make one proud to be part of the human race!”

3. Fresh as Paint!

Billy Ellis and Buzzy Hancock dashed up the driveway to the porch of the Craigs’ farmhouse. Tommy was sitting on the porch swing jotting down figures in his account book when his pals joined him. They jumped up on the porch, and Billy cuffed Buzzy playfully as they sat down on the swing.

“Hey, take it easy, you guys,” Tommy said. “I’m trying to add up my accounts. I want to give Jack an exact report of how much money we made while he was gone.”

Billy stretched his long legs out in front of him. His voice, which wavered between soprano and baritone, was full of sympathy as he said, “Jeepers, what a break! The poor little guy’s going to miss all the fun this summer.”

Tommy looked at his two closest pals. Billy, Judge Ellis’s son and Aunt Becky’s stepson, was a few months younger than he. Ever since the Craigs had come to Elmhurst, both Billy and Sally Hancock’s young brother, Buzzy, had been involved in every project Tommy and Jack had undertaken.

He shut his book. Stretching lazily, he said, “I guess it’s up to us to see he has as much fun as possible. It’s a real tough break for the ball team, though. I don’t know where we’re going to get a good shortstop now that Jack’s out for the season.”

“Can we see him soon?” Buzzy asked.

Tommy shook his head. “Mom says no company for a while. He’s coming home this afternoon, but you guys can’t see him for some time.”

Billy sighed. “Seems to me there isn’t any use in being sick. It isn’t any fun no matter which way you look at it. What’s the guy going to do with his time?”

“Oh, read, I guess. And study. He’s going to have a tutor, Mom said,” Tommy answered.

Buzzy whistled. “You mean he’s gotta have school work? Jeepers! That’s terrible!”

Tommy shrugged. “It would be worse if he had to stay back a term in school.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Buzzy said thoughtfully. “But about what we guys can do. You think about it, Tommy. Let us know, won’t you?”

Tommy stood up. “Will do,” he said. “And listen, you guys, one more thing. Mom said those letters you wrote were just about the nicest things you could have done for him. Keep it up, will you?”

Doris came out to the porch. “Tommy, have you seen Mother?” she asked.

“Sure. Mom’s upstairs getting ready to go over to get Jack. What’s up?”

“Where’s Dad?”

Tommy stared at her. “At the office, of course. Where else?”

Doris giggled at herself. “I guess I got so used to having Dad around the house that I forgot he does go to work regularly now.” She pulled a letter from her pocket. “It’s from Kit,” she told him.

“From Kit? Hey, let’s see it!” Tommy cried.

Doris put it back in her pocket. “It’s to Mother and Dad,” she said severely.

Tommy shrugged. “Come on, gang,” he cried. “Let’s get some cookies.”

The boys disappeared into the kitchen, and Doris went upstairs.

“Mother!” she called. “Letter from Kit!”

Mrs. Craig was putting on her hat when Doris came into her room. She smiled at her daughter and held out her hand. “Good news, I hope,” she smiled, taking the envelope.

“Kit’s news is always good,” Doris said. “College seems to agree with her.”

Mrs. Craig hastily scanned the note, nodding and then frowning as she read. “Kit has spring fever,” she decided as she folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. “Claims she’s bored with life.” She smiled to herself. “But after her trip to Washington, I think she’ll feel better.”

“What trip to Washington?” Doris asked.

Mrs. Craig grinned at the thought. “Kit has been elected president of the Hope College Historical Society, you know, dear. There’s a large history convention in Washington after classes let out in June. There will be girls and boys from all over the country.”

Doris grinned. “And of course there will be Frank Howard in Washington.”

Mrs. Craig sighed. “I think that’s what’s wrong with Kit. I think she misses Frank more than she will admit.”

Doris sat down on her mother’s bed. “Do you think Kit will marry Frank, Mother?”

“Good heavens!” Mrs. Craig exclaimed. “How should I know? They _are_ very close friends ... and they have been for several years.”

“Ever since Kit caught Frank in the berry patches,” Doris giggled. It was typical of Kit that she should have trapped the bright young entomologist in an effort to catch a berry thief. A bantering friendship had grown out of this episode, and lately there had been sure signs that the friendship between Kit and Frank was ripening into affection.

Mrs. Craig powdered her nose. “Do you want to ride with me to the hospital, Doris?”

“Yes, I’d like to,” Doris said. “I want to talk to you about something, anyway.”

On the way over to the clinic, Doris said, “There’s a sort of contest at school, Mother. A music contest.”

Mrs. Craig smiled. “That’s nice, dear,” she said. “Are you going to enter it?”

Doris frowned slightly. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s for a scholarship to a music school. I don’t know whether I want to try for it or not.”

Mrs. Craig stared at her. “But good heavens, why not? What school is it?”

“Timothy College in North Carolina. It’s very small--all music, you know. It’s awfully far away, too. And with Jean getting married and Kit away at school, well, I don’t know whether I want to leave home or not.”

Mrs. Craig slowed down the car. “Let’s talk about this with your father. But, dear, I think you should at least try out. It would be a shame to let your talent go to waste.”

Doris hesitated. Then she said, “But Mother, I don’t want to go away! I’m not like Jean and Kit. I’d just like to stay right here in Elmhurst forever and ever. I like it at home.”

Mrs. Craig tapped the steering wheel with her fingers. “Doris, I want you to enter that contest. Why shouldn’t you have the right to go away to school? We were able to send Jean to New York for a year of Art School,” she said, referring to Jean’s experiences which are recounted in _Jean Craig in New York_. “Then Kit won herself the chance to go to Hope College. Now, it’s your turn.”

“But Mother....” Doris began.

Mrs. Craig shook her head. “I don’t know very much about art or music, my dear,” she interrupted, “but your father and I have always felt that you were extremely talented. Frankly, I’ve always felt that you were the most talented of all my daughters. Jean is a good artist. Competent, I think she calls herself. But she has no illusions about being a great artist. I think perhaps you have the ability to develop into a fine musician.”

Doris shook her head. “Oh, golly,” she said, “I just don’t want to go through what Jean and Kit have gone through.”

“What do you mean?” Mrs. Craig asked, surprised.

“You know. You get yourself all ready to do something important in this life, and then you fall in love with some man and want to get married. Look how mixed up Jean was. And look at Kit now. She’s going to college and has even talked about doing graduate work. But you and I know she’s mad about Frank Howard and that she’ll probably just get married.”

Mrs. Craig repressed a smile. “Darling, you don’t just get married,” she said gently. “Both Jean and Kit are much better prepared to become good wives because they did develop their talents. I think you should do the same.”

Doris sighed. “Maybe so,” she agreed. “Oh, golly! I’m selfish! I know you’re worrying about Jack and his homecoming. It’ll be _so_ good to have him home again!”

Jack was waiting when they arrived at the hospital. Jean and Sally Hancock were in his room gathering his few belongings. Mrs. Craig shook her head as she saw the thin, pale boy lying on the bed. His black eyes seemed even larger than usual, but they were no longer dull and glassy. They sparkled when they saw Mrs. Craig.

“Oh, Mother!” he cried. “I thought you’d _never_ get here! Golly, but I’m tired of this room. Not that they haven’t been swell here, though. Dr. Jenkins and Dr. Caulfield from Boston have been here almost all the time. They talked a lot to me.”

“That’s fine, dear,” Mrs. Craig said briskly.

“But, gee, I sure missed Tommy. And the hens. Tommy doesn’t know how to keep track of all those hens. I ... I don’t know what he’s gonna do, now that I can’t help him.”

Jean patted Jack’s shoulder. “You’re learning young that no man is indispensable to his business.”

He looked up at her. “Huh?” he said.

They all laughed. “Jean means that business has to go on no matter what happens,” Mrs. Craig said, smiling. “And it usually does. Billy Ellis and Buzzy Hancock were over this morning. They want to see you as soon as you can have company.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jack said. “They wrote me. Jeepers, what a swell gang they are! Those dumb letters! They made me laugh till I hurt!”

Ted Loring brought in a wheel chair. “Here’s your chair, my lord,” he called from the doorway. “Oh, good morning, Mrs. Craig. You’re looking fine this morning. I’m going to ride over with you and help get our patient back to bed, if that’s all right with you.”

Mrs. Craig smiled. “That’s very thoughtful, Ted. Mr. Craig is in town this morning, and we could use a strong back.”

Ted grinned. “I heard about Mr. Craig’s new position. I think it’s swell. We need an architect around this town, although I sort of like these old New England designs.”

Mrs. Craig smiled. “He’s glad to be back at work, too.”

“I found out about it from Dr. Daley,” Ted explained. “I guess you know he kept a pretty close eye on Mr. Craig while he was working on the veterans’ houses. A nervous breakdown is nothing to fool around with. But Dr. Daley seems to think he’s now in fine shape.”

Jean tucked a robe around Jack’s legs as they started out of the room. “Take good care of him, Mother,” she said. “I’ll be home for dinner tonight, you know.”

Jean watched the small procession move slowly down the hall. Then she pulled her sketchbook from her pocket and began thumbing through it.

“Hi, gorgeous!”

Jean turned around to see Gerald Benson, the new intern, coming down the hall. “Oh, good morning, Dr. Benson,” she said. She started to pass him, but he blocked her path.

“I’ve just been having a lecture on the glories of one Miss Jean Craig,” Dr. Benson said. “They sure go for you around here.”

Jean stared at him in surprise. “Whatever are you talking about?”

He shrugged. “I was ambling through the lobby with Dr. Barsch this noon and _just_ happened to comment on the painting over the mantel down there. And the good doctor ups and tells me that you did it!”

Jean giggled. “I’m afraid I did,” she admitted. “It’s not so glorious, though,” she added.

“It’s good enough. I didn’t know you were an artist.”

Jean smiled. “I’m not. Not really. I studied for a year in New York. And I like to paint for pleasure. As a matter of fact, I’m hoping to do something with my art work combined with medicine.”

Dr. Benson whistled. “You mean surgical art? That’s a tough field.”

Jean grinned. “I know it is. But Dr. Barsch has encouraged me to try my hand at it. I guess starting just about any time now, he’s going to give me practice sketching operations here. As a matter of fact, I was just going through my sketchbook. I’m working on anatomical drawings from books now so I’ll be better at doing real life sketches.”

Dr. Benson put his hands on his hips. “Did you donate that painting to the clinic as your contribution?”

Jean smiled again. “Well, not exactly,” she admitted. “You see, when the hospital first opened, Ted Loring and I had a long talk about clinics and things. And he gave me the idea, sort of. He said a clinic was a place where people exercised cooperation, ingenuity and hard work. So I put the idea down on canvas. You know, the man and woman and child joining hands in a field of grain. And then, of all things, Dr. Loring swiped it! _He_ donated it!”

Dr. Benson smiled wryly. “It sounds like a motto he might make up.”

“What’s the matter with it?” Jean demanded.

“Let’s go out tonight, and I’ll tell you,” Dr. Benson said.

She smiled at him. “I’m sorry, Dr. Benson, but I can’t.”

“But you’re off tonight. I saw the schedules.”

Jean smiled. “But I thought you knew. I’m engaged. I’m not free to accept dates. I’m sure one of the other girls....”

“You mean you’re turning me down just because you’ve got a ring? I hear your man is in Europe. That’s pretty far away. And a pretty little girl like you shouldn’t be sitting home nights, just because--”

Jean brushed past him. “I’m sorry,” she said shortly.

Dr. Benson grabbed her arm. “Now wait, honey. Don’t get sore. I mean, what’s the harm? I’m not asking you to break your engagement. I just wanted to have some fun. You look as if you could use some yourself.”

Jean pulled free. “I’m sorry, Dr. Benson,” she said stiffly. “I’m very busy just now.”

The intern watched her walk down the hall. “Okay, sweetheart,” he said, “I’ll try again sometime. You’ll get lonely before too long.”

Jean marched into the students’ lounge and slammed the door behind her. Eileen Gordon was lying on the couch reading a magazine. She looked up as Jean came in.

“Why, Jean, what’s the matter?” she asked, looking at Jean’s angry face. “Didn’t Jack get off all right?” Eileen sat up and closed her magazine.

Jean sat down in an easy chair. “Oh, yes. Mother came for him just now. Ted was sweet. He went home with them to help her get Jack settled in bed at home.”

“Well, then, what’s wrong?” Eileen asked.

“Oh, nothing really, I guess. Only that new Dr. Benson asked me for a date.”

Eileen sniffed. “Oh, is that all?” she asked. “Well, don’t worry about it. He won’t ask you again.”

Jean stared at her. “Why?” she asked.

Eileen shrugged. “He asked me for a date when he first came here. I was busy and told him so, and he hasn’t bothered me since.”

Jean shook her head. “It’s the principle of the thing,” she said.

“Maybe he didn’t know you’re engaged.”

“He knew, all right. He knew that Ralph is abroad, too. He said I might be lonely.”

Eileen scowled. “So that’s the way he is! Well, that settles Dr. Benson as far as I’m concerned. So he’d try to steal someone’s girl when the someone isn’t around to fight for her.”

Jean laughed as she opened a coke. “Don’t be too hard on him. He wasn’t exactly trying to steal me. He just asked to take me out.”

Eileen grimaced. “I know the type. You know, Jean, I’ve been around hospitals a long time. And I’ve known a lot of doctors. They aren’t all like Ted and Dr. Barsch and the rest of them here. Sometimes they get pretty cynical. Yep, I know Dr. Benson’s type, all right!”

4. Emergency Operation

The following night Jean was on duty. She had just come up from early supper when she was called into Dr. Barsch’s office.

“Miss Craig,” Dr. Barsch said briskly, “I haven’t much time to explain, but if you will get your sketch pad, I want you to try to do a drawing of an operation I’m about to perform. The little DuPrez boy is coming in immediately. Acute appendicitis. Loring says we can’t wait. I’ve already called the staff.”

Jean gasped. “You mean, you want me to go right in there and do a drawing?” she asked.

Dr. Barsch nodded. “You can’t learn surgical art any better way. I don’t expect to be able to use your sketch, but I want you to have the practice.”

“Then you won’t use me to assist you?” she asked.

Dr. Barsch frowned impatiently. “Naturally not. Now, please hurry. Get your materials, and I’ll see you upstairs.”

Jean hurried to her room and snatched up her sketch pad and pencils. She ran down the hall towards the operating room and went into the small lavatory to scrub. Two women were scouring the room, and Helen Pierce was sterilizing instruments. When Jean had finished scrubbing, Helen helped her with her gloves and mask.

“This is a real emergency,” Helen muttered as she checked her instruments. “They always wait till the last minute before they call the doctor.”

“Will it be a dangerous operation?” Jean asked.

Helen shrugged. “That depends. Usually an appendectomy is a snap. That is, easy for the patient. But it can be ticklish if the appendix is ready to break open.”

Dr. Barsch and Ted came in to scrub up. The girls worked in silence, and the only sound was that of the rushing water in the lavatory. Dr. Henry, the anesthetician, bustled in and, after scrubbing, came over to the sterilizer and peeked in.

“I can’t use ether, Miss Pierce,” he said. “You should know that.” He grunted. “And if we could use a complete anesthetic, I’d choose sodium pentothal. But this will have to be a local block. The child undoubtedly has eaten today.”

Helen nodded and went over to the cabinet. Carefully she selected an injection syringe with her tongs and dropped it into the sterilizer. Dr. Henry checked his supply of anesthetic, nodded, and rubbed his gloved hands together briskly.

Jean frowned. “Why can’t you use ether, Dr. Henry?” she asked.

The portly, middle-aged anesthetician turned around to face her. “Some people get very sick when we put them out. Particles of food or liquid are apt to catch in their lungs. They haven’t the control of their reflexes that people who are awake do. There’s always the danger of a patient choking to death.”

“Then the child will be conscious?” Jean asked. “He’ll know what’s going on? I know we’ve used that frequently for adults, but won’t it be difficult with a child?”

Ted laughed. “He won’t know much. We already have him so groggy with sedatives that he doesn’t know _what’s_ going on.”

Dr. Barsch frowned impatiently. “What’s keeping them? Every minute we lose gives us less of a chance.”

As he spoke, the small patient was wheeled into the operating room. Jean’s heart went out to the tiny, white figure lying on the table. His eyes were dulled, and his body was partially relaxed. But his face was a study in fear.

Dr. Barsch stepped over to the table. “All right, son,” he said gently. “I’m going to put a curtain right over your middle. You know what you’re going to feel?”

Gene DuPrez shook his head, and he gazed pleadingly at Dr. Barsch.

“Ever been to the dentist?”

The boy nodded.

“And did he poke a needle into your gum so it wouldn’t hurt when he drilled into your tooth?” Dr. Barsch asked.

Gene nodded solemnly. Sally, who had come in with the boy, and Helen turned him over on his side and bent his legs up to meet his chest.

“Well, we’re going to do the same thing now. We’re only going to hurt you enough to make you say, ‘ouch’.”

Gene interrupted Dr. Barsch by saying, “Ouch!”

“That’s it, Gene,” Dr. Barsch said. “You’re going to feel something else, now. Your toes will get all numb. Then your legs, and then your tummy. Now, I have a feather, and I’m going to tickle your tummy. You tell me when you can’t feel it any longer.”