SCENE I.

A small ward--the women’s ward--in a hospital; several cots with patients in them are visible. One patient is in a wheeled chair. Screens stand by the cots. There are plants, pictures, the cheerful features of the modern hospital. Two nurses are seen busy with patients.

_Enter_ DR. GAZELL _and_ DR. CARVER.

DR. GAZELL (_seats himself by one of the patients; speaks blandly_). And how do we find ourselves to-day?

PATIENT (_turning her face, on which can be seen traces of tears_). Bad enough--worse. I’ve been so upset by--

DR. GAZELL. Yes, yes. I know. It is truly shocking!

DR. CARVER (_addressing one of the nurses_). You become your cap to-day. You have an uncommonly good color--I mean to operate on No. 21.

NURSE. Do you really? We thought her improving. She’s nervous to-day--on account of Dr. Thorne.

DR. CARVER. Yes. Thorne had things all his own way here, as usual. I mean to operate,--if Dr. Gazell can manage her.

NURSE (_coquettishly_). You are so expert,--such an easy surgeon. You don’t mind it more than a layman would carving a Christmas _goo_--oose. And what would you operate for--on No. 21?

DR. CARVER. Appendicitis, of course.

NURSE. Really? You are so clever on diagnosis. Now, I hadn’t thought of appendicitis--in her case. Do you know--I thought it more like pleurisy?

DR. CARVER (_looks keenly at the nurse to discover if she is making game of him; speaks pompously_). The nurse, as you have been taught in your training-school, can have no opinions. Now, the physician--

NURSE (_demurely_). Oh, of course. I wouldn’t have you think I’m presuming to set up mine. She might have measles, or the grippe, for anything _I_ should know.

DR. CARVER. Now you speak very properly indeed.

DR. GAZELL (_at bedside of No. 21_). Is the pain more severe on the right?

PATIENT. I didn’t say I had any pain--now.

DR. GAZELL (_soothingly_). Increasing toward night? Paroxysms? Or is it steady?

PATIENT. I said I’d got over the pain. That has all gone. It is the weakness--the deadly weakness.

DR. GAZELL. Just so. That weakness is a most significant symptom--I think you said it was accompanied by nausea?

PATIENT. No, I didn’t. Not a bit.

DR. GAZELL. Just so. Dr. Carver? Here a moment? (_To the patient._) I’m sure we can relieve all that. Just a little operation--a very pretty little operation--would set you right again in a week or two.

DR. CARVER (_coming to the cotside of No. 21; speaks eagerly_). It is such a beautiful operation! Why, I’ve known patients _beg_ for it,--it is so beautiful.

PATIENT (_beginning to cry_). Dr. Thorne said there was no need of anything of the kind.

DR. GAZELL (_stiffening_). Dr. Thorne was an able man--but eccentric. His professional colleagues did not always agree with him.

_Enter_ DR. THORNE. (_He has wasted since his last appearance; looks outcast, wan, and wretched; is splashed with mud; still hatless; stands at the lower end of the ward, gazing blindly about._)

PATIENT NO. 21. Dr. Thorne used to say that if we had better doctors, we shouldn’t need so many surgeons. He said the true treatment would prevent half the surgery in the city.

(DR. THORNE _starts, and moves towards the patient_.)

DR. GAZELL (_soothingly_). Yes. Just so. Dr. Thorne had great confidence in himself.

PATIENT (_rousing_). No more than his patients had in him.

DR. CARVER. Irritable! Very irritable! A significant symptom, Dr. Gazell. In my opinion, this extreme irritability _demands_ an operation for appendicitis.

FIRST NURSE (_listening, laughs; addresses_ SECOND NURSE). Now, if one could only apply that! Take a cross man,--any cross man,--say a brother, or a husband, or even a doctor, and if he carried it too far, just call on Dr. Carver. Why, it would revolutionize society. And he is so expert! He doesn’t mind it any more than carving a _goo_--oose. Yes, sir! I’m coming. (_Demurely obedient; hurries to_ DR. GAZELL.)

(SECOND NURSE _moves to the rear of the ward to a patient behind a screen_.)

(DR. THORNE _advances slowly; stands in the middle of the ward, unnoticed_.)

PATIENT NO. 21 (_louder_). I say, when a man’s dead is the time to speak for him. And I’ll stand up for my dear dead doctor as long as I live.

VOICE FROM ANOTHER COT. And so would I,--and longer, if I got the chance.

ANOTHER VOICE. He doesn’t need anybody to stand up for him. His deeds do follow him. And he rests from his labors.

(DR. THORNE _smiles bitterly; stands with his face towards the speaker. He knots his hands in front of him, and thus advances with a motion so slow as to be almost stealthy._)

VOICE FROM ANOTHER COT. He wouldn’t care so much for that. It’s Bible. He was not a religious man. But he was as _kind to me_! (_Weeps._)

OTHER VOICES. And to me! Oh, yes, and to me,--as _kind_!

PATIENT IN THE WHEELED CHAIR. I couldn’t move in my bed when I came here. I’d been so three years. Look what he’s done for _me_. (_Sobs._)

DR. THORNE (_in a low tone_). Miss Jessie? Don’t cry so. You’ll make yourself worse. Go back to bed, Jessie, and--see. I’ll tell you a secret. Don’t tell the others just yet. I wasn’t killed, Jessie. That was a newspaper canard. _I’m a live man yet._ See! Look up, Jessie. Look at me,--can’t you? (_Pleads._) Won’t you, Jessie?

PATIENT IN THE WHEELED CHAIR (_stares past him at_ DR. GAZELL _and_ DR. CARVER). And to think of the likes of them,--in his place! What ever’ll become of this hospital without _him_?

DR. THORNE (_with trembling lip_). You don’t hear me, do you, Jessie? Well--well. I must have met with some cerebral shock affecting the organs of speech. It is a clear case of aphasia. I can’t make myself understood. It--it’s hard. Jessie? (_Louder._) I can’t see things go wrong with _you_,--no matter how it is with me. You’ve been in that chair long enough for to-day. (_Imperiously._) Jessie, go back to bed! Stop crying about me, and go back to your bed.

(JESSIE _wavers; shades her eyes with her hands; stares about her; slowly turns her wheeled chair and moves away_.)

[_Exit_ JESSIE.

DR. THORNE (_moves more naturally and rapidly; stands by the cot of No. 21; speaks_). Good-morning, Mrs. True. I meant to have seen you last night. I was--unavoidably detained. I hope you’re not worse this morning?

PATIENT (_with tears_). I’ve cried half the night.

DR. THORNE. That’s a pity. But you won’t cry any more. I’ll take care of you now.

PATIENT (_looks up wearily; turns her face on her pillow and sobs_).

DR. THORNE. Clearly aphasia. She does not understand a word I say. Dr. Gazell! Gazell! Dr. Carver?

(_The two physicians murmur together._)

DR. THORNE. Gazell? What’s that? The knife? For Mrs. True? Excuse me, but I cannot permit it.

DR. CARVER. It would be such a pretty little operation. The students are getting restless for something. I told them--

DR. GAZELL. It is well-defined appendicitis.

DR. THORNE. Well-defined appendi--fiddlesticks! It is nothing but pleurisy. I tell you, Gazell, I will not have it!

DR. GAZELL (_looks around uncomfortably; speaks with hesitation_). Of course, Thorne would not have agreed with us.

DR. THORNE (_grips_ DR. GAZELL _by the arm_). I tell you it would be butchery, Gazell! What are you thinking of? _Gazell!_

DR. GAZELL. But he was a very opinionated man,--everybody knew that.

(DR. THORNE _drops_ DR. GAZELL’S _arm and walks away with a gesture of distress_.)

SECOND NURSE (_to_ FIRST NURSE; _moves out from behind the screen_). Very invigorating day!

FIRST NURSE (_to_ SECOND NURSE). Father Sullivan’s late with the Sacrament. I hope Norah, yonder, won’t get ahead of him. She’s ’most gone. (_Approaching the cot of the patient behind the screen._)

SECOND NURSE (_moves away_). Yes. She’s been unconscious half an hour.

_Enter_ PRIEST. (_He advances to offer Extreme Unction to the dying patient._)

FIRST NURSE. Lovely morning, Father.

DR. THORNE (_standing in the middle of the ward_). They used to call my name when I came in. “Oh, there’s the doctor!” “The doctor’s come!” It ran from cot to cot--like light. And everybody used to smile. Seems to me some of them blessed me. Now--

(_Sobs from the ward._)

DR. THORNE (_tremulously_). My patients! Isn’t there _one_ of you who knows me? Doesn’t _any_body hear me? Don’t cry so! All the symptoms will be worse for it.

THE DYING PATIENT. Doctor? Doctor?

DR. THORNE. That sounds like Norah.

PRIEST (_recites behind the screen at_ NORAH’S _bedside the prayer for the passing soul_). “Proficiscere, anima Christiana, de hoc mundo, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, qui te creavit; in nomine Jesu Christi Filii Dei vivi, qui pro te passus est; in nomine Spiritus Sancti”--

DR. THORNE (_softly_). Thank you, Father. (_Stands silently with bowed head._)

_Reënter the patient in the wheeled chair._

JESSIE (_happily_). I’ve had such a lovely dream! I thought Dr. Thorne was here--in this ward. Oh! (_With disappointment._)

DR. THORNE. Jessie!

JESSIE (_sadly_). It was such a lovely dream! (_Droops and turns away._)

(DR. THORNE _walks apart; stands drearily, with downcast eyes_.)

_Enter_ MRS. FAYTH. (_She looks pale and agitated, but quite happy. She is dressed as before, for the street, but her head is bare; is wrapped from head to foot in her long, pale, dove-colored opera cape. She goes straight to_ DR. THORNE, _and touches him upon the arm; speaks softly_.)

MRS. FAYTH. Doctor?

DR. THORNE (_starts_). Oh! Mary Fayth! You? (_He grasps her hand with pathetic eagerness._) Oh, I never was so glad! You are the first person--the only one--nobody else seemed to know me. I might have known _you_ would. Where’s Helen? Isn’t she with you? And you weren’t hurt at all, were you? I have been--anxious about you. Those cowardly papers said--I tried to get right over and see you. And, after all, you’re not hurt. I thank-- (_Looks around confusedly._) Ah, what shall I thank?

PRIEST. Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.

(DR. THORNE _listens with troubled interest, like a child learning a hard lesson_.)

MRS. FAYTH (_smiling_). I can only stay a minute. I must get back to my poor Fred.

DR. THORNE. Don’t leave me.

MRS. FAYTH. Oh, poor doctor! Don’t you _see_? The carriage overturned. I was badly hurt. I only died an hour ago.

DR. THORNE (_gasps, and stares at_ MRS. FAYTH. _He tries to speak, but can only articulate_). You died an hour ago? And I? And _I_?

MRS. FAYTH (_still smiling, with her sweet, mysterious smile_). Don’t take it so hard, doctor. I came to ex-plain it to you. Why, it’s the most beautiful thing in the world! (_Glides away slowly, but smiling to the last._)

DR. THORNE (_throws up his arms in anguish_). I am dead! My God! _I am a dead man!_

(_His face falls into his hands, his whole body collapses slowly, he drops._)

END OF SCENE I.