The Web of Life Part 15

The clerk tapped irritably on her desk with her pencil.

"Yes, _ten_ dollars for the first visit; five after that; operations from fifty to five hundred."

The woman clutched tightly a small reticule. "I hain't the money!" she exclaimed at last. "I thought it would be two dollars."

"You'll have to go to the hospital, then."

The clerk turned to a pile of letters.

"Don't he see n.o.body here without he pays ten?" the woman asked.

"No."

"Where is the hospital?"

"St. Isidore's--the clinic is every other Sat.u.r.day at nine."

"But my head hurts awful bad. The doctor up our way don't know anything about it."

The clerk no longer answered; she had turned half around in her swivel-chair. Sommers leaned over her desk, and said,--

"Show her into my room, No. 3, Miss Clark."

"Dr. Lindsay is _very_ particular," the clerk protested.

"I will be responsible," Sommers answered sharply, in the tone he had learned to use with hospital clerks when they opposed his will. He turned to get his mail. The clerk shrugged her shoulders with a motion that said, 'Take her there yourself.' Sommers beckoned to the woman to follow him. He took her to one of the little compartments on the inner corridor, which was lined with strange devices: electrical machines, compressed air valves, steam sprays--all the enginery of the latest invention.

"Now what is it?" he asked gruffly. He was vexed that the matter should occur at this time, when he was on rather cool terms with Lindsay. The case proved to be an interesting one, however. There were nervous complications; it could not be diagnosed at a glance. After spending half an hour in making a careful examination, he gave the woman a preliminary treatment, and dismissed her with directions to call the next day.

"You will lose your eyesight, if you don't take care," he said. "We'll see to-morrow."

"No," the woman shook her head. "I've had enough of her lip. You'se all right; but I guess I'll have to go blind. I can't stand your prices. Here's two dollars, all I got."

She held out a dirty bill.

"In the world?" Sommers added smilingly. It was a familiar formula.

"Just about," she admitted defiantly. "And if my eyes go back on me, I guess 'twill be St. Isidore, or St. Somebody. You see I need my eyes pretty bad just now for one thing."

"What's that?" the doctor asked good-naturedly, waving the money aside.

"To look for _him_. He's in Chicago somewheres, I know."

"Ducharme?" the doctor inquired carelessly.

The woman nodded, her not uncomely broad face a.s.suming a strange expression of determined fierceness. At that moment an a.s.sistant rapped at the door with a summons from Dr. Lindsay.

"Turn up this evening, then, at the address on this card," Sommers said to Mrs. Ducharme, handing her his card.

He would have preferred hearing that story about Ducharme to charging old P. F. Wort with electricity. He went through the treatment with his accustomed deftness, however. As he was leaving the room, Dr. Lindsay asked him to wait.

"Mr. Porter is about to go abroad, to try the baths at Marienbad. I have advised him to take one of our doctors with him to look after his diet and comfort in travelling,--one that can continue our treatment and be companionable. It will just take the dull season. I'd like to run over myself, but my affairs--"

Lindsay completed the idea by sweeping his broad, fleshy hand over the large office desk, which was loaded with letters, reports, and doc.u.ments of various kinds.

"What d'ye say, Sommers?"

"Do you think Porter would want me?" Sommers asked idly. He had seen in the paper that morning that Porter was out of town, and was going to Europe for his health. Porter had been out of town, persistently, ever since the Pullman strike had grown ugly. The duties of the directors were performed, to all intents and purposes, by an under-official, a third vice-president.

Those duties at present consisted chiefly in saying from day to day: "The company has nothing to arbitrate. There is a strike; the men have a right to strike. The company doesn't interfere with the men," etc. The third vice-president could make these announcements as judiciously as the great Porter.

"I have an idea," continued Sommers, "that Porter might not want me; he has never been over-cordial."

"Nonsense!" replied the busy doctor. "Porter will take any one I advise him to. All expenses and a thousand dollars--very good pay."

"Is Porter very ill?" Sommers asked. "I thought he was in fair health, the last time I saw him."

Lindsay looked at the young doctor with a sharp, experienced glance. There was a half smile on his face as he answered soberly:

"Porter has been living rather hard. He needs a rest--fatty degeneration may set in."

"Brought on by the strike?"

Lindsay smiled broadly this time.

"Coincident with the strike, let us say."

"I don't believe I can leave Chicago just now," the young doctor replied finally.

Lindsay stared at him as if he were demented.

"I've a case or two I am interested in," Sommers explained nonchalantly.

"Nothing much, but I don't care to leave. Besides, I don't think Porter would be an agreeable companion."

"Very well," Lindsay replied indifferently. "French will go--a jolly, companionable, chatty fellow."

The young doctor felt that Lindsay was enumerating pointedly the qualities he lacked.

"Porter's connection will be worth thousands to the man he takes to. He's in a dozen different corporations where they pay good salaries to physicians. Of course, if you've started a practice already--"

"I don't suppose my cases are good for ten dollars."

Lindsay's handsome, gray-whiskered face expressed a polite disgust.

"There's another matter I'd like to speak about--"

"The patient Ducharme?" Sommers asked quickly.

"I don't know her name,--the woman Miss Clark says you admitted against my rules. You know there are the free dispensaries for those who can't pay, and, indeed, I give my own services. I cannot afford to maintain this plant without fees. In short, I am surprised at such a breach of professional etiquette."