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Show i ...Our Boys and $iri$. EDITED BY AUNT BUSY. Th!s department Is conducted solely ta the interests inter-ests of our elrl and boy reader. Aunt Busy Is jrlad to hear any tlmo rrom th nieces and nephews who read this page, and to glvs i them all the advice and help In her power. Wrlt on one elde of the paper only. Do not have letters too Ion. f Original stories and verses will ha gladly received end caiefully edited. The manuscripts of contributions not accepted win be returned. Address all letters to Aunt Busy. Inter-mountain Catholic. Salt La it City. A TRAINED NURSES CHOICE, 1 "That you. Miss Meade ? Just come in ?" The manager's voice over the house-telephone was tinged I by relief. Dr. Stags had said: "It must be Miss ,1 Meade." "You're wanted immediately; automobile accident; all dead but one; he's Dr. Stagg's patient." "Very pood. What's tne address ?" Ruth Meade, no matter how brief her sentences, never gave the impression of being curt. Her tone was too rich and sweet not to please. Young, efficient, good to .j look at, the girl's voice was only one of the many gifts which made her the favorite nurse at the registry. reg-istry. She wrote the address of Dr. Stagg's pa-s pa-s tient upon a convenient pad, as the manager re peated it. "Thank you. Good-bye." With the quick noiseless manner lier training Lad accomplished, Ruth made some changes in the suit case she had fetched to her room ten minutes earlier. ear-lier. "I expected to go home over Sunday," she reflected, re-flected, a trace of doubt flitting across her tranquil face, disturbing its peace into an angry pucker of the forehead, a stiffening and thinning of the full young lips. "Oh, well I'll drift with the current. Duty can't be ignored. Efface yourself and your difficulties, Ruth; it's high sanctity and common sense, both." She snapped the valise shut with whimsical whim-sical energy, and picked up her hat and gloves. ; Half an hour later, Ruth stood beside an impro- ;. vised operating table in a very rich man's house. . Dr. Stagg, greeting her by a fraction of a nod, still v had mental leisure sufficient to think, as many times ( before, that Ruth was a white-uniformed incarna-i incarna-i ,,0- J tion of quiet, unostentatious capability. He can- vl didly reverenced nurses who worked hard and talked ;'AV little. J J "Just in time, Miss Meade. Dr. Bell will take y the narcosis. It's trepanning " They worked rapidly, almost in absolute silence. si-lence. There is something eerie about approaching approach-ing a man's brain with material instruments, even of twentieth century manufacture. The patient , V was neither young or old. He was a large man, probably handsome, although the disfigured head and the face, partially concealed by the ether-cone, ether-cone, gave Ruth little definite idea of feature or contour. She instinctively fancied the countenance counte-nance fine looking. Then by force of habit she put all curiosity, all imagination, everything except ex-cept the alert attention to her duty, out of her mind. He was back in the carved and canopied bed, desperately weak and ghastly looking, presenting no indication of triumphant reaction. The surgeons sur-geons were conversing in low tones, out in the in-;i in-;i jured man's study. "I have made him as comfortable as I could," thought Ruth, arranging bowls of solution upon a table. "But I'm afraid nothing will help him. ; His pulse and respiration are both alarming." i; She turned in a quick, overpowering sympathy and ' regarded the man lying on immaculate linen, his It head in clean white bandages, science attendant jr with all its marvelous might, but the individual it evidently forever beyond the power of comfort, " luxury or knowledge to permanently assist him. u The calm, indefatigable nurse was a bit over-,v over-,v wrought; there had been trials and struggles in s her own life of late. Two paths stretched out be-1 be-1 fore her and her heart quailed before the moment I when she must declare her choice. Mr. Brewster, I a few hours before unknown to her, was getting upon Ruth's nerves. -: "Where's his wife?" she peevishly inquired of herself. "No doubt in Rome or Paris, as most js husbands and wives are when I am called to nurse J their honorable consorts in wealth like this. Why isn't she here? He's dying. I'm positive. Poor j jS chap! I wonder if that's his picture taken years . ago " She was meditatively studying a photo- f graph upon a cabinet when Dr. Stagg beckoned J ' d' .her from the door. Ruth went in her quick, silent S fashion to join the two 6urgeons. j ' "Mr. Brewster's condition is extremely critical. He may never come out of the ether. Do you think I'd better send for a second nurse to go on at seven?" Dr. Stagg knew what Ruth's answer would be. "Oh. no! I like to see my patient through the , night after an operation." Dr. Stagg smiled at the zealous determination y V in Ruth's blue eyes. "Well! Mr. Brewster's man will help you if iI. necessary. In the morning we shall see." i v- "What wc shall see," gravely supplemented Dr. Bell. "Don't bury him till he's dead," snapped Dr. Stagg. He abhorred the prccipitateness of youth. Dr. Bell bowed haughtily. Ruth turned to Dr. Stagg. "And Mrs. Brewster?" said she impulsively. "Mr. Brewster is unmarried. Has no near relative rela-tive whatever. Perhaps no really unselfish friend on the face of the globe." Dr. Stagg returned to the bedside and bent once more over his patient. Ruth watched the physician's serious, sharply-cut features assume a more marked anxiety. I "How is he?" she breathed. 1 "Very low indeed," Dr. Stagg answered frank-, a y. "It was a nasty collision, two machines head- J on at a turn. Mr. Brewster was thrown twenty- . five feet." )A few final directions jotted down, grave bows lo Ruth, and she sat alone near the bed, listening to the struggling breaths of the strong man whose life was flickering out. A premature twilight per- vaded the room, darkening blackly in the corners. f Ruth knew a window was open back of heavy hhrouding curtains, but the fumes of ether lin- gc-rr-d through all th house. M4 "It's a horrid day," Ijuth 1 bought, reaching Tor a limp periodical and fanning away the ap-' ap-' preach of unusual, unprofessional faintness. j- A door was gently pushed open. Ruth stopped fanning and slightly started at the apparition presented! pre-sented! An old snowy-headed darky in white I waist-coated evening clothes, holding by a cumber- ' some nail-studded collar a huge Great Dane. ; "How's Mass' G'oge, missy?" he queried in the 0 softest tones of his race. "Pluto, yo' ole fool, keep f still!"' He cuffed the dog mildly with the fat hand that was free. Every tooth in his head showed in, a .'j . - polite smile at the young lady, but his cheeks were frankly wet with abundant tears. "He's quite sick," Ruth whispered, "Are you Mr. Brewster's man? Oh! don't hold the dog so. He'll choke!" in alarm at the immense brute's efforts ef-forts to break away from the detaining grip. "l's his man Pompey, yes, missy, I is. Pluto, yo' sho'ly is de debbil, I 'clar'fo' de Lawd! Don' yo' tech him, missy, cose he ain' nebber like no one 'cep me and Mass' G'oge, 0 Lawd!" as with one final wrench and snarl, Pluto freed himself and, darting across the room, crawled under Mr. Brewster's bed. From that point of vantage he ominously growled as Pompey went belligerently after him. "Let him alone," Ruth urged. "I've seen dogs act that way before." Pompey, who had gone down upon all fours to peer under the bed, rose with panting difficulty. "Lawd! Yo' don' gwine to say Massa G'oge gwine die?" Pompey sniffed piteously, abandoning all attempt at dignity. "I hope not," was all Ruth could say. "He done look pow'ful bad," said Pompey, miserably. mis-erably. "Ain' dat jes' awful, de way he breave?" "Thats mostly from the ether," Ruth consoled. ; She laid her finger on Mr. Brewster's wrist. Pluto ! growled forbiddingly as her skirts touched the bed. "Fo' de lub o' God," begged Pompey, "be keer-ful keer-ful o' dat ole fool Pluto!" "Yes," said Ruth tactfully. 'He intends to stay here, 60 I think, Pompey, I'll be be obliged to keep you, too." "Jes' so, missy. I'se glad to stay, I is. Me an' j Pluto 's de two pussons dat lub Massa G'oge bes' in dis worl'. Ain' yo' gwine like him, too ?" wistfully. "I like him immensely," Ruth assured the old man. Pompey watched her wonderingly as she gave his master a hypodermic. A weird silence, disturbed only by Mr. Brewster's agitated respiration, settled upon the room. Slowly the minutes dragged by into hours. For an instant Ruth wondered which meal the butler brought to her, when he entered with her dinner. Pompey waited upon her attentively. She swallowed what she could. The old servant, and the. dog under the bed, would touch neither food nor drink. Both grew so silent and motionless as the night wore on that Ruth believed they were asleep. They were not. The devoted human being and the dumb, faithful brute alike waited in tensely alert misery for what would happen to their best friend. Dr. Stagg lingered long at the next visit. But Ruth knew that he loitered more because he thought the end was very near than because he anticipated any result from his new directions. "There may still be seme change in the morning," morn-ing," the doctor forced himself to murmur at the door. Ruth dutifully nodded, biting her lips meanwhile. mean-while. She wished irritably that physicians would be strictly sincere with their nurses at least. Why the farce of holding out hope when none existed? It was shortly before the calm, beautiful dawi that Mr. Brewer unexpectedly stirred and opened his eyes. Ruth smiled hopefully into the wide, bright eyes gazing wildly at her. "You feel better?" she said softly. "I don't know," gasped the man distractedly. "I man't move. What was it? Where am I?" Pompey leaned forward eager, happy, agonized in one second. Pluto, at the sound of Mr. Brewster's Brew-ster's voice, crawled out from the cramped quarters quar-ters in which he had been crouching and pressed his huge head desperately against his master's limp, bloodless hand lying at the edge of the bed. "Don't worry," said Ruth, soothingly. "You must rest quietly." "But what happened to me?" Mr. Brewster persisted per-sisted in a pitifully weak tone. "I wasn't sick. My God, I know," he cried suddenly, and he struggled so to sit up that Ruth laid her arm firmly across his chest. "Don't, Mr. Brewster! You were in an automobile automo-bile collision, and Dr. Stagg operated upon you. Everything will be all right." She mixed something some-thing hastily in a tumbler. "I am glad you have come out of the ether so well. Drink this." Instantly Pompey was at her assistance, taking the tube and glass from her when she would have set them down. "Ah, you, Pompey," breathed Mr. Brewster, but his strength had exhausted itself, and directly he drowsed. "He ain' gwine die?" begged Pomp'ey, faintly, tearfully. "I hope not" Pluto licked the cold white hand. Ruth watched and counted the quick, noisy respiration. As the morning sunshine stole in between the drawn curtains, cur-tains, Mr. Brewster again returned' to full consciousness, con-sciousness, but then his breathing became very; very slow, like lawn-drawn-out heart-broken sighs. He began to talk in pharases quickly uttered, but broken because of the choking presently coming upon him. "You're my nurse? I remember all. It was a straight, clear road the branches of the elms meeting overhead. For a while it seemed to me I was twenty instead of fifty-five. I was traveling along a straight, clear road on a day exactly as beautiful. I saw heaven through the blue sky at the end of that straight, clear road. No obstacle obsta-cle intervened no evil menaced me on the way to God waiting for mt at the end. I was twenty and I meant to be a priest." Ruth involuntarily started and, impelled by a peculiar curiosity, her gaze left for a second the livid features of her patient. In the lightning-swift lightning-swift glance she sent around the apartment she caught sight of a dim ivory crucifix low upon the wall, beneath a copy of the Sistine Madonna. It bore a new and unexpected siarnificancc. Mr. Brew-' ster's eyes had closed. Ruth hesitated. Should she rouse him, should she question? A wave of uncertainty, uncer-tainty, of miserable confusion somehow involved in her own fate, swept over the girl. "The beauty of that day " he spoke more faintly after the pause, and Ruth bent her head to catch the gasped-out words. "Its unselfish aspirationsand aspira-tionsand its peace returned to me sifter thirty-five thirty-five years of paganism. My God, I am dying I left the straight, clear road. But it came back for an instant. I was crazed with the wonder of it. We sped through the golden way. Every trembling leaf whispered of high things to me. Faster, faster. At the horizon was the glory of Paradise, The speed was blindingbut the way was safe. Then came darkness forgetfulncss and now this agony." He sank more heavily into the pillow while Ruth wrote frantically upon her card. In a moment he made a supreme effort and raised himself to sit upright up-right without support. "My God," cried he in a tone piercingly distinct, "only once more! Give me Thy unworthy servant the straight, clear road !" Blinded by tears Ruth pushed Pompey with the hurriedly-written message upon her card out of the room. But she knew, as she slipped to her knees beside the shrinking riuto, that the priest, like herself, her-self, could only pray for the departed soul. .Before she took the rest of which she had great need, Ruth despatched her letter to the suitor wait ing in "the country for her decision. The straight, clear road was vividly plain to her now, the alluring mirage of the side-paths having been dispersed by the brightness of a truer vision. The chagrined lover read, in calm, irrevocable terms, that not even to marry the man she loved, would Ruth Meade barter her faith. Helen Bcekman in The Messenger Messen-ger of the Sacred Heart. |