”Pop”

The gloomy corridor in the big Baltimore hospital was still and deserted save for a nurse who sat at a flat-topped desk under a green lamp mechanically transferring figures from one chart to another. It was the period of quiet that usually precedes the first restless stirring of the sick at the breaking of dawn. The silence was intense as only a silence can be that waits momentarily for an interrupting sound.

Suddenly it came in a prolonged, imperative ring of the telephone bell. So insistent was the call that the nurse’s hand closed over the transmitter long before the burr ceased. The office was notifying Ward B that an emergency case had been brought in and an immediate operation was necessary.

With prompt efficiency the well-ordered machinery for saving human life was put in motion. Soft-footed nurses emerged from the shadows and moved quickly about, making necessary arrangements. A trim, comely woman, straight of feature and clear of eye, gave directions in low decisive tones. When the telephone rang the second time she answered it.

“Yes, Office,” she said, “this is Miss Fletcher. They are not going to operate? Too late? I see. Very well. Send the patient up to No. 16. Everything is ready.”

Even as she spoke the complaining creak of the elevator could he heard, and presently two orderlies appeared at the end of the corridor bearing a stretcher.

Beside it, with head erect and jaw set, strode a strangely commanding figure. Six feet two he loomed in the shadows, a gaunt, raw-boned old mountaineer. On his head was a tall, wide-brimmed hat and in his right hand he carried a bulky carpet sack. The left sleeve of his long-tailed coat hung empty to the elbow. The massive head with its white flowing beard and hawklike face, the beaked nose and fierce, deep-set eyes, might have served as a model for Michael Angelo when he modeled his immortal Moses.

As the orderlies passed through the door of No. 16 and lowered the stretcher, the old man put down his carpet sack and grimly watched the nurse uncover the patient. Under the worn homespun coverlet, stained with the dull dyes of barks and berries, lay an emaciated figure, just as it had been brought into the hospital. One long coarse garment covered it, and the bare feet with their prominent ankle bones and the large work-hardened hands might have belonged to either a boy or a girl.

“Take that thar head wrappin’ off!” ordered the old man peremptorily.

A nurse carefully unwound the rough woolen scarf and as she did so a mass of red hair fell across the pillow, hair that in spite of its matted disorder showed flashes of gleaming gold.

“We’ll get her on the bed,” a night nurse said to an assistant. “Put your arm under her knees. Don’t jar the stretcher!”

Before the novice could obey another and a stronger arm was thrust forward.

“Stand back thar, some of you-uns,” commanded a loud voice, “I’ll holp move Sal myself.”

In vain were protests from nurses and orderlies alike, the old mountaineer seemed bent on making good use of his one arm and with quick dexterity he helped to lift her on the bed.

“Now, whar’s the doctor?” he demanded, standing with feet far apart and head thrown back.

The doctor was at the desk in the corridor, speaking to Miss Fletcher in an undertone:

“We only made a superficial examination down-stairs,” he was saying, “but it is evidently a ruptured appendix. If she’s living in a couple of hours I may be able to operate. But it’s ten to one she dies on the table.”

“Who are they, and where did they come from?” Miss Fletcher asked curiously.

“Their name is Hawkins, and they are from somewhere in the Kentucky mountains. Think of his starting with her in that condition! He can’t read or write; it’s the first time he has ever been in a city. I am afraid he’s going to prove troublesome. You’d better get him out of there as soon as possible.”

But anyone, however mighty in authority, who proposed to move Jeb Hawkins when he did not choose to be moved reckoned unknowingly. All tactics were exhausted from suggestion to positive command, and the rules of the hospital were quoted in vain.

In the remote regions where Jeb lived there were no laws to break. Every man’s home was his stronghold, to be protected at the point of a pistol. He was one of the three million people of good Anglo-Saxon stock who had been stranded in the highlands when the Cumberland Mountains dammed the stream of humanity that swept westward through the level wilderness. Development had been arrested so long in Jeb and his ancestors that the outside world, its interests and its mode of living, was a matter of supreme and profound indifference. A sudden and unprecedented emergency had driven him to the “Settlements.” His girl had developed an ailment that baffled the skill of the herb doctors; so, following one bit of advice after another, he had finally landed in Baltimore. And now that the terrible journey was ended and Sal was in the hands of the doctor who was to work the cure, the wholly preposterous request was made of him that he abandon her to her fate!

With dogged determination he sat beside the bed, and chewed silently and stolidly through the argument.

“You gals mought ez well save yer wind,” he announced at last. “Ef Sal stays, I stay. Ef I go, Sal goes. We ain’t axin’ favors of nobody.”

He was so much in the way during the necessary preparations for the possible operation that finally Miss Fletcher was appealed to. She was a woman accustomed to giving orders and to having them obeyed; but she was also a woman of tact. Ten minutes of valuable time were spent in propitiating the old man before she suggested that he come with her into the corridor while the nurses straightened the room. A few minutes later she returned, smiling:

“I’ve corralled him in the linen closet,” she whispered; “he is unpacking his carpet sack as if he meant to take up his abode with us.”

“I am afraid,” said the special nurse, glancing toward the bed, “he won’t have long to stay. How do you suppose he ever got her here?”

“I asked him. He said he drove her for three days in an ox-cart along the creek bottom until they got to Jackson. Then he told the ticket agent to send them to the best hospital the train ran to. Neither of them had ever seen a train before. It’s a miracle she’s lived this long.”

“Does he realize her condition?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I ought to tell him that the end may come at any time.”

But telling him was not an easy matter as Miss Fletcher found when she joined him later in the linen closet. He was busy spreading his varied possessions along the shelves on top of the piles of immaculate linen, stopping now and then to refresh himself with a bite of salt pork and some corn pone that had been packed for days along with Sally’s shoes and sunbonnet and his own scanty wardrobe.

“I suppose you know,” Miss Fletcher began gently, trying not to show her chagrin at the state of the room, “that your daughter is in a very serious condition.”

He looked at her sharply. “Shucks! Sal’ll pull through,” he said with mingled defiance and alarm. “You ain’t saw her afore in one of them spells. Besides, hit meks a difference when a gal’s paw and grandpaw and great-grandpaw was feud-followers. A feud-follower teks more killin’ then ordinary folks. Her maw was subjec’ to cramp colic afore her.”