Young Doctor Kildare by Max Brand--Delphi Classics (Illustrated) by Max Brand

Author:Max Brand [BRAND, MAX]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Parts Edition 22 of 76 by Delphi Classics
Publisher: Delphi Classics (Parts Edition)
Published: 2018-04-16T00:00:00+00:00

XI. THE REBEL

THE WOMEN’S PSYCHOPATHIC ward, Kildare found, no longer contained Barbara Chanler. She had been moved to a private room. The priest-like figure of Lane Porteus, the great psychiatrist, appeared at the door as Kildare entered. He had his assistant with him, peering through huge spectacles that permitted him to see only the scientific truths and no others.

“That’s Dr. Kildare now,” said the nurse.

One carefully hooded lamp gave a dim twilight to the room, for the window had been darkened. A peppery sweetness of roses lived in the air for flowers in every corner were banked like the tributes at a funeral. Kildare dimly perceived these things as famous Lane Porteus approached him and offered a chill, bony hand.

“I understand,” said the psychiatrist, “that you are to take over for the moment. I hope you will not undo too much that has been done, Dr. Kildare. In all humility, I hope that you will not undo too much!”

Then he went out.

“How is she?” Kildare asked the nurse.

“Miss Chanler is not very well, Dr. Kildare,” said the nurse. It seemed hard for her to make a report to such an underling. “Here is her chart. She will have to have more sedatives; she is in a practically spastic state at present.”

He pushed open the door and went slowly around the big white screen which gave a double privacy to the bed. He could hear her breathing, hurried and rasping. Then she swallowed, audibly. The restraining sheet still swathed her, outlining the rigid body as though the cloth were wet.

“You’ve had a shock,” said Kildare, coming up to her. “But it’s going to be all right, now.”

The girl whispered: “They all know.... I’ll never see them again. I want to die.”

“We’ll get this thing away, and then we’ll talk,” said Kildare.

He lowered the side of the bed, unfastened the sheet that bound her, and set free her hands. Her left hand and wrist were bandaged. After that he pulled up a chair and sat down. It seemed to him that a whole procession of famous spirits were standing behind him, criticising. In the forefront stood Lane Porteus and the great Gillespie. He said nothing through a long moment but listened to the breathing as it grew easier.

After a while a hand fumbled. He found it and held it. It was cold and dry. A little more of this tension and she would not need gas or broken glass to finish her. She gripped his fingers hard, with a trembling strength. In a queer absentness of mind he felt the tough tennis callus inside the thumb. There was a constant tremor in her, like something wavering and about to fall.

“All of them — they all know!” she said. “Why don’t they tell me about it?”

“Hush — they don’t know,” said Kildare.

But her whisper answered: “I saw Dave Hamilton white with disgust and trying to smile and be a gentleman. I’ll die before I ever see him again. I’ll hold my breath till

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