The Story of a Doctor's Telephone Part 26

"I believe in preventive medicine," said the doctor, "and mending broken steps and removing banana peeling belong to it."

"Do you think it will ever be an established fact?" asked Mary as they drove away.

"I do indeed. It will be the medicine of the future."

"I'm glad I'm not a woman of the future, then, for I really don't want to starve to death."

"I have to visit a patient a few miles farther on," said the doctor when they came out on the highway. Soon they were driving across a knoll and fields of ta.s.seled corn lay before them. A little farther and they entered the woods. "Ah, Mary, I would not worry about leaving church.

The groves were G.o.d's first temples." After a little he said, "I was trying to think what Beecher said about trees--it was something like this: 'Without doubt better trees there might be than even the most n.o.ble and beautiful now. Perhaps G.o.d has in his thoughts much better ones than he has ever planted on this globe. They are reserved for the glorious land.'"

"See this, John!" and Mary pointed to a group of trees they were pa.s.sing, "a ring cut around every one of them!"

"Yes, the fool's idea of things is to go out and kill a tree by the roadside--often standing where it can't possibly do any harm. How often in my drives I have seen this and it always makes me mad."

They drove for a while in silence, then Mary said, "Nature seems partial to gold." She had been noting the Spanish needles and Black-eyed Susans which starred the dusty roadside and filled the field on the left with purest yellow, while golden-rod and wild sunflowers bloomed profusely on all sides.

"Yes, that seems to be the prevailing color in the wild-flowers of this region."

"That reminds me of something. A few months ago a little girl said to me, 'Mrs. Blank, don't you think red is G.o.d's favorite color?' 'Why, dear, I don't think I ever thought about it,' I answered, quite surprised. 'Well, I think he likes _red_ better than any color.' 'Why I don't know, but when we look around and see the gra.s.s and the trees and the vines growing everywhere, it seems to me that _green_ might be his favorite color. But what makes you think it is red?' 'Because he put _blood_ into everybody in the world.' Quite staggered by this reasoning and making an effort to keep from smiling, I said, 'But we can't see that. If red is his favorite color why should he put it where it can't be seen?' The child looked at me in amazement. '_G.o.d_ can see it. He can see clear _through_ anybody.' The little reasoner had vanquished me and I fled the field."

A little way ahead lay a large snake stretched out across the road.

"The boy that put it there couldn't help it," said the doctor, "it's born in him. When I was a lad every snake I killed was promptly brought to the road and stretched across it to scare the pa.s.sers-by."

"And yet I don't suppose it ever did scare anyone."

"Occasionally a girl or woman uttered a shriek and I felt repaid. I remember one big girl walking along barefooted; before she knew it she had set her foot on the cold, slimy thing. The way she yelled and made the dust fly filled my soul with a frenzy of delight. I rolled over and over in the weeds by the roadside and yelled too."

A sudden turn in the road brought the doctor and his wife face to face with a young man and his sweetheart. Mary knew at a glance they were sweethearts. They were emerging into the highway from a gra.s.sy woods-road which led down to a little church. The young man was leading two saddled horses.

"Why do you suppose they walk instead of riding?" asked the doctor.

"Hus.h.!.+ they'll hear you. Isn't she pretty?"

The young man a.s.sisted his companion to her seat in the saddle. She started off in one direction, while he sprang on his horse and galloped away in the other. "Here! you rascal," the doctor called, as he pa.s.sed, "why didn't you go all the way with her?"

"I'll go back tonight," the young fellow called back, das.h.i.+ng on at so mad a pace that the broad rim of his hat stood straight up.

"Do you know him?"

"I know them both."

After another mile our travelers went down one long hill and up another and stopped at a house on the hilltop where lived the patient. Here, too, Mary chose to remain in the buggy. A wagon had stopped before a big gate opening into the barnyard and an old man in it was evidently waiting for someone. He looked at Mary and she looked at him; but he did not speak and just as she was about to say good morning, he turned and looked in another direction. When he finally looked around it seemed to Mary it would be a little awkward to bid him good morning now, so she tried to think what to say instead, by way of friendly greeting; it would be a little embarra.s.sing to sit facing a human being for some time with not a word to break the constraint. But the more she cudgeled her brain the farther away flew every idea. She might ask him if he thought we were going to have a good corn crop, but it was so evident that we were, since the crop was already made that that remark seemed inane. The silence was beginning to be oppressive. Her eye wandered over the yard and she noticed some peach trees near the house with some of the delicious fruit hanging from the boughs. She remarked pleasantly, "I see they have some peaches here." Her companion looked at her and said, "Hey?"

"I said, 'I see they have some peaches here,'" she rejoined, raising her voice. He curved one hand around his ear and said again, "Hey?"

"O, good gracious," thought Mary, "I wish I had let him alone."

She shrieked this time, "I only said, '_I see they have some peaches here._'"

When the old man said, "I didn't hear ye yet, mum," she leaned back in the carriage, fanning herself vigorously, and gave it up. She had screamed as loud as she intended to scream over so trivial a matter.

Looking toward the house she saw a tall young girl coming down the walk with something in her hand. She came timidly through the little gate and handed a plate of peaches up to the lady in the carriage, looking somewhat frightened as she did so. "I didn't hear ye," she explained, "but Jim came in and said you was a-wantin' some peaches."

Mary's face was a study. Jim and his sister had not seen the deaf old man in the wagon, as a low-branched pine stood between the wagon and the house. And this was the way her politeness was interpreted!

The comicality of the situation was too much. She laughed merrily and explained things to the tall girl who seemed much relieved.

"I ought to 'a' brought a knife, but I was in such a hurry I forgot it."

Eating peaches with the fuzz on was quite too much for Mary so she said, "Thank you, but we'll be starting home in a moment, I'll not have time to eat them. But I am very thirsty, might I have a gla.s.s of water?" The girl went up the walk and disappeared into the house. Mary did so want her to come out and draw the water, dripping and cool, from the old well yonder. She came out, went to the well, stooped and filled the gla.s.s from the bucket sitting inside the curb. Mary sighed. The tall girl took a step. Then, to the watcher's delight, she threw the water out, pulled the bucket up and emptied it into the trough, and one end of the creaking well-sweep started downward while the other started upward. The bucket was on its way to the cool depths and Mary grew thirstier every second.

The doctor appeared at the door and looked out. Then he came, case in hand, with swift strides down the walk. The gate banged behind him and he untied the horse in hot haste, looking savagely at his wife as he did so.

"I suppose you've asked that girl to bring you a drink."

"Yes, I did. I'm very thirsty."

"You ought to have more sense than to want to drink where people have typhoid fever."

The girl started down the walk with the br.i.m.m.i.n.g gla.s.s. The doctor climbed into the buggy and turned around.

"For pity's sake! what will she think?"

A vigorous cut from the whip and the horse dashed off down the road.

Mary cast a longing, lingering look behind. The girl stood looking after them with open mouth.

"That girl has had enough today to astonish her out of a year's growth,"

thought Mary as the buggy b.u.mped against a projecting plank and tore over the bridge at the foot of the hill.

"John, one of the rules of good driving is never to drive fast down hill." Her spouse answered never a word.

After a little he said, "I didn't mean to be cross, Mary, but I didn't want you to drink there."

"You should have warned me beforehand, then," she said chillingly.

"I couldn't sit in the buggy and _divine_ there was typhoid fever there," she continued. "'A woman's intuitions are safe guides' but she has to have _something_ to go on before she can _have_ intuitions."

"Hadn't you better put your ulster on, dear?" inquired the doctor in such meaning tones, that Mary turned quickly and looked off across the fields. A Black-eyed Susan by the roadside caught the smile in her eyes and nodded its yellow head and smiled mischievously back at her. It was a feminine flower and they understood each other.

When they had driven three or four miles Mary asked the doctor if there was any typhoid fever in the house they were approaching.

"How do I know?"

"I thought you might be able to divine whether there is or not."

"We'll suppose there isn't. We'll stop and get a drink," he answered indulgently. They stopped, Mary took the reins and the doctor went to reconnoiter.

"n.o.body at home and not a vessel of any kind in sight," he announced coming back. Of course her thirst was now raging.