Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 43, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 February 1916 — THE UTILE GENTLEMAN [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE UTILE GENTLEMAN

By GEORGE MUNSON.

"Nurse, I believe I am the patient for Room 7 V ” There was an immediate pause in all the activities of the ward as the little man who had spoken these words stood at the door and looked smilingly toward Miss Rensham, the night superintendent. ’ He had the most charming and the most intellectual face that Miss Rensham had ever seen. He was about eight and twenty years of age. The forehead betokened thoughtfulness, the head was fine in the best sense of the word. But the stature was only five feet, and the body was misshapen. The doctors had told the nurses of the forthcoming operation. It was the most rdmantic thing that had ever happened in the hospital. When the little gentleman was safely in bed the night superintendent talked with his special nurse. Miss Ray. "It wrings my heart,” she said. “I’d like to see—O, I’d Just like to see the woman who’s going to let him suffer like that for her.” 1 "But she doesn’t know,” answered Miss Ray. "Of course she knows. He’s trying to hide it, to shield her. She must be a worthless woman. Why, he is a dear —just a little dear!” Miss Rensham dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. Miss Ray sniffed and blinked. Both women felt touched at the thought of the little cripple who was to be made straight by the most delicate operation in the world, in order that he might feel v

free to ask the woman he loved to marry him. Edith Carstairs was a noted beauty. Everyone had heard of her, but no one in the hospital had seen her. It was the general opinion that she was heartless. Any woman must be heartless who would allow her lover-to undergo so terrible an operation, followed by the six weeks in plaster, before she would listen to his suit. *-The next morning was an agonizing one at the hospital. The patients might have complained of neglect for the first time in their lives within that institution. There was not a nurse stole down to the operating room, whenever the chance occurred, to gather the news fqpm Fritz, the anesthetic room orderly: “The surgeons haven’t finished, miss.” *' • 0 Five hours after the* little gentleman was carried away they carried hack a limp, tightly bound,' unconscious body, exhaling ether, with the white mask of ether anesthesia upon the features. An hour afterward Nurse Ray was seated by the little gentleman’s bedside, listening to his muttered words about Edith Carstaii’s, as he slowly came back to consciousness. “He shall not marry her!" said Nurse Ray to Nurse Rensham indignantly, the next morning. “At least, she ought to have been here today.’’ “She doesn’t know!” The other looked at her scornfully. “Of course she knows. She’B waiting to learn the result of the operation.’’ She came that afternoon/ a tall, proud-looking beauty, asking for the little gentleman. She had just learned, she said, that he had undergone an operation. She did not know what it was. He was a friend of hers—she was distressed. Nurse Rehsham took her apart. Women can be qrueler to each other than men when it is needful, and Nurse Rensham thought Edith Carstairs was a hypocrite. She broke the news to her with a few burning words that made Edith Carstairs gasp, and -then shook her into passionate sobbing. f • She had not known, she had not dreamed, she said. She did not know that the little gentleman had ever cared for her like that. Thentirse was half convinced, almost convinced when she took Miss Carstairs to the iittle gentleman’s bedside for a moment and saw her kneel and press his white hand to her lips. But she wab hot sure. “He shall never marry her until I know," Nurse Rensham said. The little gentleman was the dearest patient they had ever had in the hospital. He never complained, 4 though the pain of the cranmed post- *~ ~ - -it >

tlon ate into flesh and muscle and sinew. After five weeks the surgeon began to talk of taking off the bandages and uncasing him. ~ "Nobody knows whether it has been successful,” he told Miss Carstairs, who had been a regular visitor. The two had been loverlike enough, but Nurse Rensham was> still scornful. "She thinks he will get well —she’s waiting,” she told herself bitterly. The morning when the bandages were to bl removed arrived, Nurse Rensham had said nothing to Miss Carstairs; she met her at the door. "Will you come in here a moment, please,” she said, motioning to her to enter the drug room. There she told her. The operation had failed. The little gentleman would be more hopelessly crippled than before. The nurse’s face was white and resolute. Her eyes gleamed vindictively. "Now let me see what mettle you are made of!” she seemed to say. Edith Carstairs gasped and reeled back against the wall. Then she turned and ran swiftly down the passage toward the elevator. But Nurse Rensham caught her before she could enter. "I knew what you were made of, you worthless woman!” she hissed. “You couldn’t bear to have the love of a good man because he was crooked in body. You have turned from him now that you know he will always be thus.” Edith Carstairs straightened herself and looked at the nurse with a new dignity. “I ran away because the blow stunned me!” she answered. "It was not because I cared for myself. I cared for him. Can’t you understand, can’t you realize that a woman who loves a man wilL never dare to look upon him in his soul’s agony, because she cannot bear it on his account?” “No, I can’t!” answered Nurse Rensham. "Then come with me!” cried Edith Carstairs fiercely. She seized the nurse by the arm and almost dragged her into the little gentleman’s room. “Tell them!” she cried. "Tell them now, because they doubted my love and loyalty. Tell them! See!” She was thrusting something fiercely upon her finger. It was a wedding ring. She stood up bravely by the bedside, confronting all the nurses in the room. "I am his wife!” she cried. “I married him before he came here — and I did not know he was to come. Now, will you-believe?” The little gentleman sat up in bed and drew her to him. "What is all this about, Edith?” he asked wonderingly. "Do you know the doctors say I am cured, that I am to get up tomorrow and shall be straight as any man for the rest of my life?” Edith Carstairs collapsed across the bed in a dead faint. The little gentleman, still holding her in his strong arms, looked anxiously into her white face. He was not thinking of Nurse Rensham then; and she was sobbing her heart out in her own room, alone. (Copyright, 1916, by W. G. Chapman.)

"I Believe I Am the Patient for Room 7.”