The Story of a Doctor's Telephone—Told by His Wife

“No, his residence. He is here. Wait a minute, please, and I will call him.”

She hurried out to the porch, “Isn't papa here?” she asked of her small boy sitting there.

“He was.”

“Well, where is he now?”

“I don't know where he is.”

Provoking! She hurried back. He must be in the garden. An occasional impulse to hoe sometimes came over him (especially if the day happened to be Sunday).

In the kitchen her daughter stood at a table cutting the bread for supper. “Go quick, and see if papa's in the garden. Tell him to come to the 'phone at once.”

Then she hurried back to re-assure the waiting one. But what could she tell her? Perhaps the doctor was not in the garden. She rushed out and beat her daughter in the race toward it. She sent her voice ahead, “John!” she called.

“Yes.”

“Come to the 'phone this minute.” Back she ran. Would she still be waiting?

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

“Yes, the doctor's here. He's in the garden but will be in in just a minute. Hold the 'phone please.”

“Very well, thank you.”

It was a minute and a half before the doctor got there.

“Hello.” No answer.

“Hello!” Silence.

“Hello!” Still no reply. The doctor rang sharply for central.

“Who was calling me a minute ago.”

“I don't know – we can't keep track of everybody who calls.”

The doctor hung up the receiver with an explosive monosyllable. Mary's patience was giving out too. “She couldn't wait one half minute. I told her you would be here in a minute and it took you a minute and a half.”

“She may be waiting at the office, I'll go down there.”

“I wouldn't do it,” said Mary, warmly. “It's much easier for her to stay a half minute at the 'phone than for you to tramp back to the office.”

But he went. As his wife went back to the kitchen her daughter called, “Mother, did you take the loaf of bread in there with you?”

“Why, no.”

“Well, it's not on the table where I was cutting it when you sent me after father.”

“It's on the floor!” shouted the small boy, peering through the window. “I won't eat any of it!”

“Don't, exquisite child,” said his sister, stooping over to recover the loaf, dropped in her haste. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Mary went.

“Isn't the doctor coming?”

“He came. He called repeatedly, but got no reply.”

“I was right here with my ear to the 'phone the whole time.”

“He concluded it might be someone waiting for him at the office, so he has gone down there.”

“I'm not there. I'm here at home.”

“Hello,” broke in the doctor's voice.

“O, here you are!”

“Doctor, I've been taking calomel today and then I took some salts and I thoughtlessly dissolved them in some lemonade I had handy!”

A solemn voice asked, “Have you made your will?”

A little giggle before the patient said “No.”

“You'll have plenty of time. You needn't hurry about it.”

“You don't think it will hurt me then?”

“No. Not a bit.”

“I was afraid the acid might salivate me.”

“Yes, that's an old and popular idea. But it won't.”

“That sounds good, Doctor. I was awfully scared. Much obliged. Good-bye.”

A week or two after the above incident the doctor was seated at his dinner, a leisurely Sunday dinner. The telephone called and he rose and went to it. The usual hush fell upon the table in order that he might hear.

“Is this Dr. Blank?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Doctor, this is Mrs. Abner. Would it be too much trouble for you to step into Hall's and ask them to send me up a quart of ice-cream for dinner?”

“Certainly not. A quart?”

“Yes, please. I'm sorry to bother you with it. They ought to have a 'phone.”

“No trouble.”

The doctor hung up the receiver and reached for his hat.

“Why, John, you surely can finish your dinner before you go!” exclaimed Mary.

“Then I'd spoil Mrs. Abner's dinner.”

“Mrs. Abner!”

“Yes, she wants a quart of ice-cream for dinner.”

“I'd like to know what you've got to do with it,” said Mary tartly.

“She thinks I'm at the office.”

“And the office is next door to Hall's and Hall's have no 'phone,” said Mary smiling. “Of course you must go. Wouldn't Mrs. Abner feel mortified though if she knew you had to leave your home in the midst of dinner to order her ice-cream. But do hurry back, John.”

“Maybe I'd better stay there till the dinner hour is well over,” laughed John. “Every now and then someone wants me to step into Hall's and order up something.”

He went good-naturedly away and his wife looked after him marveling, but withal admiring.

The doctor and his wife had been slumbering peacefully for an hour or two. Then came a loud ring and they were wide awake at once.

“That wasn't the telephone, John, it was the door-bell.”

The doctor got into his dressing-gown and went to the door.

His wife heard a man's voice, then her husband reply, then the door shut. She lay back on her pillow but it was evident John was not coming back. She must have dozed, for it seemed to her a long time had gone by when she started to hear a noise in the other room. John had not yet got off.

“You have to go some place, do you?” she called.

“Yes, – just a little way. Look out for the 'phone, Mary. I think I'll have to go down to Hanson's tonight, to meet the stork.”

“But how can I get word to you? They have no 'phone or that man wouldn't have come after you.”

“Well, I have promised Hanson and I'll have to go there. If he 'phones before I get back tell him he'll have to come down to Stetson's after me. Or, you might wake one of the boys and send him over.”

“I'd rather try to wake Rip Van Winkle,” said Mary, in a tone that settled it.

In about an hour the doctor was back and snuggling down under the covers.

“They've got a fine boy over to Stetson's,” he announced to his sleepy wife.

“They have!” she exclaimed, almost getting awake. Again they slept.

Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling.

“That's Hanson,” exclaimed the doctor springing up and groping his way to the 'phone.

“Yes.”

“Out where?”

“Smith's on Parks avenue?.. Not Smith's?.. I understand – a little house farther down that street… Yes, I'll come… O, as soon as I can dress and get there.”

Mary heard, but when he had gone, was soon in a deep sleep.

By and by she found herself flinging off the covers and hurrying guiltily toward the summoning tyrant, her subconscious self telling her that this was the third peal.

“Hello.”

“Is the doctor there, Mrs. Blank?”

“No, he is over at Stetson's. He said if you 'phoned to tell you you would have to come there as they have no 'phone.”

“Wait a minute, Mrs. Blank,” said the voice of central, “some one is trying to speak – ”

“What have I said!” thought Mary suddenly, thoroughly awake. “He got back from Stetson's and went to another place. But I don't know what place nor where it is.”

The kindly voice of central went on:

“It's the doctor who is talking, Mrs. Blank. I understand now. He says if that message comes you are to 'phone him at James Smith's on Parks avenue.”

Mary looked at the clock. “So he's been there all this time. That stork is a little too busy tonight,” she thought as she went shivering back to bed.

Toward daylight she was roused by the return of her husband, who announced a new daughter in the world and then they went to sleep. The next morning she said, “John, I've just thought of something. Why didn't you have central 'phone you at Smith's if Hanson called and save me all that bother?”

“I guess it's because I'm so used to bothering you Mary, that I didn't think of it.”

Mary was upstairs cleaning house most vigorously when the ring came. She stopped and listened. It came again – three. She set the dust pan down and went.

“I'll have to be out for an hour or more, Mary,” said the doctor.

“I heard that sigh,” he laughed, “but it won't be very hard to sort of keep an ear on the 'phone, will it? Johnson may get in soon and then it won't be necessary.”

“Very well, then, John,” and she went upstairs, leaving the doors open behind her.

She had just reached the top when she had to turn about and retrace her steps.

“Hello.” No answer.

“Is someone calling Dr. Blank's house or office?”

“I rang your 'phone by mistake,” said central. Mary trudged up the stairs again. “This is more tiresome than cleaning house,” she said to herself as she went along.

In twenty minutes the summons came. She leaned her broom against the wall and went down.

“O, this is Mrs. Blank. I'm very sorry to have put you to this trouble – I wanted the doctor.”

She recognized the voice of her old pastor for whom she had a most kindly regard.

“He is out, but will be back within half an hour now, Mr. Rutledge.”

“Thank you, I'll call again, but I wonder that you knew my voice.” Mary laughed.

“I haven't heard it for awhile, but maybe I'll be at church next Sunday, if minding the telephone doesn't make me feel too wicked.”

“It's the wicked that church is for – come by all means.”

“I didn't mean to detain you, Mr. Rutledge. It is restful, though, after dragging one's weary feet down to the 'phone to hear something beside all the ills that flesh is heir to. Come to see us soon – one day next week.”

Once more she wended her way upstairs and in about fifteen minutes came the ting-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling. “I surrender!” she declared.

When she had gone down and put the receiver to her ear her husband's voice spoke kindly,

“I'm back, Mary, you're released.”

“Thank you, John, you are very thoughtful,” and she smiled as she took off her sun-bonnet and sat herself down. “Not another time will I climb those stairs this morning.”

Mary sat one evening dreamily thinking about them – these messages that came every day, every day!

Doctor, will it hurt Jennie to eat some tomatoes this morning – she craves them so?

Will is a great deal better. Can he have some ice-cream for dinner?

I can hardly manage Henry any longer, Doctor, he's determined he will have more to eat. Can I begin giving him a little more today?

Lemonade won't hurt Helen, will it? She wants some.

Doctor, I forget how many drops of that clear medicine I am to give… Ten, you say? Thank you.

Dr. Blank, is it after meals or before that the dark medicine is to be given… I thought so, but I wanted to be sure.

We are out of those powders you left. Do you think we will need any more?.. Then I'll send down for them.

How long will you be in the office this morning, Doctor?.. Very well, I'll be down in about an hour. I want you to see my throat.

You wanted me to let you know how Johnny is this morning. I don't think he has any fever now and he slept all night, so I guess you won't need to come down today.

Dr. Blank, I've got something coming on my finger. Do you suppose it's a felon?.. You can tell better when you see it?.. Well, I suppose you can. I'll be down at the office pretty soon and then I want you to tell me it's not a felon.

Mary seems a good deal better this morning, but she still has that pain in her side.

Doctor, I don't believe Joe is as well as he was last night. I think you had better come down.

As these old, old stories came leisurely into Mary's thoughts the telephone rang three times. She rose from her chair before the fire and went to answer it.

“Is this Dr. Blank's office?”

“No, his residence.”

“Is the doctor there?”

“No, but he will be down on the seven o'clock train.”

“And it's now not quite six. This is Mr. Andrews.”

Mary knew the name and the man.

“My wife is sick and I want to get a pint of alcohol for her.”

“An old subterfuge,” thought Mary, “I'm afraid he wants it for himself.” She knew that he was often under its influence.

“I can't get it without a prescription from a physician, you know. She needs it right away.”

“The thirst is on him,” thought our listener, pityingly.

The voice went on, “Mrs. Blank, couldn't you just speak to the druggist about it so I could get it right away?”

“Mr. Andrews,” she said hastily, “the druggist would pay no attention to me. I'm not a physician, you know. The doctor will be here in an hour – see him,” and she hurried the receiver into its place, anxious to get away from it. This was a story that was entirely new to her. Never before had she been asked to procure a prescription for alcohol or any of its attendant spirits. She liked the old stories best.

The doctor had been to the city and had got home at four o'clock in the morning. He had had to change cars in the night and consequently had had little sleep. When the door-bell rang his wife awakened instantly at the expected summons and rose to admit him. In a little while both were fast asleep. The wife, about a half hour later, found herself struggling to speak to somebody about something, she did not know what. But when the second long peal came from the 'phone she was fully awakened. How she hated to rouse the slumberer at her side.

“John,” she called softly. He did not move.

“John!” a little louder. He stirred slightly, but slept on.

“John, John!”

“Huh-h?”

“The telephone.”

He threw back the covers, and rising, stumbled to the 'phone.

“Hello.”

The voice of a little boy came to his half-awakened ear.

“Say, Pa, I can't sell these papers an' git through in time fer school.”

“Yes, you can!” roared a voice. “You jist want to fool around.” The doctor went back to bed.

“Wasn't the message for you?” inquired his wife. “What a shame to rouse you from your sleep for nothing.”

The doctor told her what the message was and was back in slumberland in an incredibly short space of time. Not so his wife. She was too thoroughly awake at last and dawn was beginning to peep around the edges of the window shades. She would not court slumber now but would lie awake with her own thoughts which were very pleasant thoughts this morning. By and by she rose softly, dressed and went out onto the veranda and looked long into the reddening eastern sky. Ever since she could remember she had felt this keen delight at the aspect of the sky in the very early morning. She stood for awhile, drinking in the beauty and the peacefulness of it all. Then she went in to her awakening household, glad that the little boy had 'phoned his “Pa” and by some means had got her too.

One midsummer night a tiny ringing came faintly and pleasantly into Mary's dreams. Not till it came the second or third time did she awaken to what it was. Then she sat up in bed calling her husband, who had just awakened too and sprung out of bed. Dazed, he stumbled about and could not find his way. With Mary's help he got his bearings and the next minute his thunderous “Hello” greeted her ears.

“Yes.”

“Worse tonight? In what way?”

An instant's silence. “Mrs. Brownson?” Silence. “Mrs. Brownson!” Silence.

“Damn that woman! She's rung off.”

“Well, don't swear into the 'phone, John. It's against the rules. Besides, she might hear you.”

The doctor was growling his way to his clothes.

“I suppose I've got to go down there,” was all the answer he made. When he was dressed and the screen had banged behind him after the manner of screens, Mary settled herself to sleep which came very soon. But she was soon routed out of it. She went to the 'phone, expecting to hear a querulous woman's voice asking, “Has the doctor started yet?” and her lips were framing the old and satisfactory reply, “Yes, he must be nearly there now,” when a man's voice asked, “Is this Dr. Blank's residence?”

“Yes.”

“Is the doctor there?”

“No, but he will be back in about twenty minutes.”

“Will you please tell him to come to J. H. Twitchell's?”

“Yes, I'll send him right down.”

“Thank you.”

She went back to her bed room then, turning, retraced her steps. The doctor could come home by way of Twitchell's as their home was not a great distance from the Brownson's.

She rang the Brownson's and after a little while a voice answered.

“Is this Mrs. Brownson?”

“Yes.”

“May I speak to Dr. Blank. I think he must be there now.”

“He's been here. He's gone home.”

Mary knew by the voice that its owner had not enjoyed getting out of bed. “I wonder how she would like to be in my place,” she thought, smiling. She dared not trust herself to her pillow. She might fall asleep and not waken when her husband came in. She wondered what time it was. Up there on the wall the clock was ticking serenely away – she had only to turn the button beside her to find out. But she did not turn it. In the sweet security of the dark she felt safe. In one brief flash of light some prowling burglar might discover her.

She sat down by the open window and looked up into the starlit sky. They were out tonight in countless numbers. Over there toward the northwest, lying along the tops of the trees was the Great Dipper. Wasn't it? Surely that particular curve in the handle was not to be found in any other constellation. She tried to see the Dipper itself but a cherry tree near her window blotted it out. Bend and peer as she might the branches intervened. It was tantalizing. She rose irresolute. Should she step out doors where the cherry tree would not be in the way? Not for a thousand dippers! She walked to another window. That view shut even the handle out. She looked for the Pleiades. They were not in the section of sky visible from the window where she stood. She turned and listened. Did she hear footsteps down the walk? She ought to be hearing her husband's by this time. He could not be walking at his usual gait. There he came! She went to the door looked through the screen and halted him as he drew near the steps.

“John, you'll have to take another trip. Mr. Twitchell has 'phoned for you.”

He turned and was soon out of sight. “Now! I can go to bed with a clear conscience,” and Mary sought her pillow. But she had better stay awake until he had time to get there lest Mr. Twitchell should 'phone again. In five or ten minutes the danger would be over. She waited. At last she closed her eyes to sleep. But what would be the use? In twenty minutes more her husband would come in and rouse her out of it. She had better just keep awake till he got back. And the next thing Mary heard was a snore. She opened her eyes to find it was broad daylight and her husband was sleeping soundly beside her.

CHAPTER VII

One afternoon in June Mary went into her husband's office.

“Has The Record come?” she asked.

“Yes, it's on the table in the next room.”

She went into the adjoining room and seated herself by the table. Taking up The Record, she turned to the editorial page, but before she could begin reading she heard a voice in the office say, “How do you do, Doctor?”

“How do you do, Mr. Jenkins. Take a seat.”

“No, I guess I'll not sit down. I just wanted to get – a prescription.”

“The baby's better, isn't it?”

“Oh, the baby's all right, but I want a prescription for myself.”

“What sort of prescription?”

“I have to take a long ride in the morning, driving cattle, and I want a prescription for a pint of whiskey.”

Mary listened for her husband's reply. It came.

“Jenkins, I have taken many a long ride through dust and heat, through rain and snow and storm, and I never yet have had to take any whiskey along.”

“Well, I have a little trouble with my heart and – ”

“The trouble's in your head. If you'd throw away that infernal pipe – ”

“Oh, it's no use to lecture me on that any more.”

“Very well, your tobacco may be worth more to you than your heart.”

“Well, will you give me that prescription?”

“Certainly I won't. You don't need whiskey and you'll not get it from me.”

“Go to h-ll!”

“All right, I'll meet you there.” At which warm farewell between these two good friends, Mary leaned back in her chair and laughed silently. Then she mused: “People will not be saved from themselves. If only they would be, how much less of sin and sickness and sorrow there would be in the world.”

Presently the doctor came in.

“I have a trip to make tonight, Mary. How would you like a star-light drive?” Mary said she would like it very much indeed.

Accordingly, at sunset the doctor drove up and soon they were out in the open country. Chatting of many things they drove along and by and by Mary's eyes were attracted to a beautiful castle up in the clouds in the west, on a great golden rock jutting out into the blue. Far below was a grand woman's form in yellow floating robes. She stood with face upturned and arms extended in an attitude of sorrow as if she had been banished from her father's house.

There comes the father now. Slowly, majestically, an old man with flowing beard of gold moves toward the edge of the great rock. Now he has reached it. He bends his head and looks below. The attitude of the majestic woman has changed to that of supplication. And now the father stretches down forgiving arms and the queenly daughter bows her head against the mighty wall and weeps in gladness. Now castle and rock, father and daughter slowly interchange places and vanish from her sight. The gold turns to crimson, then fades to gray. Just before her up there in the clouds is a huge lion, couchant. See! he is going to spring across the pale blue chasm to the opposite bank. If he fails he will come right down into the road – “Oh!”

“What is it?” asked the doctor, looking around, and Mary told him with a rather foolish smile.

The twilight deepened into dusk and the notes of a whippoorwill came to them from a distance. “You and I must have nothing but sweet thoughts right now, John, because then we'll get to keep them for a year.” She quoted:

“'Tis said that whatever sweet feelingMay be throbbing within the fond heart,When listening to a whippoorwill s-pieling,For a twelvemonth will never depart.”

“Spieling doesn't seem specially in the whippoorwill's line.”

“It's exactly in his line. Years ago when I was a little girl he proved it. One evening at dusk I was sitting in an arbor when he, not suspecting my presence, alighted within a few feet of me and began his song. It was wonderfully interesting to watch his little throat puff and puff with the notes as they poured forth, but the thing that astounded me was the length of time he sang without ever pausing for breath. And so he is a genuine spieler. I will add, however, that the line is ‘When listening to a whippoorwill singing.’ But my literary conscience will never let me rhyme singing with feeling, hence the sudden change.”

“Now I'll speak my piece,” announced the doctor:

“De frogs in de pon' am a singin' all de night;Wid de hallelujah campmeetin' tune;An' dey all seem to try wid deir heart, soul and mightTo tell us ob de comin' of de June.”

“Aren't they having a hallelujah chorus over in that meadow, though!”

Darkness settled over the earth. The willow trees, skirting the road for a little distance, lifted themselves in ghostly tracery against the starlit sky. A soft breeze stirred their branches like the breath of a gentle spirit abiding there. They passed a cozy farmhouse nestled down among tall trees. Through the open door they could see a little white-robed figure being carried to bed in its father's arms, while the mother crooned a lullaby over the cradle near.

For a long time they drove in silence. Mary knew that her husband was in deep thought. Of what was he thinking? The pretty home scene in the farm house had sent him into a reverie. He went back five or six years to a bright spring day. He was sitting alone in his office when an old man, a much respected farmer, came in slowly, closed the door behind him and sat down. The doctor who knew him quite well saw that he was troubled and asked if there was anything he could do for him. The old man leaned his head on his hand but did not reply. It seemed that no words would come in which to tell his errand.

Puzzled and sympathetic the doctor sat silent and waited. In a little while the farmer drew his chair very near to that of the doctor's and said in a low voice, “Doctor, I'm in deep trouble. I come to you because you are one of my best friends. You have a chance to prove it now such as you never had before in all the years you've been our doctor.”