Susan Lenox: Her Fall and Rise | Page 5

the hard features and corrugated skin
popularly regarded as the result of a life of toil, but in fact the result of
a life of defiance to the laws of health. As additional penalties for that
same self-indulgence she had an enormous bust and hips, thin face and
arms, hollow, sinew-striped neck. The young man, blond and smooth
faced, at the other side of the table and facing the light, was Doctor
Stevens, a recently graduated pupil of the famous Schulze of Saint
Christopher who as much as any other one man is responsible for the
rejection of hocus-pocus and the injection of common sense into
American medicine. For upwards of an hour young Stevens, coat off
and shirt sleeves rolled to his shoulders, had been toiling with the
lifeless form on the table. He had tried everything his training, his
reading and his experience suggested--all the more or less familiar
devices similar to those indicated for cases of drowning. Nora had
watched him, at first with interest and hope, then with interest alone,
finally with swiftly deepening disapproval, as her compressed lips and
angry eyes plainly revealed. It seemed to her his effort was
degenerating into sacrilege, into defiance of an obvious decree of the
Almighty. However, she had not ventured to speak until the young man,
with a muttered ejaculation suspiciously like an imprecation,
straightened his stocky figure and began to mop the sweat from his face,
hands and bared arms.
When she saw that her verdict had not been heard, she repeated it more
emphatically. "The child's dead," said she, "as I told you from the
set-out." She made the sign of the cross on her forehead and bosom,
while her fat, dry lips moved in a "Hail, Mary."
The young man did not rouse from his reverie. He continued to gaze
with a baffled expression at the tiny form, so like a whimsical
caricature of humanity. He showed that he had heard the woman's
remark by saying, to himself rather than to her, "Dead? What's that?

Merely another name for ignorance." But the current of his thought did
not swerve. It held to the one course: What would his master, the
dauntless, the infinitely resourceful Schulze, do if he were confronted
by this intolerable obstacle of a perfect machine refusing to do its duty
and pump vital force through an eagerly waiting body? "He'd make it
go, I'd bet my life," the young man muttered. "I'm ashamed of myself."
As if the reproach were just the spur his courage and his intelligence
had needed, his face suddenly glowed with the upshooting fire of an
inspiration. He thrust the big white handkerchief into his hip pocket,
laid one large strong hand upon the small, beautifully arched chest of
the baby. Nora, roused by his expression even more than by his gesture,
gave an exclamation of horror. "Don't touch it again," she cried,
between entreaty and command. "You've done all you can--and more."
Stevens was not listening. "Such a fine baby, too," he said,
hesitating--the old woman mistakenly fancied it was her words that
made him pause. "I feel no good at all," he went on, as if reasoning
with himself, "no good at all, losing both the mother and the child."
"She didn't want to live," replied Nora. Her glances stole somewhat
fearfully toward the door of the adjoining room--the bedroom where
the mother lay dead.
"There wasn't nothing but disgrace ahead for both of them.
Everybody'll be glad."
"Such a fine baby," muttered the abstracted young doctor.
"Love-children always is," said Nora. She was looking sadly and
tenderly down at the tiny, symmetrical form--symmetrical to her and
the doctor's expert eyes. "Such a deep chest," she sighed. "Such pretty
hands and feet. A real love-child." There she glanced nervously at the
doctor; it was meet and proper and pious to speak well of the dead, but
she felt she might be going rather far for a "good woman."
"I'll try it," cried the young man in a resolute tone. "It can't do any harm,
and----"

Without finishing his sentence he laid hold of the body by the ankles,
swung it clear of the table. As Nora saw it dangling head downwards
like a dressed suckling pig on a butcher's hook she vented a scream and
darted round the table to stop by main force this revolting desecration
of the dead. Stevens called out sternly: "Mind your business, Nora!
Push the table against the wall and get out of the way. I want all the
room there is."
"Oh, Doctor--for the blessed Jesus' sake----"
"Push back that table!"
Nora shrank before his fierce eyes. She thought his exertions, his
disappointment and the heat had combined to topple him over into
insanity. She retreated toward the farther of the open