The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1884-03-28
WHAT 1T COST.

The two beds were side by side in the
long ward, and on them lay two men.
each with a gun-shot wound through
the right arm below the elbow. They
were about the same age, each had
wife and children at home, and both
hoped to. save these useful right arms,
for on their strength and skill the sup
port of their families depended.
Clarke was farmer, a pleasant,
happy tempered fellow, bound to look
on the bright side of things, and to get
well as soon as possible, though his
wound was the worst of the two. Morse
had been blacksmith and was proud of
his strength, but said little and seemed
to have something on his mind, being
moody as well as taciturn.
The two were soon friendly, for neigh
bors in a hospital can hardly help being
SO, but Clarke did most of the talking
and Morse seemed content to listen to
his lively gossip without making any re-
turn. Therefore l knew very little
about him, and when the surgeon one
day asked me if Morse had been drink
ing man. could not answer.
"Why do you want to know, doc
tor?"
HE is not doing as well as Clarke,
though his wound is q safer sort, and
ought to be nearly well by this time. 1t
is in bad way and I'm afraid he will
have to lose that arm of his, answered
the surgeon shaking his head over a
particularly bad smelling dose he was
preparing for some unhappy patient.
~ hope not; thought he was doing
well, and that Clarke, who suffers much
more, was the one who might have to
lose an arm,'' said, rolling bandages
for both as | talked.
"Not he! his blood is as healthy as
child's; ne will be all right in a month;
you may tell him So
I'm very glad, for he is always
talking about the happy time when he
can go home to his wife and babies.
Morse says nothing, but is as anxious to
get well, think, though when you
cheer him up"
81 wish you'd find out if he has not
been a drinker. / can't make him talk
and it is important to know, for if it is
so the sooner the arm is off the BETTER
and the doctor corked his bottle with a
decisive rap.
When l saw the men again my feel
ing toward them was quite changed,
for now anxiety about Clarke was all
gone, and I pitied Morse so much /
could not bear to ask that hard ques-
ton. / soon learned the fact, however,
without asking, and in this way:
AS / went through my ward with a
glass of wine-whey for another patient,
stopped to wet Morse's arm, for saw
q look of pain on his face and knew the
comfort of cold water. He did not
speak and I went to refill the basin
leaving the glass on the table near his
bed. When | came back it was empty.
''Why, Morse, that wasn't for you!
Stimulants of all kinds are bad for you
just now" l said, thinking how impa-
tient poor Martin would be at having to
wait for a second supply.
81 know it Il couldn't help taking it
the smell was too much for me, - NUT
tered Morse, looking red and ashamed,
though the fierce, hungry expression of
his eye betrayed that he longed for
more.
''I'm afraid you like that sort of thing
too much for your own good" ven
tured to say.
cit has been the ruin of me; but
fight against it, indeed | do" he said so
earnestly that | believed it, and longed
to prepare him for what was to come,
feeling that / could tell him more
gently than the surgeon, who had
somewhat startling way of saying to a..
patient: ''Now, then, my man, shall
want this leg of yours in about an
hour"
perhaps the pain you have suffered
here may help you in your fight
Times like these do much to strengthen
good resolutions ii one is sincere" I
said, pleased at having won him to talk
of himself
81 know it, and I've made many
since I've been lying here. But you
see | couldn't resist even a small
temptation like that. | wish I'd had
bullet through both arms before /
did it!'' he answered, under his breath,
with a remorseful look at the empty
glass.
Perhaps the loss of one arm will
hard to soften the hard truth after all.
''You don't mean thatp" and he
looked up at me with scared face,
for the loss of right arm was more
dreaded than the loss of any other
limb.
II am afraid / do. Dr. Otmon thinks
1t may be necessary, for it is not doing
well. "
'sBut it is not so bad as Clarke's.
They've saved his arm, why can't they
miner" he whispered, glancing at the
great, brawny hand below the band
ages, the hand that would never swing
a sledge-hammer again.
''Ah, that's the pity of it, Morse.
They saved his, though worse wounded
than yours, because he is temperate
man. You must lose yours because
you have poisoned your blood with bad
liquor and must suffer for it.
Haven't | suffered enough yet? I'd
rather die at once, than go home to be
cripple!'' cried the poor fellow in de-
spar. for he had strong mans horror
of weakness and dependence.
did what | could to comfort him,
and he needed comfort sorely, both then
and for weeks afterward, as he suffered
much, barely escaping with his lie. /
shall always think that he owed more
to Clarke than to the rest of us, for the
poor fellow made haste to get well that
he might serve his mate, seeming to
feel as if he had no right to both arms
since Morse had lost one.
1t was beautiful to see his thought
fulness and patience, for he was gen
eral favorite and had many gifts which
he shared with the morose man who
made few friends; and no matter how
unreasonable. restless or melancholy,
Morse might be, Clarke never lost shi
temper, but read and talked to him as
uncomplainingly and cheerfully as a
woman. Sometimes in the night as I
went my rounds, [ would find Joe
awake and up to wet all that was left of
Morse's arm, or hear him softly repeat
ing some good old hymn to soothe the
long hours of pain his friend must suf-
fer.
In 4 hundred ways he stood by his