River Falls journal. [volume] (River Falls, Pierce County, Wis.) 1872-2019, 1904-07-14
YER there immediately !. said the owner

over there Immediately" said the owner
of the face.
But, Blanche, dear, you came here to
rest-and then the risk you know, my
child"
II have rested, auntie, and am well
protected by vaccination. The love OF
my profession as well as duty calls me.
A few minutes later, Blanche Gordon,
having made friends with the bulldog,
stood at the sick mans side, regarding
him with cool, critical eyes. A long
white apron, which had gone through a
bi-chloride of mercury bath, enveloped
her trim figure, and a cap, treated In ike
manner, protected her blonde hair from
infection.
Il am trained nurse from Atlanta,
she said quietly, would you like to have
me do something for you?"
yes" was the grateful reply.
Let me see your tongue, please Her
skillfu1 fingers ran along his wrist as she
asked few questions.
You have grippe, with pneumonia
symptoms. That placard at the door is
sham.
Eyes"
What was your object?"
Il have position in Atlanta of heavy
responsibility. The tension grew so
great / could bear it no longer. | wanted
to rest, to write, to get away from peo-
pie, from everybody-everybody."
The nurse turned to the chair where
she had thrown her cloak.
What are you going to do?" he asked
fretfully.
81 belong to the class you mention.
People-everybody.
Don't go. | am thirsty and sick, !"
he moaned.
The girl threw down her cloak and
brought him glass of water. For three
days and nights the cool-headed nurse
fought-sleepless and single handed
with the pleurogrippe demon until he
loosened his hold, then she disappeared,
and Aunt Amanda, who had been hover
ing in the background, came to the front
with broth and stimulants During the
hours of his delirium, it seemed to Ows-
ley that the chasing imps on the wall
had changed to floating cherubs, with
dove grey eyes. In few days the con-
valescent was able to take a Pullman
car back to the CITY, Pleading weari-
ness, Miss Gordon declined to make him
the visit he craved, a visit that was not
professional, and the young fellow was
forced to write his farewell and thanks.
How good you have been to me, my
dear Miss Gordon" he scrubbed, feebly
II am sorry to have been such beastly
nuisance, and wish that might think
clearly enough to tell you something OF
my gratitude. / shall try to do so later.
For the present believe me to be your
devoted HARRY OWSLEY."
A month slipped away and the rose
vines about Aunt Amanda's veranda
were sending out their long green
shoots. Blanche Gordon in the morning
sunshine was trying to fasten refrac-
tory climber to the pillar above her. This
was her last day of vacation. To-mor-
row she must go back to duty and work
in the city hospital
''Let me do that for you" said a voice
at her side, with suddenness that
nearly made her fall from the rickety
ladder.
''Mr. Owsley," she exclaimed, descend
ing and giving him her hand in cordial
welcome. 81 am glad to see that small
pox has not left you marked in any way"
She smiled sarcastically.
'"The scars are there, though you do
not see them" he answered gravely
But there is no constitutional weak
ness, l trust, as result of that dread
disease" she continued in mocking
tones.
eyes, / find my hearts action seri-
ously impaired. Miss Gordon, at the age
of 81 had my first love affair. The girl
turned out to be shallow, soulless little
flirt, and, disillusioned, thought that
had done with women forever. But let
me remind you, since you are bent on
teasing, that vaccination does not al
ways render one immune. At the ex-
piration of seven years-a period in
which, they tell us, the entire system
is changed have become innoculated
with pair of dove gray eyes, and have,
at last, a genuine case of love, from
which l shall never recover. Miss Cor
don, love you. want you for my wife.
Will you marry me?"
The girl looked at him for a moment
then hesitatingly gave him her hands.
eff you are sure this is not varioloid,"
she began blushing, but the young man
drew her to him and stopped the words
with kiss.
HIS DREAM THE REAL THING