Audubon County journal. (Exira, Iowa) 1884-1993, 1910-08-04
THE DOCTORS
LOVE STORY
By Mary Belle Poole-Mason

The doctor sat in his office, with the
electric glow showing everything
therein strictly up to date, from the
desk telephone at his side to the tiny
symbol of the celebrated order of
Elks on the lapel of his coat
Everything suggested success. en-
ergy. alertness of purpose, and the
strength of the man seemed to speak
forth from his surroundings.
Yet over the doctors strong, rugged
face there came stealing look of
despair. He had worked SO hard
worked without ceasing, with that in
domitable will which had strangled
Failure whenever she came thrusting
her unseemly visage upon his path
way Over Is years ago he had ar
rived in the growing western city, with
little else than the sheepskin, so proud.
ly possessed, that proclaimed him, the
beardless youth. a licensed physician.
Without influence or friends he had
fought his way, step by step, until he
was acknowledged to be the most
successful surgeon, with nerves of
steel and hand and brain keenly alive
to every detail, in this or any other
city for thousands of miles around
Only to-day he had operated upon a
patient-a gentle-faced woman who
had come 400 miles because of the
faith she had in this doctors wonder
full skill
Perhaps it was remark of hers
that had caused this strange halt,
this vague unrest, in the doctors siren
uous, arduous life. She had said. as
she held his strong, brave hand-the
hand she felt that had given her life
itself back unto her: "Ah, doctor. YOU
only need the right kind of a wife to
make you indeed the perfect man. A
woman who can grasp all the splendid
possibilities in your deep nature"
Somehow, the words SO kindly
meant ranked and scared and hurt
His thoughts went straying back to a
little town in the far east where he
first came back from the medical col
lege, young M. D., full of joyous hone
and ambition. A bit raw and awk-
ward, but with the glad, tingling blood
OF young ambition thrilling his veins.
And the girl, the beautiful girl in the
PINK muslin dress, the belle, the veri-
table queen of the village-he hardly
dared raise his eyes in her direction
was she not almost as far off as the
stars? Had she not already written a
poem that had actually been pub
lshed In the county paper? Did she
not dress better, look better, talk bet
ter than any other girl in all the sur
rounding country? All, how often, in
the plain little room of his fathers
dwelling did he not lie awake, dream
ing OF the time when he had won for
himself honors and fame in the far
west; that he would return and claim
her-his by right of every noble pur-
pose and desire
But in the strenuousness of gaining
success, in other environments. the
girl in the pink muslin dress became.
after while, only pleasant vision. a
memory Yet tonight her face kent
coming up before him-just as it
looked in the olden days. He remem-
bered, with almost start of alarm
that he had heard some years ago that
she was married and living in a large
southern city; then in vague way
he had heard that her husband was
dead.
Why not go now and find her and
win her, as he had planned so raptur.
ously many years ago? All, she must
be just the same girl yet in the pink
muslin dress-the girl who wrote
poetry and laughed and danced
through life-the girl with always a
smile in her dark eyes. He would send
her a telegram. He had noticed in
the papers few weeks ago (and had
hardly paused to read the notice) that
she was visiting small country Mace
All, how glad he was now for mem.
DRY as to detail and little things that
had painted the name of this town on
his minds eye. All! why had he left
her alone so long? No thought of a
rival came to him. No; she was lust
his girl; the woman he had wanted
and waited 1or SO long, all of his life
The grave, serious doctor was gone.
it was only man in love-in love
with a woman of the past-who board
ed the train that night for the far
east. How long and tiresome the
journey seemed. He SO longed to see
her. Would she laugh in the same old
gladstone way?
1t was in the early morning when
the train slowed up at little station
in the country
Even as he reached the platform a
slender woman, in pink muslin dress,
and big Tuscan hat with pink roses
all around it, came forth to meet him.
The doctor caught both her hands
within his big, strong ones, and looked
down deep, deep into her eyes. Then
he cried out in great joy: "Oh, girl.
my girl; I've found you again-at last.
You are not bit changed; you are
just my girl, my grill"
And the woman answered softly:
Not quite the same, dear; there are a
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