The Lambertville record. [volume] (Lambertville, N.J.) 1872-1968, 1915-10-14

Aho mau Hdu ceased TO mutter and
toss in his delirium, and now lay in
that stupor which was itself the crisis.
In eight hours he would be dead or on
the road to recovery.
Beside the doctor stood the white
capped nurse, almost as silent and still
as the figure huddled among the sheets
and pillows. The mental crisis
through which the two watchers were
painfully struggling was almost as
acute as the physical crisis of the
typhoid victim.
IL was not a severe case, but the
mans system, weakened by years of
debauchery and months of poverty,
seemed unable to fight against the at
tack.
Doctor Dyce beckoned the nurse out
side the room. They stood face to
race together. There was on the doc
tors a look of grave inquiry.
That is the man who was your hus-
band?" he inquired.
Who is" she answered.
And you refused to marry me be-
cause of him?"
You are unfair, Charles" she an
sWered, in low, passionate protest
1t is because he is what he is that
| know my duty is toward him. He
recognized me. He will come back
to me. l cannot desert him, in spite
of ALL"
You love him!" sneered Dyce, and
then suddenly caught her in his arms.
Molly" he whispered, you are
never going to ruin our two lives
for that mani"
She let him kiss her, but she with
drew from his arms and stood still
facing him, still pale and expression
less.
L cannot do wrong toward him,
much as love you" she replied. "But
oh, Charles, it would be a mercy for
all of us, and none would be better off
than he if he were to de-
The doctor, who seemed to be re-
straining himself by a mighty effort
of will, now became the professional
man again.
eve will try atropin," he said II
believe it will give him his fighting
chance. l shall mix the prescription
myself. 1t is dangerous drug to use,
but it Is a case where heroical meas
ures are needed"
Eyes, doctor. At what time should
it be administered"
I'm four hours, when the crisis is
imminent. When do you go off duty?"
when the crisis is over"
"You are wearing yourself out, Mol
ly," began Doctor Dyce Then: well,
we must forget ourselves, with all our
hopes and fears, and do our duty"
She sighed. Eyes, DOCTOR" she an
swered in a mechanical manner.
Doctor Dyce ate his supper in his
office. He made his rounds of the
patients, bandaging, adjusting, while
his mind was working on a totally diff
ferent matter. At last he stood alone
before his medicine chest, where the
deadliest drugs were kept, dispensed
only under his personal supervision.
There he faced his problem squarely.
Dyce had little belief in convention
al morality. He loved Molly, and she
him. The man on the bed in the little
to the world. Was it right that two
lives, or even three, should be blight
ed so that the man should live and
cumber the earth?
He had mixed the medicine before
his mind was made up. He remem-
bered afterward that he was working
in the same automatic manner, and
his brain, cool and singularly clear,
seemed animated by an Internal will
and dominated the situation complete
ly. Slowly he took down bottle Ia
beled macinite and set it upon the
table side by side with the atropin.
They were two drugs of equal pow
er, but very different power. An in
finitesimal dose of the atropin would
exercise a certain stimulus on the red
blood corpuscles which might pull the
patient through the crisis of his dis
ease. An equal dose of the macinite,
too small for post-mortem detection,
would dissolve the corpuscles and
bring about death. In healthy man
an equal dose of either would produce
no effect whatever.
Doctor Dyce might have told him
self that it would not be he, but the
fever that would kill the drunkard
above. But he was too honest for
that.
81 am going to kill him. he said,
and dropped drop into tumbler of
water. From this he took two drops
and let them fall into the medicine.
He shook the bottle. He went up
stairs.
1.-TWO teaspoonfuls in an hour.