Joe turned red when he caught the doctor’s eye and then got very busy unloading the tramp. Together they packed him in and laid him on the doctor’s chipped enamel operating table.
Miss Finch, the nurse, looked wonderingly at Pellman. “But he hasn’t got any skull left, Doctor.”
Pellman was already shedding his coat and rolling up his sleeves. He jerked his shaggy white head toward the door. “Get out, Joe. I won’t have any time to hold your hand.”
Joe shuffled out and closed the door behind him. Inside he heard Pellman saying, “Get that silver ice container Doris gave me for Christmas. I knew I could find some use for it.”
Puzzled and downtrodden, Joe went back to the crowd on the walk.
“What happened?” they demanded.
Joe looked more uncomfortable than ever. “Aw, I couldn’t help it. I got a wire to watch out for a gang that escaped from Cincinnati on a freight and I thought maybe this guy was one of ’em. But he was all alone and I guess he wasn’t. I didn’t mean to hit him.” He was almost angry now. “He’s just a damned tramp, anyhow!”
“Aw, you know the doc,” said Durance, the storekeeper, wiping his hands on his apron. “Tramp or sick dog, he takes them all in. I tell him it don’t pay. I’ve carried his accounts—”
“You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the doc!” challenged Joe, pulling harshly at his gray mustache.
“Tha’s so,” said Blinks, the town drunk. “Ol’ Doc Pellman’d own this town if savin’ lives meant somethin’.”
“All I said,” defended the storekeeper, “was that he was too softhearted about his bills. I don’t say he ain’t a good doctor. . . .”
“An’ you better not say it!” growled Joe, anxious to turn attention away from himself. “There’s them that claim he’s had fifty-leven offers to go to New York and be a brain surgeon. But he thinks too much of us, that’s what. If he owed two hundred dollars to every store in town, it’s still not enough to pay him back for what he’s done.”
“Think he can do anything for that tramp?” queried another loafer. “Fellah was pretty nigh dead from what I seen. Head all bashed in.”
“Doc Pellman can do anything he sets his mind to,” stated Joe.
They tuned their ears to the inside of the office and stood around almost in silence. They were awed by the thought that Doc Pellman might yank this tramp back from death, even though they had witnessed other things they thought miracles. Two or three times Pellman himself had gotten ill and that was the closest to panic that Centerville had ever gotten. They could not conceive a time when Doc Pellman wouldn’t be walking down the street in his black coat and slouch hat handing out cheery hellos and free medical advice in every block.
Almost an hour later, Pellman came out. He was rolling down his sleeves as he looked at Joe.
“Will he live?” said Joe.
Pellman’s big face relaxed into a smile. “If I could tell things like that, Joe, you could stop calling me ‘Doc’ and start calling me ‘God.’ How do I know if he’ll live? That’s up to Him.”
“What’d y’do?” said Joe interestedly.
The doc’s blue eyes twinkled. “Took off the top of his skull. There wasn’t much left of it.”
“Huh?” said Joe. “But . . . but what’s he goin’ to do for the top of his head?”
“I made a silver cap for him,” said Pellman. “Out of that ice dish Doris gave me for Christmas. Knew it’d come in handy some time.”
“Aw,” said Joe, “you’re foolin’. How could a man wear an ice dish for a skull?”
“Same shape and size,” said Pellman. “If he’s alive day after tomorrow he’ll be as good as ever. Had to sew the two halves of his brain together but that hadn’t ought to upset him. C’mon, Joe. I think you owe me a drink.”
Chapter Two
DOUGHFACE woke up.
By some process of reasoning he could not define, he knew he had been in this cot for a week or more, but beyond that he could not go. Vaguely he remembered climbing up the side of a freight with a sheriff and brakie on his heels, but all was blank thereafter.
He moved his head a little and saw that he was in a small ward. It was not a regular hospital the way he had known them. It was apparently the back of a building and there were only three cots there. On the right-hand cot lay a man, dull-eyed and staring at the ceiling. On the left side was a young girl, face hidden by bandages and arm in a cast.
Doughface Jack lifted himself up on his elbow. The springs creaked loudly and that must have been what Miss Finch heard. She came in from the office beyond and saw that it was the tramp.
Doughface blinked confusedly. This girl wasn’t bad looking—blonde and slight—but she had a mole on her chin. Doughface thought it didn’t look good there.
“Hello,” she said cheerfully. “How do you feel?”
Doughface looked cautiously around him. This wasn’t a jail hospital and he took courage. “Aw, I guess I’m okay, sister.”
“For a man that’s been through what happened to you, I’d say you looked marvelous,” smiled Miss Finch. That was not exactly true. Doughface had always been as fat as a butterball and his complexion had never been anything but pasty white. The bluish growth of beard did not help.
“What’s the idea?” said Doughface, glancing around again.
“You mean where are you?” said Miss Finch. “Doctor Pellman saw you get hurt and brought you here. He operated.”
“Geez,” said Doughface, alarmed, “I ain’t got no lucre. Them things cost the bucks!”
“Never mind,” said Miss Finch. “The doctor hasn’t collected a bill for years and he doesn’t even try anymore. You can thank him for your life.”
“Huh,” said Doughface, “he must be a right guy.”
“He’s a wonderful fellow, if that’s what you mean,” said Miss Finch.
“Y’mean I’d be dead if it wasn’t fer him, huh?”
“That’s it.”
“Geez . . . And he don’t want no lucre for it?”
“No,” replied Miss Finch. “Now you be quiet and I’ll go get you something to eat.”
“Eat?”
“Yes. Anything you want in particular?”
Doughface shut his eyes and then gathered courage to take the plunge. “How about chicken and ice cream?”
“All right,” said Miss Finch.
Doughface blinked. He suspected this wasn’t Earth after all. If it wasn’t for that mole this girl would look just like . . . Huh! He gaped at her in astonishment.
“What’s the matter?” said Miss Finch.
“That . . . uh . . . y’had a mole on yer chin and it ain’t there no more!”
Her hand flew to the spot. She stepped to a mirror at the head of the bed and stared at herself. “Why . . . why, that’s so. It’s gone!”
Through it all the man on one side had not moved and neither had the girl practically hidden in bandages.
Doughface did not long concentrate on the vanishing mole. “What burg is this?”
“Centerville,” said Miss Finch in a preoccupied fashion, hand to chin.
“Then this is all the hospital there is, huh?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the matter with these ginks?” said Doughface nodding his head to right and left.
“That’s Tom Johnson,” said Miss Finch. “He’s dying of cancer and the doctor is going to operate later in the day. And this is Jenny Stevens. She was in an accident last night—poor thing. You had better be very quiet. They’re very sick.”
“Jake with me,” said Doughface. “You mean it about that chicken and ice cream?”
Miss Finch smiled and went out.
Doughface turned over and regarded the man for some time. The fellow was barely conscious and at long last he turned his head.
“How ya feel, pal?” said Doughface.
The man’s lips moved but no sound came forth.
“Hard lines,” said Doughface sympathetically.
The man moved his lips again and this time he spoke. “Heart’s almost gone. But I hope Doc Pellman’s gonna fix it. I know I wasn’t none too good but . . .”
“He saved my life,” said Doughface. “I guess he’s a right guy.”
“Shore is,” said the man, strongly. “He brung my four children into the world. Ain’t nobody hereabouts that’ll say nothin’ agin Doc Pellman.”
He stirred restlessly and looked long at Doughface. Slowly he raised himself up on an elbow and further regarded the tramp.
Unexpectedly Tom Johnson said, “You got a cigarette, cap’n?”
“Me? Naw. They was some snipes in me clothes but I don’t see nothin’ around now.”
Johnson raised himself higher and glanced around the room. An ashtray was under the window and he could see the butts in it. He swung down his feet and stretched. He shuffled across the floor and fished out a butt. He found some matches and brought the tray back to Doughface.
Again Johnson stretched and then took a luxurious puff. “Ain’t enough air in here,” he said, crossing to the window and throwing it open. He stood in the chill blast, again stretching.
“My goodness but I feels good,” said Johnson.
Doughface was disappointed a little, but grinning just the same. “Yeah, I put on an act like that plenty of times. What’d you want, some free meals?”
“Ac’?” blinked Johnson. “Say, Doc Pellman was wrong. He said I was gonna die maybe. But I ain’t gonna die. I feels like I could lift this buildin’ sky-high.”
Doughface grinned knowingly. The girl in the other cot stirred a bit and Doughface turned to grin at her. “Whatcha know about that, sister? Tom here pullin’ a fake to squeeze a free handout from a right guy like this Pellman.”
The girl turned her head painfully to look at Doughface. Her voice was very faint. “What?”
“I said Tom was tryin’ to gyp the old man. But what the deuce. I done it myself lots of times. What was you doin’? Neckin’ party or one arm drivin’ or somethin’?”
The girl stirred. “Drivin’?” Until that moment she had not realized where she was. She started to put her arm down and found that it was in a cast. The weight of bandages on her face was suddenly smothering to her and she pried them away from her mouth and nose.
“How long have I been here?” she queried.
“The nurse said since last night,” said Doughface. “She claimed you was on a wild party. . . .”
The girl sat up straight. “I was not! The other man was at fault. He was on the wrong side of the road! Was Bob hurt?”
“Who’s Bob?” said Doughface.
The girl looked wildly around her to make sure Bob wasn’t there.
Miss Finch came in at that moment with a tray for Doughface—chicken, ice cream and all. She saw Johnson standing by the window in his nightshirt and gave a gasp of horror.
“Get in bed!” cried Miss Finch. “You’re due to be operated on in an hour!” She turned and saw the girl sitting up. “For heaven’s sake! Lie down! You’ve got a compound fracture and your face . . . Jenny Stevens! What have you been doing to your bandages?”
The girl pulled at the gauze so that she could see better and Miss Finch stopped dead.
The nurse managed to recover her wits. She advanced on Jenny and moved the gauze again.
“But it can’t be!” cried the nurse. “That eye was out! There was an inch splinter of glass in it! But . . . but maybe it was the other eye.” She lifted the other bandage and a healthy blue orb blinked at her in a puzzled way. “I must have been mistaken. . . .” said Miss Finch shakily. “But . . . but no. I wasn’t! I held your eye open while he took the glass out. He said you couldn’t ever see again.”
“Where’s Bob?” pleaded Jenny, not too interested in Miss Finch’s observations.
“Why . . . why, he’s been outside all morning. He broke his nose and his arm but we let him go home.”
“Bring him in,” pleaded Jenny.
With misgivings the nurse brought Bob to the door. He was limping and his arm was in a sling and his face was almost hidden by adhesive tape.
“Jenny!” cried the boy. “Then you’ll live! I . . .”
“Sure she’ll live,” said Doughface unexpectedly. “No dame sits up in bed and looks at a guy that way if she’s on her way out.” With a tramp’s boldness he added, “You goin’ to marry her?”
Bob stared at Doughface. “Why . . . why, I guess so.”
“Y’ain’t bad lookin’,” said Doughface.
“Do you mean you would?” said Jenny to the boy.
“Why . . . gee . . . I been tryin’ for months to get up nerve . . .”
She held out her arms to him and he freed his own from the sling and held her close.
“please!” cried Miss Finch. “Bob Tully, you’ll compound that fracture if you don’t stop that nonsense!”
“Fracture?” blinked Bob, staring at his arm and moving it around. “Why . . . why, it feels perfectly all right.” He stepped back. “But it’s stuffy in here.” He pulled at the adhesive tape on his face.
“stop!” cried the distrait Miss Finch.
It was too late. The tape was off and other than the marks the stuff had made, there was nothing else wrong with Bob Tully’s face.
Miss Finch tottered to the window and shoved Tom Johnson aside. She leaned out into the air and finally got herself composed. When she turned around the girl was stripping the cast from her arm and with dull eyes Miss Finch watched her. She was not even shocked when she saw that there was nothing wrong with that arm.
“What’s the matter with you?” said Doughface. “You shouldn’t get mad just because everybody’s been goldbrickin’ on the doc. Hell, I done it lots of times.” He sat up straight in bed. “Cheer up.”
Miss Finch instantly smiled. Suddenly she could not repress an impulse to approach Doughface. She picked up the tray and put it before him and then she kissed the bandaged top of his head.
“Whatcha doin’?” gaped Doughface.
She too was confused about it. “Eat your chicken.”
“May I have my clothes?” said Jenny Stevens.
Tom Johnson saw that he was in a nightgown and quickly slid back into his own bed. “Mine too, Miss Finch.”
“Aw, what do you want with clothes?” demanded Bob Tully. He threw a blanket around the girl and picked her up in his arms.
“Where are you going?” demanded Miss Finch.
“Why . . . to carry her home,” said the boy.
“But that’s half a mile!”
Bob juggled her weight in his arms and frowned. “Why, you don’t weigh much more than twenty pounds. That’s funny. Maybe you’re lighter or I’m stronger.”
“Please,” whimpered Miss Finch. “I don’t care what you do but get out before I go crazy.”
Doc Pellman was in the doorway. “What’s all the noise back here?” he said, smiling. And then the full import of what he saw struck him. A dying girl was beaming into the face of a boy who carried her with a fractured arm. And a man dying of cancer was smoking a cigarette and giving him a white-toothed grin. And there was something changed about Miss Finch too. She was prettier than before.
“Doctor,” said Miss Finch. “I don’t . . .” and there she stopped in amazement, staring at Pellman.
Doughface, at the sound of “doctor,” had looked up from his chicken with great interest to beam upon his benefactor. All eyes were on Pellman now.
An old man had stood in that doorway. His shoulders had been stooped and his white hair shaggy and his face seamed with kindly wrinkles.
Pellman had not moved, did not seem aware of any change in him.
But now his hair was curly and brown and his face was that of a man of twenty-one. His shoulders were square and almost bursting through his black coat. His long-fingered hands were not wrinkled now. Only his eyes were the same and they were still kindly and wise.
Bob Tully dropped his girl back to the cot in astonishment. Tom
Johnson’s eyes were like teacups. Miss Finch was open-mouthed and if she had not seen the doctor’s graduation picture—class of ’96—upon the wall of the office, she would not have known this fellow at all.
He was still Doctor Pellman.
But he looked four years younger than he had on the day of his graduation from medical college. His staid, elderly clothes struck Miss Finch as ridiculous now and she began to laugh, almost hysterically.
“What’s the matter here?” said Pellman, concerned with what he had seen and now worried about Miss Finch. He strode forward and faced around again. “Has everybody gone crazy?” He stared at Miss Finch. “My dear girl, what on earth is so very amusing?”
“You!” choked Miss Finch. “You look like you stole those clothes from a scarecrow.”
“My clothes?” said Pellman, taken aback.
“Your clothes,” said Miss Finch.
Pellman took himself to the mirror to see what had happened to his suit. But he forgot that instantly. He stared at his own image. Suddenly he snatched the mirror from its hook and gazed at it in amazement, turning it over after the fashion of a child expecting to see the other child. He looked again and winked an eye to be sure it wasn’t an old photo of himself. He opened his mouth and made a face. So did the mirror.
In consternation he whirled around, again looking at his nurse and patients. Tom Johnson was nearest and Pellman slammed him back on the cot and began to tap the region around his heart. More amazed than ever he advanced on Bob Tully and pushed at the perfectly normal nose. He whipped the boy’s sleeve up and examined the arm to find no sign of abrasion or break. He picked up Jenny Stevens’ arm and studied that, finding it a normal arm when it should have been a compound fracture. He pushed her back and poked his fingers around, unable to again discover the broken ribs which had pierced her lungs. Finally he hauled the bandages from the face which had been unrecognizable for its cuts and breaks. Jenny Stevens was more beautiful than ever.
Pellman whirled on Miss Finch. “What happened in here? What . . . Say! There’s no mole on your chin!”
Again she touched the spot and again was bewildered.
“Can this be me?” said Pellman, picking up the mirror. “Can this be we?”