Part 12 (1/2)

The old lady turned her head and looked up at him. The note of confidence in his voice had evidently appealed to her.

”It's my left leg. I think it's broken just above the knee.”

”Do you want me to put a splint on it?”

”Are you a doctor?”

”No, ma'am; but I can fix it so's it won't hurt you so bad when we move you,” Quin replied.

”How do you know you can?”

Quin ran his fingers through his hair and smiled.

”Well, I wasn't with the Ambulance Corps for six months in France for nothing.”

Madam eyed him keenly for a moment; then, ”Go ahead,” she commanded.

A chorus of protests from the surrounding group only deepened her determination.

”It's _my_ leg,” she said irritably. ”If he knows how to splint it, let him do it. I want to be taken upstairs.”

It is difficult enough to apply a splint properly under favorable circ.u.mstances; but when one has only an umbrella and table napkins to work with, and is hemmed in by a doubtful and at times protesting audience, it becomes well-nigh impossible.

Quin worked slowly and awkwardly, putting the bones as nearly as possible in position and then binding them firmly in place. He paid no more attention to the agitated comments of those about him than he had paid to the whizzing bullets when he rendered first aid to a fallen comrade in No Man's Land.

During the painful operation Madam lay with rigid jaws and clenched fists. Small beads of perspiration gathered on her forehead and her lips were white. Now and then she flinched violently, but only once did she speak, and that was when Miss Enid held the smelling salts too close to her high-bridged nose.

”Haven't I got enough to stand without that?” she sputtered, knocking the bottle into the air and sending the contents flying over the polished floor.

When Quin finished he looked at her with frank admiration.

”You got nerve, all right,” he said; then he added gently: ”Don't you worry about getting upstairs; it won't hurt you much now.”

”You stay and help,” said Madam peremptorily.

”Sure,” said Quin.

It was not until she was in her own bed, and word had come that Dr.

Rawlins was on his way, that she would let Quin go, and even then she called him back.

”You! Soldier! Come here,” was the faint edict from the canopied bed. She was getting very weak from the pain, and her words came in gasps. ”Do you know where--the--Aristo Apartments are?”

”No, but I can find out,” said Quin.

”I want you--to--go for my son--Mr. Randolph Bartlett. If he's not at home--you find him. I'll make it--worth your while.”

”I'll find him,” Quin said, with a rea.s.suring pat on her wrinkled hand.

As he went into the hall, Eleanor slipped out of the adjoining room and followed him silently down the stairs. She did not speak until they were at the front door, and even then took the precaution of stepping outside.