Another voice. He doesn’t need anybody to stand up for him. His deeds do follow him. And he rests from his labors.
(Dr. Thorne smiles bitterly; stands with his face towards the speaker. He knots his hands in front of him, and thus advances with a motion so slow as to be almost stealthy.)
Voice from another cot. He wouldn’t care so much for that. It’s Bible. He was not a religious man. But he was as kind to me! (Weeps.)
Other voices. And to me! Oh, yes, and to me,—as kind!
Patient in the wheeled chair. I couldn’t move in my bed when I came here. I’d been so three years. Look what he’s done for me. (Sobs.)
Dr. Thorne (in a low tone). Miss Jessie? Don’t cry so. You’ll make yourself worse. Go back to bed, Jessie, and—see. I’ll tell you a secret. Don’t tell the others just yet. I wasn’t killed, Jessie. That was a newspaper canard. I’m a live man yet. See! Look up, Jessie. Look at me,—can’t you? (Pleads.) Won’t you, Jessie?
Patient in the wheeled chair (stares past him at Dr. Gazell and Dr. Carver). And to think of the likes of them,—in his place! What ever’ll become of this hospital without him?
Dr. Thorne (with trembling lip). You don’t hear me, do you, Jessie? Well—well. I must have met with some cerebral shock affecting the organs of speech. It is a clear case of aphasia. I can’t make myself understood. It—it’s hard. Jessie? (Louder.) I can’t see things go wrong with you,—no matter how it is with me. You’ve been in that chair long enough for to-day. (Imperiously.) Jessie, go back to bed! Stop crying about me, and go back to your bed.
(Jessie wavers; shades her eyes with her hands; stares about her; slowly turns her wheeled chair and moves away.)
[Exit Jessie.