“No, they won't,” said Mary to herself, and when her husband was safe in bed again, she walked quietly to the telephone, took down the receiver and left it down. “Extreme cases require extreme measures,” she thought as she, too, prepared for her night's rest. But there was a haunting feeling in her mind about the receiver hanging there. Suppose some one who really did need the doctor should call and call in vain. She would not think of it. She turned over and fell asleep and they both slept till morning and rose refreshed for another day.
A few weeks later circumstances much like those narrated above arose, and the doctor's wife for the second and last time left the receiver down. About two o'clock there came a tragic pounding at the door and when the doctor went to open it a voice asked, “What's the matter down here?”
“Why?”
“Central's been ringing you to beat the band and couldn't get you awake.”
“Strange we didn't hear. What's wanted?” He had recognized the messenger as the night clerk at the hotel not far from his home.
“A man hurt at the railroad—they're afraid he'll bleed to death. Central called me and asked me to run over here and rouse you.”
When the doctor was gone Mary rose tremblingly and hung up the receiver. She would not tell John what she had done. He would be angry. She had felt that the end justified the means—that he was tired out and half sick and sorely needed a night's unbroken rest—but if the end should be the bleeding to death of this poor man—
She dared not think of it. She went back to bed but not to sleep. She lay wide awake keenly anxious for her husband's return. And when at last he came her lips could hardly frame the question, “How is he, John?”
“Pretty badly hurt, but not fatally.”