Carey went down and gave his wife the message, then he hurried back and stood waiting just outside the door. And all at once the summons came. In a breath the doctor had changed his rôle. He spoke sharply:
“Now, Robeson—now, Carey—we’ve waited up to the limit. Keep cool—hold him like a rock—”
Wayne Carey came down to his wife, ten minutes later, smiled tremulously, sank into a chair, and fell to crying like a baby—softly, so that he could not be heard.
“But Juliet says he’ll be all right,” murmured Judith unsteadily.
“Yes, yes——” Carey wiped his eyes and blew his nose. “I’m just a little unnerved, that’s all. Lord—and he’s dropped off to sleep as quiet as a lamb—with Barnes holding the gash in his throat open with a hairpin to let the air in. When it comes to emergency surgery I tell you it’s a lucky thing to have an expert in the house. Completely worn out—the little chap. When the nurse comes they’ll get out the whistle and sew the place up. She ought to be here—I’ll go meet that train.”
He sprang to his feet and hurried out of the house. Presently he was back, followed by an erect young woman who wore a long coat over the uniform she had not taken time to change. Carey carried the long black bag she had brought with her.
By and by Anthony and Roger Barnes came down. The former was pale, but as quietly composed as ever; the latter nonchalant, yet wearing that gleam of satisfaction in his eye which is ever the badge of the successful surgeon.
“Well, Mrs. Carey,” said the doctor, smiling, “why not relax that tension a bit? The youngster is right as a trivet.”
“I suppose that’s your idea of being right as a trivet,” Judith retorted. “In bed, with a trained nurse watching you, and a doctor staying all night to make sure.”