In a second more he was at the physician’s door; but not before the anxious boys in the tonneau imagined they had seen a tiny flutter of the little eyelids; thought they felt a faint lift of the bosom. Yet they dared not hope; the motion of the car was deceiving.
They were fortunate to find the doctor in, one of the few to keep an office in the residence district. From Max’s trembling arms he took the little one and laid her on the operating table, questioning while he began a skillful examination, the boys watching silently, fearing yet longing to hear his verdict.
He took no time for words save a few commands when, needing assistance, he forced something between her lips, drop by drop.
In a moment they saw a movement of her lips. Presently they could see her breath coming, and at last her eyes opened—opened slowly and closed again, showing no intelligence; and Max looked anxiously into the doctor’s noncommittal face, trying to read it.
How the moments dragged for the watching boys! The doctor’s face grew sterner with each second, and Max began to lose courage, keeping his eyes from the other boys, when a soft moan broke the silence, and following that, incoherent sounds from the stiff, sand-roughened lips of the child.
The doctor straightened. His face relaxed in a smile. To the boys it seemed as if he had been suddenly released from some dreadful ordeal. Sternness melted in tenderness, and his hand had the gentleness of a mother’s as he smoothed back the matted hair and spoke cheering words.
“Hi there, baby! It’s all right now, little one.”
Slowly the child’s gaze wandered from one to another, half frightened, only half aroused.