“Yes—yes! What shall I do for him?”
“Are you sure you’re strong enough—you won’t faint nor carry on?”
“No—no! I’m sure of that. What may I do?” Judge Tiffany was beside her now. He looked, understood, and said nothing.
“Thank God for you, then! With all the crowd we haven’t sane people enough to nurse one baby! Everything’s the matter with him—broken arm, broken collar-bone, shock, and maybe he’s injured internally. We can’t be sure about that yet. I’m trying to make him comfortable, but”—here the agitated man broke through the calm physician for a moment—“No braces, no slings, no anything! We’re going to town as soon as this company will let us. And he must be held. It’s the only way to keep him comfortable. Come!”
Judge Tiffany touched the doctor’s arm, but he spoke to Eleanor. 246
“Nell—you’d better let a man do that.”
“No. You may help. How shall I hold him?”
All her will concentrated on obedience to direction, she followed the doctor while he drew Bertram’s bare arm over her shoulder, set a cushion at his back, showed her how she must support his neck with her right hand.
“Hold him as long as you can, then have your friend relieve you. But change no more often than you find necessary. He’ll get jostled enough before we reach town.”
The Judge seated himself calmly. She was alone with the care of her dying. The necessity for comforting and reassuring him came into her mind.