VI
Hamilton was sitting at the window, his favorite position, watching the stream of people on the street below. He had walked up and down the room for perhaps fiveminutes—the first time inmonths—and was now resting. Little pains, like needles, were running up his limbs. His wound had entirely healed, leaving only a long, livid scar. Hamilton called the wound his barometer. He could foretell any change in the weather accurately by the twinges it gave him. At present it indicated “clear weather.”
Hamilton had begun to doze away in the warm sunshine, when he heard a thumping of crutches down the corridor. He turned around.
“If it isn’t old Ham himself!” cried the man on crutches.
“Bill McCall!” Hamilton was on his feet. “Where’d you come from?”
The next moment they were shaking hands and looking into each other’s eyes. Hamilton retained his grasp.
“I want to thank you, Bill, I want to tell you how grateful I am for what you’ve done,” Hamilton began, his throat choking. “I don’t know what to say; but I’ll always feel indebted to you formy—life.”
“Oh, stow it,” cut in McCall. “It was no more than any one else would have done under the circumstances.” McCall slid into a chair, one leg held gingerly out and deposited the crutches on the floor. Hamilton resumed his seat. “As a matter of fact, the men you really owe your life to are Williams—”
“The nigger? Yes, I suppose so.”
“And Dr. Levin.”
“Dr. Levin? Who’s he?”
“He’s your surgeon. Don’t you know him? Black-haired fellow, blue eyes, little stoop-shouldered. Comes here every day. Got a lot of other wards, too. Isn’t he still handling your case?”
“Oh, the doctor, sure. I didn’t know his name, though. Levin? Jewish name, isn’t it?”
“Must be. Anyway it was Dr. Levin who really saved your life. Williams and I simply brought your body back. But you were hanging by a hair. It was Dr. Levin who pulled you through.
“Don’t you remember reading about Dr. Levin joining theservice—giving up his big practice and allthat—about the time we left for training camp. I remember it because I wrote it.”
“It isn’tthatDr. Levin, is it?”
“Yes, the big surgeon.”
“But he looks so confoundedly young and unassuming.”
“Well, he is young. Just a little over the draft age. I remember covering the story at the time. Bob, you don’t know what fine medical care we’re getting in this man’s army. This specialist has made you a nice new rib out of silver and spliced the pieces of bone together to the plate, or bar, or something, so that the bone would form over it again. What’s the matter, old man, you’re trembling. Here, take this pill. I’ve got plenty.
“Now you’ve got a tin rib to match my aluminum shin and my nickel-plated skull.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at this leg.”
McCall pulled up the leg of his pajama and revealed a narrow, almost imperceptible scar.
“Feel it. Oh, it won’t bite you. A neat job. Now run your finger over my skull here. That’s some more of Levin’s work.”
“But it’s right next to the eye, that dent there.”
“Sure.”
“But you couldn’t have been hit there without losing your sight. The shell would have cut your optic nerve.”
“Well?”
Hamilton stared at McCall. “Well? You don’t mean to tell me,Bill—not your eye.”
McCall shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, one eye’s enough, anyway. I can see everything aswell—Here, nurse, orderly!” His voice rang out. “He’s fainted.”
But Meadows had already seen Bob’s head fall forward against McCall’s knee, and the next minute Hamilton was back in bed.
“Just a slight relapse,” smiled Meadows. “They get that way when they’re not used to walking. Come in again when he’s a little stronger.”