chances herself of his findin' out--jest yet," declared Susan, with a
sage wag of her head. "Anyhow, she's had an inspiration to go see a
girl down to the beach, an' she's goin'. So we're safe for a while.
But, oh, if July'd only hurry up an' come!"
And yet, when July came--
They were so glad, afterward, that Dr. Stewart wrote the letter that
in a measure prepared them for the bad news. He wrote the day before
the operation. He said that the great oculist was immensely interested
in the case and eager to see what he could do--though he could hold
out no sort of promise that he would be able to accomplish the desired
results. Dr. Stewart warned them, therefore, not to expect anything--
though, of course, they might hope. Hard on the heels of the letter
came the telegram. The operation had been performed--and had failed,
they feared. They could not tell surely, however, until the bandages
were removed, which would be early in August. But even if it had
failed, there was yet one more chance, the doctor wrote. He would say
nothing about that, however, until he was obliged to.
In August he wrote about it. He was obliged to. The operation had been
so near a failure that they might as well call it that. The Paris
oculist, however, had not given up hope. There was just one man in the
world who might accomplish the seemingly impossible and give back
sight to Keith's eyes--at least a measure of sight, he said. This man
lived in London. He had been singularly successful in several of the
few similar cases known to the profession. Therefore, with their kind
permission, the great Paris doctor would take Keith back with him to
his brother oculist in London. He would like to take ship at once, as
soon as arrangements could possibly be made. There would be delay
enough, anyway, as it was. So far as any question of pay was
concerned, the indebtedness would be on their side entirely if they
were privileged to perform the operation, for each new case of this
very rare malady added knowledge of untold value to the profession,
hence to humanity in general. He begged, therefore, a prompt word of
permission from Keith's father.
"Don't you give it, don't you give it!" chattered Susan, with white
lips, when the proposition was made clear to her.
"Why, Susan, I thought you'd be willing to try anything, ANYTHING--for
Keith's sake."
"An' so I would, sir, anything in season. But not this. Do you think
I'd set that blessed boy afloat on top of them submarines an' gas-
mines, an' to go to London for them German Zepherin's to rain down
bombs an' shrapnel on his head, an' he not bein' able to see a thing
to dodge 'em when he sees 'em comin'? Why, Daniel Burton, I'm ashamed
of you--to think of it, for a minute!"
"There, there, Susan, that will do. You mean well, I know; but this is
a matter that I shall have to settle for myself, for myself," he
muttered with stern dignity, rising to his feet. Yet when he left the
room a moment later, head and shoulders bowed, he looked so old and
worn that Susan, gazing after him, put a spasmodic hand to her throat.
"An' I jest know I'm goin' to lose 'em both now," she choked as she
turned away.