Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 25, 1924 — page 54: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

iy 44 it’s hell to have to go through hell to get to be friends, isn’t it?” “Tf we ever get out—” was all that Bert Pomeroy could say. And when we went away, a few minutes later, it was with the curious sensation that a cloud, a dark, for- bidding cloud, had been lifted; for the two dark brothers were grinning when we left them.. Gene and I killed the rest of the day sit- ting on the upstairs porch of the hospital, smoking our pipes and waiting for develop- ments. But there was no change in Dim- lock’s condition; he still lingered in the borderland. Several times we pleaded with the head nurse. Could we look in on him? We could not! If Dimlock died we were going to Jacksonville and hire a lawyer; if he did not die— There were complications to be thought of in the latter event—difficult ones. Phil would have to serve the remainder of his sentence, then, perhaps, he would be re- turned to Florida to pay the penalty as a material witness. Dimlock’s condition was unchanged when we left that evening. On the way home we stopped for a word with Suzanne. Ma Babcock met us at the door and said that Suzanne was too ill to see any one. She had been having hysterics since last night, but was gradually growing calm. By to- morrow night, perhaps, she would be her- self again. Gene spent the night with me and, early next morning, we drove to the hospital. Dr. Rawlins met us at the door with a tired, wry grin. He had been trying, he said, to reach me by telephone for the past hour. “ Dimlock has turned the corner,” he an- nounced. ‘‘ The wound is healing nicely; there is no sign of infection, the inflamma- tion is subsiding, and the danger of hemor- rhage is past. The fellow’s vitality is amaz- ing. He ought to be on his feet in a couple of weeks. Since a little after midnight,” the surgeon added softly, “ he has been call- ing, so my night nurse tells me, for Miss Pomeroy.” “Ah!” Gene breathed. “What I have done,” Dr. Rawlins re- sumed, ‘or, rather, what I have left un- done, may or may not come under the head ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. of unethical practice. I have refrained from telling the patient that he will recover!” His sharp gray eyes were twinkling. “But he must be told soon. If Miss Pomeroy will come to his bedside, she may obtain some statement from him that will help clear her brothers; and I’m willing to be unethical, say, until ten o’clock—” “Look here,” Gene broke in anxiously. ‘ Suzanne is having hysterics and can’t pos- sibly come. It seems to me, doc, that this is something for a couple of hard-boiled bushwhackers to handle, anyhow. Why not give me and Buck a crack at the old reprobate? How sure are you he wants to make a statement?”’ “From what the night nurse told me,” Dr. Rawlins answered, ‘I have gathered that the patient is a highly religious man and that, in common with most of us sin- ners, he entertains hopes of going to a beau- tiful everlasting reward. Draw your own conclusions, Gene. At ten o’clock, when I return from breakfast, I’m going to tell Lee K. Dimlock that he has considerably more than a fighting chance—unless some one does so earlier.” “Doc,” said Gene grimly, “lead us to him.” Dr. Rawlins shook his head. “ Not in that spirit. Dimlock is a mighty sick man. He must not be upset or frightened or an- tagonized or aroused in any way. You cannot go in there unless you promise not to excite him or let him talk too much. The limit is ten minutes. I’m going to time you!” We nedded grimly and Dr. Rawlins took us upstairs, opened a door and led us into a small, sunlit room with pale gray walls. Lee Dimiock’s face was gaunt and pale against the pillow. His strawberry roan hair had the limp, lifeless look that hair assumes when its owner has been very ill. He turned his head as we entered, fixing us with his small, pale blue eyes. His journey into the valley of the shadow had in some way changed Lee Dimlock. His mouth was drawn and pinched looking, and in his eyes, as he surveyed us, was the suffering, the sincere terror, of the man who cannot contemplate death courageously. “ These gentlemen,’ Dr. Rawlins intro- CORMICLOO© S com