Danger; or Wounded in the House of a Friend

T >> T. S. Arthur >> Danger; or Wounded in the House of a Friend

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"Much depends on the location of a tumor," said Mr. Carlton. "The
extirpation may be safe and easy if the operation be in one place,
and difficult and dangerous if in another."

"It is the surgeon's business to do his work so well that danger
shall not exist in any case," replied Doctor Hillhouse.

"I shall trust her in your hands," said Mr. Carlton, trying to
assume a cheerful air. "But I cannot help feeling nervous and
extremely anxious."

"You are, of course, over-sensitive about everything that touches
one so dear as your wife," replied the doctor. "But do not give
yourself needless anxiety. Tumors in the neck are generally of the
kind known as 'benignant,' and are easily removed."

Dr. Angier came into the office while they were talking, and heard a
part of the conversation. As soon as Mr. Carlton had retired he
asked if the tumor were deep-seated or only a wen-like protuberance.

"Deep-seated, I infer, from what Mr. Carlton said," replied Dr.
Hillhouse.

"What is her constitution?"

"Not as free from a scrofulous tendency as I should like."

"Then this tumor, if it should really prove to be one, may be of a
malignant character."

"That is possible. But I trust to find only a simple cyst, or, at
the worst, an adipose or fibrous tumor easy of removal, though I am
sorry it is in the neck. I never like to cut in among the large
blood-vessels and tendons of that region."

At twelve o'clock Doctor Hillhouse made the promised visit. He found
Mrs. Carlton to all appearance quiet and cheerful.

"My husband is apt to worry himself when anything ails me," she
said, with a faint smile.

The doctor took her hand and felt a low tremor of the nerves that
betrayed the nervous anxiety she was trying hard to conceal. His
first diagnosis was not satisfactory, and he was not able wholly to
conceal his doubts from the keen observation of Mr. Carlton, whose
eyes never turned for a moment from the doctor's face. The swelling
was clearly outlined, but neither sharp nor protuberant. From the
manner of its presentation, and also from the fact that Mrs. Carlton
complained of a feeling of pressure on the vessels of the neck, the
doctor feared the tumor was larger and more deeply seated than the
lady's friends had suspected. But he was most concerned as to its
true character. Being hard and nodulated, he feared that it might
prove to be of a malignant type, and his apprehensions were
increased by the fact that his patient had in her constitution a
taint of scrofula. There was no apparent congestion of the veins nor
discoloration of the skin around the hard protuberance, no
pulsation, elasticity, fluctuation or soreness, only a solid lump
which the doctor's sensitive touch recognized as the small section
or lobule of a deeply-seated tumor already beginning to press upon
and obstruct the blood vessels in its immediate vicinity. Whether it
were fibrous or albuminous, "benignant" or "malignant," he was not
able in his first diagnosis to determine.

Dr. Hillhouse could not so veil his face as to hide from Mr. Carlton
the doubt and concern that were in his mind.

"Deal with me plainly," said the latter as he stood alone with the
doctor after the examination was over. "I want the exact truth.
Don't conceal anything."

Mr. Carlton's lips trembled.

"Is it a--a tumor?" He got the words out in a low, shaky voice.

"I think so," replied Doctor Hillhouse. He saw the face of Mr.
Carlton blanch instantly.

"It presents," added the doctor, "all the indications of what we
call a fibrous tumor."

"Is it of a malignant type?" asked Mr. Carlton, with suspended
breath.

"No; these tumors are harmless in themselves, but their mechanical
pressure on surrounding blood-vessels and tissues renders their
removal necessary."

Mr. Carlton caught his breath with a sigh of relief.

"Is their removal attended with danger?" he asked.

"None," replied Dr. Hillhouse.

"Have you ever taken a tumor from the neck?"

"Yes. I have operated in cases of this kind often."

"Were you always successful?"

"Yes; in every instance."

Mr. Carlton breathed more freely. After a pause, he said, his lips
growing white as he spoke:

"There will have to be an operation in this case?"

"It cannot, I fear, be avoided," replied the doctor.

"There is one comfort," said Mr. Carlton, rallying and speaking in a
more cheerful voice. "The tumor is small and superficial in
character. The knife will not have to go very deep among the veins
and arteries."

Doctor Hillhouse did not correct his error.

"How long will it take?" queried the anxious husband, to whom the
thought of cutting down into the tender flesh of his wife was so
painful that it completely unmanned him.

"Not very long," answered the doctor.

"Ten minutes?"

"Yes, or maybe a little longer."

"She will feel no pain?"

"None."

"Nor be conscious of what you are doing?"

"She will be as much in oblivion as a sleeping infant," replied the
doctor.

Mr. Carlton turned from Dr. Hillhouse and walked the whole length of
the parlor twice, then stood still, and said, with painful
impressiveness:

"Doctor, I place her in your hands. She is ready for anything we may
decide upon as best."

He stopped and turned partly away to hide his feelings. But
recovering himself, and forcing a smile to his lips, he said:

"To your professional eyes I show unmanly weakness. But you must
bear in mind how very dear she is to me. It makes me shiver in every
nerve to think of the knife going down into her tender flesh. You
might cut me to pieces, doctor, if that would save her."

"Your fears exaggerate everything," returned Doctor Hillhouse, in an
assuring voice. "She will go into a tranquil sleep, and while
dreaming pleasant dreams we will quickly dissect out the tumor, and
leave the freed organs to continue their healthy action under the
old laws of unobstructed life."

"When ought it to be done?" asked Mr. Carlton the tremor coming back
into his voice.

"The sooner, the better, after an operation is decided upon,"
answered the doctor. "I will make another examination in about two
weeks. The changes that take place in that time will help me to a
clearer decision than it is possible to arrive at now."

After a lapse of two weeks Doctor Hillhouse, in company with another
surgeon, made a second examination. What his conclusions were will
appear in the following conversation held with Dr. Angier.

"The tumor is not of a malignant character," Doctor Hillhouse
replied, in answer to his assistant's inquiry. "But it is larger
than I at first suspected and is growing very rapidly. From a slight
suffusion of Mrs. Carlton's face which I did not observe at any
previous visit, it is evident that the tumor is beginning to press
upon the carotids. Serious displacements of blood-vessels, nerves,
glands and muscles must soon occur if this growth goes on."

"Then her life is in danger?" said Dr. Angier.

"It is assuredly, and nothing but a successful operation can save
her."

"What does Doctor Kline think of the case?"

"He agrees with me as to the character of the tumor, but thinks it
larger than an orange, deeply cast among the great blood-vessels,
and probably so attached to their sheaths as to make its extirpation
not only difficult, but dangerous."

"Will he assist you in the operation?"

"Yes."

Dr. Hillhouse became thoughtful and silent. His countenance wore a
serious, almost troubled aspect.

"Never before," he said, after a long pause, "have I looked forward
to an operation with such a feeling of concern as I look forward to
this. Three or four months ago, when there was only a little sack
there, it could have been removed without risk. But I greatly fear
that in its rapid growth it has become largely attached to the
blood-vessels and the sheaths of nerves, and you know how difficult
this will make the operation, and that the risk will be largely
increased. The fact is, doctor, I am free to say that it would be
more agreeable to me if some other surgeon had the responsibility of
this case."

"Dr. Kline would, no doubt, be very ready to take it off of your
hands."

"If the family were satisfied, I would cheerfully delegate the work
to him," said Doctor Hillhouse.

"He's a younger man, and his recent brilliant operations have
brought him quite prominently before, the public."

As he spoke Doctor Hillhouse, who was past sixty-five and beginning
to feel the effects of over forty years of earnest professional
labor, lifted his small hand, the texture of which, was as fine as
that of a woman's, and holding it up, looked at it steadily for some
moments. It trembled just a little.

"Not quite so firm as it was twenty years ago," he remarked, with a
slight depression in his voice.

"But the sight is clearer and the skill greater," said Doctor
Angier.

"I don't know about the sight." returned Doctor Hillhouse. "I'm
afraid that is no truer than the hand."

"The inner sight, I mean, the perception that comes from
long-applied skill," said Doctor Angier. "That is something in which
you have the advantage of younger men."

Doctor Hillhouse made no reply to this, but sat like one in deep
and, perplexed thought for a considerable time.

"I must see Doctor Kline and go over the case with him more
carefully," he remarked at length. "I shall then be able to see with
more clearness what is best. The fact that I feel so averse to
operating myself comes almost as a warning; and if no change should
occur in my feelings, I shall, with the consent of the family,
transfer the knife to Doctor Kline."

CHAPTER XVI.

MRS. CARLTON was a favorite in the circle where she moved; and when
it became known that she would have to submit to a serious operation
in order to save her life, she became an object of painful interest
to her many friends. Among the most intimate of these was Mrs.
Birtwell, who, as the time approached for the great trial, saw her
almost every day.

It was generally understood that Doctor Hillhouse, who was the
family physician, would perform the operation. For a long series of
years he had held the first rank as a surgeon. But younger men were
coming forward in the city, and other reputations were being made
that promised to be even more notable than his.

Among those who were steadly achieving success in the walks of
surgery was Doctor Kline, now over thirty-five years of age. He
held a chair in one of the medical schools, and his name was growing
more and more familiar to the public and the profession every year.

The friends of Mrs. Carlton were divided on the question as to who
could best perform the operation, some favoring Doctor Kline and
some Doctor Hillhouse.

The only objection urged by any one against the latter was on
account of his age.

Mr. and Mrs. Carlton had no doubt or hesitation on the subject.
Their confidence in the skill of Doctor Hillhouse was complete. As
for Doctor Kline, Mr. Carlton, who met him now and then at public
dinners or at private social entertainments, had not failed to
observe that he was rather free in his use of liquor, drinking so
frequently on these occasions as to produce a noticeable
exhilaration. He had even remarked upon the fact to gentlemen of his
acquaintance, and found that others had noticed this weakness of
Doctor Kline as well as himself.

As time wore on Doctor Hillhouse grew more and more undecided. No
matter how grave or difficult an operation might be, he had always,
when satisfied of its necessity, gone forward, looking neither to
the right nor to the left. But so troubled and uncertain did he
become as the necessity for fixing an early day for the removal of
this tumor became more and more apparent that he at last referred
the whole matter to Mr. Carlton, and proposed that Doctor Kline,
whose high reputation for surgical skill he knew, should be
entrusted with the operation. To this he received an emphatic "No!"

"All the profession award him the highest skill in our city, if not
the whole country," said Doctor Hillhouse.

"I have no doubt of his skill," replied Mr. Carlton. "But--"

"What?" asked the doctor, as Mr. Carlton hesitated. "Are you not
aware that he uses wine too freely?"

Doctor Hillhouse was taken by surprise at this intimation.

"No, I am not aware of anything of the kind," he replied, almost
indignantly. "He is not a teetotaller, of course, any more than you
or I. Socially and at dinner he takes his glass of wine, as we do.
But to say that he uses liquor too freely. is, I am sure, a
mistake."

"Some men, as you know, doctor, cannot use wine without a steady
increase of the appetite until it finally gets the mastery, and I am
afraid Doctor Kline is one of them."

"I am greatly astonished to hear you say this," replied Dr.
Hillhouse, "and I cannot but hold you mistaken."

"Have you ever met him at a public dinner, at the club or at a
private entertainment where there was plenty of wine?"

"Oh yes."

"And observed no unusual exhilaration?"

Dr. Hillhouse became reflective. Now that his attention was called
to the matter, some doubts began to intrude themselves.

"We cannot always judge the common life by what we see on convivial
occasions," he made answer. "One may take wine freely with his
friends and be as abstemious as an anchorite during business-or
profession-hours."

"Not at all probable," replied Mr. Carlton, "and not good in my
observation. The appetite that leads a man into drinking more when
among friends than his brain will carry steadily is not likely to
sleep when he is alone. Any over-stimulation, as you know, doctor,
leaves in the depressed state that follows a craving for renewed
exhilaration. I am very sure that on the morning after one of the
occasions to which I have referred Doctor Kline finds himself in no
condition for the work of a delicate surgical operation until he has
steadied his relaxed nerves with more than a single glass."

He paused for a moment, and then said, with strong emphasis:

"The hand, Doctor Hillhouse, that cuts down into her dear flesh must
be steadied by healthy nerves, and not by wine or brandy. No, sir; I
will not hear to it. I will not have Doctor Kline. In your hands,
and yours alone, I trust my wife in this great extremity."

"That is for you to decide," returned Dr. Hillhouse. "I felt it to
be only right to give you an opportunity to avail of Doctor Kline's
acknowledged skill. I am sure you can do so safely."

But Mr. Carlton was very emphatic in his rejection of Dr. Kline.

"I may be a little peculiar," he said, "but do you know I never
trust any important interest with a man who drinks habitually?--one
of your temperate drinkers, I mean, who can take his three or four
glasses of wine at dinner, or twice that number, during an evening
while playing at whist, but who never debases himself by so low a
thing as intoxication."

"Are not you a little peculiar, or, I might say, over-nice, in
this?" remarked Doctor Hillhouse.

"No, I am only prudent. Let me give you a fact in my own experience.
I had a law-suit several years ago involving many thousands of
dollars. My case was good, but some nice points of law were
involved, and I needed for success the best talent the bar afforded.
A Mr. B----, I will call him, stood very high in the profession, and
I chose him for my counsel. He was a man of fine social qualities,
and admirable for his after-dinner speeches. You always met him on
public occasions. He was one of your good temperate drinkers and not
afraid of a glass of wine, or even brandy, and rarely, if ever,
refused a friend who asked him to drink.

"He was not an intemperate man, of course. No one dreamed of setting
him over among that banned and rejected class of men whom few trust,
and against whom all are on guard. He held his place of honor and
confidence side by side with the most trusted men in his profession.
As a lawyer, interests of vast magnitude were often in his hands,
and largely depended on his legal sagacity, clearness of thought and
sleepless vigilance. He was usually successful in his cases.

"I felt my cause safe in his hands--that is, as safe as human care
and foresight could make it. But to my surprise and disappointment,
his management of the case on the day of trial was faulty and blind.
I had gone over all the points with him carefully, and he had seemed
to hold them with a masterly hand. He was entirely confident of
success, and so was I. But now he seemed to lose his grasp on the
best points in the case, and to bring forward his evidence in a way
that, in my view, damaged instead of making our side strong. Still,
I forced myself to think that he knew best what to do, and that the
meaning of his peculiar tactics should soon become apparent. I
noticed, as the trial went on, a bearing of the opposing counsel
toward Mr. B----that appeared unusual. He seemed bent on annoying
him with little side issues and captious objections, not so much
showing a disposition to meet him squarely, upon the simple and
clearly defined elements of the case, as to draw him away from them
and keep them as far out of sight as possible.

"In this he was successful. Mr. B----seemed in his hands more like a
bewildered child than a strong, clear-seeing man. When, after all
the evidence was in, the arguments on both sides were submitted to
the jury, I saw with alarm that Mr. B----had failed signally. His
summing up was weak and disjointed, and he did not urge with force
and clearness the vital points in the case on which all our hopes
depended. The contrast of his closing argument with that of the
other side was very great, and I knew when the jury retired from the
court-room that all was lost, and so it proved.

"It was clear to me that I had mistaken my man--that Mr. B----'s
reputation was higher than his ability. He was greatly chagrined at
the result, and urged me to take an appeal, saying he was confident
we could get a reversal of the decision.

"While yet undecided as to whether I would appeal or not, a friend
who had been almost as much surprised and disappointed at the result
of the trial as I was came to me in considerable excitement of
manner, and said:

"'I heard something this morning that will surprise you, I think, as
much as it has surprised me. Has it never occurred to you that there
was something strange about Mr. B----on the day your case was
tried?'

"'Yes,' I replied, 'it has often occurred to me; and the more I
think about it, the more dissatisfied am with his management of my
case. He is urging me to appeal; but should I do so, I have pretty
well made up my mind to have other counsel.'

"'That I should advise by all means,' returned my friend.

"'The thought has come once or twice,' said I, 'that there might
have been false play in the case.'

"'There has been,' returned my friend.

"What!' I exclaimed. 'False play? No, no, I will not believe so base
a thing of Mr. B----.'

"'I do not mean false play on his part,' replied my friend. 'Far be
it from me to suggest a thought against his integrity of character.
No, no! I believe him to be a man of honor. The false play, if there
has been any, has been against him.'

"'Against him?' I could but respond, with increasing surprise. Then
a suspicion of the truth flashed into my mind.

"'He had been drinking too much that morning,' said my friend. 'That
was the meaning of his strange and defective management of the case,
and of his confusion of ideas when he made his closing argument to
the jury.'

"It was clear to me now, and I wondered that I had not thought of it
before. 'But,' I asked, 'what has this to do with foul play? You
don't mean to intimate that his liquor was drugged?'

"'No. The liquor was all right, so far as that goes,' he replied.
'The story I heard was this. It came to me in rather a curious way.
I was in the reading-room at the League this morning looking over a
city paper, when I happened to hear your name spoken by one of two
gentlemen who sat a little behind me talking in a confidential way,
but in a louder key than they imagined. I could not help hearing
what they said. After the mention of your name I listened with close
attention, and found that they were talking about the law-suit, and
about Mr. B----in connection therewith. "It was a sharp game," one
of them said. "How was it done?" inquired the other.

"'I partially held my breath,' continued my friend, 'so as not to
lose a word. "Neatly enough," was the reply. "You see our friend the
lawyer can't refuse a drink. He's got a strong head, and can take
twice as much as the next man without showing it. A single glass
makes no impression on him, unless it be to sharpen him up. So a
plan was laid to get half a dozen glasses aboard, more or less,
before court opened on the morning the case of Walker vs. Carlton
was to be called. But not willing to trust to this, we had a
wine-supper for his special benefit on the night before, so as to
break his nerves a little and make him thirsty next morning. Well,
you see, the thing worked, and B----drank his bottle or two, and
went to bed pretty mellow. Of course he must tone up in the morning
before leaving home, and so come out all right. He would tone up a
little more on his way to his office, and then be all ready for
business and bright as a new dollar. This would spoil all. So five
of us arranged to meet him at as many different points on his way
down town and ask him to drink. The thing worked like a charm. We
got six glasses into him before he reached his office. I saw as soon
as he came into court that it was a gone case for Carlton. B----had
lost his head. And so it proved. We had an easy victory."'

"I took the case out of B----'s hands," said Mr. Carlton, "and
gained it in a higher court, the costs of both trials falling upon
the other side. Since that time, Dr. Hillhouse, I have had some new
views on the subject of moderate drinking, as it is called."

"What are they" asked the doctor.

"An experience like this set me to thinking. If, I said to myself, a
man uses wine, beer or spirits habitually, is there no danger that
at some time when great interests, or even life itself, may be at
stake, a glass too much may obscure his clear intellect and make him
the instrument of loss or disaster? I pursued the subject, and as I
did so was led to this conclusion--that society really suffers more,
from what is called moderate drinking than it does from out-and-out
drunkenness."

"Few will agree with you in that conclusion," returned Doctor
Hillhouse.

"On the contrary," replied Mr. Carlton, "I think that most people,
after looking at the subject from the right standpoint, will see it
as I do."

"Men who take a glass of wine at dinner and drink with a friend
occasionally," remarked Doctor Hillhouse are not given to idleness,
waste of property and abuse and neglect of their families, as we
find to be the case with common drunkards. They don't fill our
prisons and almshouses. Their wives and children do not go to swell
the great army of beggars, paupers and criminals. I fear, my friend,
that you are looking through the wrong end of your glass."

"No; my glass is all right. The number of drunken men and women in
the land is small compared to the number who drink moderately, and
very few of them are to be found in places of trust or
responsibility. As soon as a man is known to be a drunkard society
puts a mark on him and sets him aside. If he is a physician, health
and life are no longer entrusted to his care; if a lawyer, no man
will give an important case into his hands. A ship-owner will not
trust him with his vessel, though a more skilled navigator cannot be
found; and he may be the best engineer in the land, yet will no
railroad or steamship company trust him with life and property. So
everywhere the drunkard is ignored. Society will not trust him, and
he is limited in his power to do harm.

"Not so with your moderate drinkers. They fill our highest places
and we commit to their care our best and dearest interests. We put
the drunkard aside because we know he cannot be trusted, and give to
moderate drinkers, a sad percentage of whom are on the way to
drunkenness, our unwavering confidence. They sail our ships, they
drive our engines, they make and execute our laws, they take our
lives in their hands as doctors and surgeons; we trust them to
defend or maintain our legal rights, we confide to them our
interests in hundreds of different ways that we would never dream of
confiding to men who were regarded as intemperate. Is it not fair to
conclude, knowing as we do how a glass of wine too much will confuse
the brain and obscure the judgment, that society in trusting its
great army of moderate drinkers is suffering loss far beyond
anything we imagine? A doctor loses his patient, a lawyer his case,
an engineer wrecks his ship or train, an agent hurts his principal
by a loose or bad bargain, and all because the head had lost for a
brief space its normal clearness.

"Men hurt themselves through moderate drinking in thousands of
ways," continued Mr. Carlton. "We have but to think for a moment to
see this. Many a fatal document has been signed, many a disastrous
contract made, many a ruinous bargain consummated, which but for the
glass of wine taken at the wrong moment would have been rejected.
Men under the excitement of drink often enter into the unwise
schemes of designing men only to lose heavily, and sometimes to
encounter ruin. The gambler entices his victim to drink, while he
keeps his own head clear. He knows the confusing quality of wine."

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