Kitabı oku: «The Story of a Doctor's Telephone—Told by His Wife», sayfa 9

CHAPTER XV

It was October – the carnival time of the year,

 
When on the ground red apples lie
In piles like jewels shining,
And redder still on old stone walls
Are leaves of woodbine twining.
 
 
When comrades seek sweet country haunts,
By twos and twos together,
And count like misers, hour by hour,
October's bright blue weather.
 

On a lovely afternoon our travelers were driving leisurely along through partially cleared woodland. The doctor had proposed that they take this trip in the new automobile. But Mary had declined with great firmness.

“I will not be hurled along the road in October of all months. What fools these mortals be,” she went on. “Last year while driving slowly through the glorious Austrian Tyrol fairly holding my breath with delight, one machine after another whizzed by, the occupants fancying they were ‘doing’ the Tyrol, I dare say.”

Mary looked about her, drinking in deep draughts of the delicious air. The beautifully-tinted leaves upon every tree and bush, the blue haze in the distance and the dreamful melancholy over all, were delightful to her. The fragrance of wild grapes came to them as they emerged from the woods and Mary said, “Couldn't you wait a minute, John, until I go back and find them? I'll bring you some.”

“If you were sick and had sent for a doctor would you like to have him fool around gathering grapes and everything else on his way?”

“No, I wouldn't. I really wouldn't.”

They laughed as they sped along the open country road, skirted on either side by a rail fence. From a fence corner here and there arose tall sumac, like candelabra bearing aloft their burning tapers. The poke-weed flung out its royal purple banners while golden-rod and asters were blooming everywhere. Suddenly Mary exclaimed, “I'm going to get out of the buggy this minute.”

“What for?”

“To gather those brown bunches of hazelnuts.”

“Mary, I positively will not wait for you.”

“John, I positively don't want you to wait for me,” said Mary, putting her foot on the step, “I'm going to stay here and gather nuts till you come back. See how many there are?” and she sprang lightly to the ground.

“It will be an hour or more before I can get back. I've got to take up that pesky artery.”

“It won't seem long. You know I like to be alone.”

“Good-bye, then,” and the doctor started off.

“Wait! John,” his wife called after him. “I haven't a thing to put the nuts in, please throw me the laprobe.” The doctor crushed the robe into a sort of bundle and threw it to her.

She spread the robe upon the ground and began plucking the bunches. Her fingers flew nimbly over the bushes and soon she had a pile of the brown treasures. Dear old times came trooping back. She thought of far-off autumn days when she had taken her little wagon and gone out to the hazel bushes growing near her father's house, and filled it to the top and tramped it down and filled it yet again. Then a gray October day came back when three or four girls and boys, all busy in the bushes, talked in awed tones of the great fire – Chicago was burning up! Big, big Chicago, which they had never seen or dreamed of seeing – all because a cow kicked over a lamp.

Mary moved to another clump of bushes. As she worked she thought if she had never known the joy of gathering nuts and wild grapes and persimmons, of wandering through woods and meadows, her childhood would have lost much that is beautiful and best, and her womanhood many of its dearest recollections.

“You're the doctor's wife, ain't ye?”

Mary looked around quite startled. A tall woman in a blue calico dress and a brown gingham sunbonnet was standing there. “I didn't want to scare ye, I guess you didn't see me comin'.”

“I didn't know you were coming – yes, I am the doctor's wife.”

“We saw ye from the house and supposed he'd gone on to see old man Benning and that you had stopped to pick nuts.”

“You guessed it exactly,” said Mary with a smile.

“We live about a quarter mile back from the road so I didn't see the doctor in time to stop him.”

“Is some one sick at your house, then?”

“Well, my man ain't a doin' right, somehow. He's been ailin' for some time and his left foot and leg is a turnin' blue. I come to see if you could tell me somethin' I could do for it. I'm afraid it's mortifyin'.”

Mary's brown eyes opened wide. “Why, my dear woman, I couldn't tell you anything to do. I don't know anything at all about such things.”

“I supposed bein' a doctor's wife you'd learnt everything like that.”

“I have learned many things by being a doctor's wife, very many things, but what to do with a leg and foot that are mortifying I really could not tell you.” Mary turned her face away to hide a laugh that was getting near the surface. “I will have the doctor drive up to the house when he gets back if you wish,” she said, turning to her companion.

“Maybe that would be best. Your husband cured me once when I thought nothing would ever get me well again. I think more of him than any other man in the world.”

“Thank you. So do I.”

She started off and Mary went on gathering nuts, her face breaking into smiles at the queer errand and the restorative power imputed to herself. “If it is as serious as she thinks, all the doctors in the world can't do much for it, much less one meek and humble doctor's wife. But they could amputate, I suppose, and I'm sure I couldn't, not in a scientific way.”

Thus soliloquizing, she went from clump to clump of the low bushes till they were bereft of their fruitage. She looked down well-pleased at the robe with the nuts piled upon it. She drew the corners up and tied her bundle securely. This done she looked down the road where the doctor had disappeared. “I'll just walk on and meet him,” she thought. She went leisurely along, stopping now and then to pluck a spray of goldenrod. When she had gathered quite a bunch she looked at it closely. “You are like some people in this world – you have a pretty name and at a little distance you are pretty: but seen too close you are a disappointment, and more than that you are coarse. I don't want you,” and she flung them away. She saw dust rising far down the road and hoped it might be the doctor. Yes, it was he, and Bucephalus seemed to know that he was traveling toward home. When her husband came up and she was seated beside him, she said, “You are wanted at that little house over yonder,” and she told him what had taken place in the hazel bushes. “You're second choice though, they came for me first,” she said laughing.

“I wish to thunder you'd gone. They owe me a lot now they'll never pay.”

“At any rate, they hold you in very high esteem, John.”

“Oh, yes, but esteem butters no bread.”

“Well, you'll go, won't you? I told the woman you would.”

“Yes, I'll go.”

He turned into a narrow lane and in a few minutes they were at the gate. The doctor handed the reins to Mary and went inside. A girl fourteen or fifteen years old with a bald-headed baby on her arm came out of the house and down the path.

“Won't you come in?”

“No, thank you. We will be going home in a minute.”

The girl set the baby on the gate-post. “She's the smartest baby I ever saw,” she said. “She's got a whole mouthful of teeth already.”

“And how old is she?”

“She was ten months old three weeks ago last Saturday.”

As today was Thursday, Mary was on the point of saying, “She will be eleven months old in a few days then,” but checked herself – she understood. It would detract from the baby's smartness to give her eleven months instead of only ten in which to accomplish such wonders in the way of teeth. The doctor came out and they started. Just before they came out to the main road they passed an old deserted house. No signs of life were about it except the very luxuriant life in the tall jimsons and ragweeds growing about it and reaching almost to the top of the low doorway, yawning blackly behind them.

“I think the longest night of my life was spent in that house about sixteen years ago. It's the only house I was ever in where there was nothing at all to read. There wasn't even an almanac.”

Mary laughed. “An almanac is a great deal better than nothing, my dear. I found that out once upon a time when I had to stay in a house for several hours where there was just one almanac and not another printed page. I read the jokes two or three times till they began to pall and then set to work on the signs. I'll always have a regard for them because they gave me a lift through those tedious hours.”

They were not far from the western edge of the piece of woodland they were traversing and all about them was the soft red light of the setting sun. They could see the sun himself away off through the straight and solemn trunks of the trees. A mile farther on Mary uttered a sudden exclamation of delight.

“See that lovely bittersweet!”

“I see, but don't ask me to stop and get you some.”

“I won't, but I'll ask you to stop and let me get some.”

“I wouldn't bother about it. You'll have to scramble over that ditch and up the bank – ”

“I've scrambled over worse things in my life,” she said, springing from the buggy and picking her way down the intervening ditch. The bright red berries in their flaring yellow hoods were beautiful. She began breaking off the branches. When she had gathered a large bunch and was turning toward the buggy she saw a vehicle containing two women approaching from the opposite direction. There was a ditch on either side of the road which, being narrow at this point, made passing a delicate piece of work. The doctor drew his horse to one side so that the wheels of the buggy rested on the very brink and waited for them to pass; he saw that there was room with perhaps a foot or two to spare.

On came the travelers and – the front wheels of the two vehicles were locked in a close embrace. For a minute the doctor did some vigorous thinking and then he climbed out of the buggy. It was a trying position. He could not say all of the things he wanted to – it would not be polite; neither did he want to act as if it were nothing because Mary might not understand the extent of the mischief she had caused and how much out of humor he was with her. It would be easier if she were only out of hearing instead of looking at him across the ditch with apologetic eyes.

The doctor's horse began to move uneasily but the other stood perfectly still.

“He's used to this sort of thing, perhaps,” said the doctor with as little sarcasm as possible.

“Yes, we have run into a good many buggies and things,” said one of the women, cheerfully.

“Women beat the devil when it comes to driving,” thought the doctor within himself. “They'll drive right over you and never seem to think they ought to give part of the road. And they do it everywhere, not only where there are ditches.” He restrained his speech, backed the offending vehicle and started the travelers on. While he was doing so his own steed started on and he had a lively run to catch him.

Mary had thought of turning back to break off another spray of the bittersweet but John's profanity was rising to heaven. Diplomacy required her to get to the buggy and into it at once. This she did and the doctor plunged in after her.

“Forgive me for keeping you waiting,” she said gently. She held the bittersweet out before her. “Isn't it lovely, John?”

A soft observation turneth away wrath. The doctor's was oozing away sooner than he wished.

They drove on for a while in silence. The soft, still landscape dotted here and there with farm houses and with graceful elm and willow trees, was lit up and glorified by the after-glow. The evening sky arching serenely over a quiet world, how beautiful it was! And as Mary's eyes caught a glittering point of light in the blue vault above them, she sang softly to herself:

 
“O, thou sublime, sweet evening star,
Joyful I greet thee from afar.”
 

For a while she watched the stars as one by one they twinkled into view, then drawing her wraps more closely about her, she leaned back in the carriage and gave herself up to pleasant reflection, and before she realized it the lights of home were twinkling cheerily ahead.

CHAPTER XVI

“You are not going out tonight, John, no matter how often the 'phone rings. I positively will not let you.” Mary spoke with strong emphasis. All the night before he had been up and today had been a hard day for him. She had seldom seen him so utterly weary as he was tonight. He had come home earlier than usual and now sat before the fire, his head sunk on his breast, half asleep.

“Go right to bed, dear, then you can really rest.”

The doctor, too tired to offer any resistance, rose and went to the bedroom. In a few minutes his wife heard regular sonorous sounds from the bed. (When she spoke of these sounds to John, Mary pronounced it without the first o.)

Glad that he had so soon fallen into deep sleep she settled back in her chair. “I'll protect him tonight,” she thought, “though fiery darts be hurled.”

She thought of many things. The fire-light gleamed red upon the hearth. All was still. The sounds from the adjoining room had ceased. Something stirred within her and she rose and went softly to the bedside of her sleeping husband. In the half-light she could see the strong, good face. Dear John so profane yet so patient, so severe yet so tender, what would it be to face life without him. She laid her hand very lightly on the hand which lay on the counterpane, then took it away lest it disturb the sleeper. She went back to her chair and opening a little volume took from it a folded sheet. Twice before today had she read the words written within it. A dear friend whose husband had recently died had written her, inclosing them. She read them again now:

IN MEMORIAM, – A PRAYER

“O God! The Father of the spirits of all flesh, in whatsoever world or condition they be, – I beseech Thee for him whose name, and dwelling place, and every need Thou knowest. Lord, vouchsafe him peace and light, rest and refreshment, joy and consolation in Paradise, in the ample folds of Thy great love. Grant that his life, so troubled here, may unfold itself in Thy sight, and find employment in the spacious fields of Eternity. – If he hath ever been hurt or maimed by any unhappy word or deed of mine, I pray Thee, of Thy great pity, to heal and restore him, that he may serve Thee without hindrance.

“Tell him, O gracious Father, if it may be, – how much I love him and miss him, and long to see him again; and if there may be ways in which he may come, vouchsafe him to me as guide and guard, and grant me such sense of his nearness as Thy laws permit. If in aught I can minister to his peace, be pleased of Thy love to let this be; and mercifully keep me from every act which may deprive me of the sight of him, as soon as our trial time is over, or mar the fullness of our joy when the end of the days hath come.”

Mary brushed away a tear from her cheek. “This letter has awakened unusual thoughts. I will – ”

A sharp peal from the telephone.

“What is it?”

“Is the doctor at home?”

“Yes. He has gone to bed and is fast asleep.”

“Oh! We wanted him to come down to see my sister.”

“He was up all last night and is not able to come – ”

“Can I just talk to him about her?”

Mary sighed. To rouse him from his sorely needed sleep was too cruel. Then she spoke. “I must not disturb him unless it is absolutely necessary. I shall be sitting here awake – call me again in a little while if you think it necessary.”

“A – l – l r – i – g – h – t – ” and a sob came distinctly to the listener's ear.

This was too much for Mary. “I'll call him,” she said hurriedly and went to the bedroom.

With much difficulty she roused him. He threw back the covers, got up and stumbled to the 'phone.

“Hello… Yes… They didn't? Is she suffering much?.. All right, I'll be down in a little bit.”

Mary groaned aloud. She had vowed to protect him though fiery darts be hurled. But the sob in the voice of a frightened young girl was more potent than any fiery dart could have been and had melted her at once. Slowly but surely the doctor got himself into his clothes.

“I don't think there's any use of my going down there again, but I suppose I'll have it to do.” When he returned an hour later, he said, “Just as I thought – they were badly scared over nothing. I shouldn't wonder if they'd rout me out again before morning.”

“No, they won't,” said Mary to herself, and when her husband was safe in bed again, she walked quietly to the telephone, took down the receiver and left it down. “Extreme cases require extreme measures,” she thought as she, too, prepared for her night's rest. But there was a haunting feeling in her mind about the receiver hanging there. Suppose some one who really did need the doctor should call and call in vain. She would not think of it. She turned over and fell asleep and they both slept till morning and rose refreshed for another day.

A few weeks later circumstances much like those narrated above arose, and the doctor's wife for the second and last time left the receiver down. About two o'clock there came a tragic pounding at the door and when the doctor went to open it a voice asked, “What's the matter down here?”

“Why?”

“Central's been ringing you to beat the band and couldn't get you awake.”

“Strange we didn't hear. What's wanted?” He had recognized the messenger as the night clerk at the hotel not far from his home.

“A man hurt at the railroad – they're afraid he'll bleed to death. Central called me and asked me to run over here and rouse you.”

When the doctor was gone Mary rose tremblingly and hung up the receiver. She would not tell John what she had done. He would be angry. She had felt that the end justified the means – that he was tired out and half sick and sorely needed a night's unbroken rest – but if the end should be the bleeding to death of this poor man —

She dared not think of it. She went back to bed but not to sleep. She lay wide awake keenly anxious for her husband's return. And when at last he came her lips could hardly frame the question, “How is he, John?”

“Pretty badly hurt, but not fatally.”

“Thank heaven!” Mary whispered, and formed a quick resolve which she never broke. This belonged to her husband's life – it must remain a part of it to the end.

CHAPTER XVII

One lovely morning in April, Mary was called to the telephone.

“I want you to drive to the country with me this morning,” said her husband.

“I'll be delighted. I have a little errand down town and I'll come to the office – we can start from there.” Accordingly half an hour later she walked into the office and seated herself in a big chair to wait till John was ready. The door opened and a small freckle-faced boy entered.

“Good morning, Governor,” said the doctor. The governor grinned.

“What can I do for you today?”

“How much will ye charge to pull a tooth?”

“Well, I'll pull the tooth and if it don't hurt I won't charge anything. Sit down.”

The boy sat down and the doctor got out his forceps. The tooth came hard but he got it. The boy clapped his hand over his mouth but not a sound escaped him.

“There it is,” said the doctor, holding out the offending member. “Do you want it?” A boy's tooth is a treasure to be exhibited to all one's friends. He took it and put it securely in his pocket.

“How much do I have to pay?”

“Did it hurt?”

“Nope.”

“Nothing at all.”

The boy slid from the chair and out of the door, ecstasy overspreading all the freckles.

“That boy has a future,” said Mary looking after him with a smile.

“I see they have brought the horse. We must be starting.”

Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling.

“They want ye down at Pete Jansen's agin.”

“What's the matter there now?”

“O, that youngun's been drinkin' somethin' agin.”

“Into the lye this time, too?”

“No, it's coal oil and bluin' this time and I don't know what else.”

“I'll be down right away,” said the doctor, taking up his hat.

“Get into the buggy and drive down with me, Mary, it's just at the edge of town and then we can drive on into the country.”

When they stopped at the house, an unpainted little frame structure, Mary held the horse while her husband went in.

“Where's the boy?” he asked, looking around.

“He's out in the back yard a-playin' now, I guess,” his mother replied from the bed.

“Then what in thunder did you send for me for?”

“Why, I was scared for fear it would kill him.” The doctor turned to go then paused to ask, “How's the baby?”

“She's doin' fine.”

“She's just about a week old now, isn't she?”

“A week yesterday. Don't you want to see how much she's growed?”

The doctor went to the bed and looked down at the wee little maiden.

“Great God!” he exclaimed, so fiercely that the woman was frightened. “Why haven't you let me know about this baby's eyes?”

“W'y, we didn't think it'd 'mount to anything. We thought they'd git well in a day or two.”

“She'll be blind in less than a week if something isn't done for them.”

“Grandmother's been a doctorin' 'em some.”

“Well, there's going to be a change of doctors right straight. I'm going to treat this baby's eyes myself.”

“We don't want any strong medicine put in a baby's eyes.”

“It don't make a bit of difference what you want. I'm going to the drug store now to get what I need and I want you to have warm water and clean cloths ready by the time I get back. Is there anyone here to do it?”

“There's a piece of a girl out there in the kitchen. She ain't much 'count.” The doctor went to the kitchen door and gave his orders.

“I'd ruther you'd let the baby's eyes alone. I'm afraid to have strong medicine put in 'em.”

For answer he went out, got into the buggy and drove rapidly back to town where he procured what he needed and in a few minutes was back.

“You'd better come in this time, Mary, you'll get tired of waiting and besides I want you to see this baby. I want you to know something about what every father and mother ought to understand.”

They went in and the doctor took the baby up and seated himself by the chair on which stood a basin of water. The mother, with very ungracious demeanor, looked on. Mary, shocked and filled with pity, looked down into the baby's face. The inflammation in the eyes was terrible. The secretion constantly exuded and hung in great globules to the tiny lids. Never in her life had she seen anything like it. “Let me hold it for you,” she said, sitting down and taking the baby in her lap.

The doctor turned the little head toward him and held it gently between his knees. He took a pair of goggles from his pocket and put them over his eyes to protect them from the poison, then tenderly as any mother could have done, he bathed and cleansed the poor little eyes opening so inauspiciously upon the world. He thought as he worked of this terrible scourge of infancy, producing one-third of all the blindness in the world. He thought too, that almost all of this blindness was preventable by prompt and proper treatment. Statistics had proven these two things beyond all doubt. He thought of the earnest physicians who had labored long to have some laws enacted in regard to this stupendous evil but with little result.¹

When they were in the buggy again Mary said, “But what if the baby goes blind after all? Of course they would say that you did it with your ‘strong medicine.’”

“Of course they would, but that would not disturb me in the least. But it will not go blind now. I'll see to that.”

Soon they had left the town behind them and were fairly on their way. The soft, yet bracing, air of the April morning was delightful. The sun shone warm. Birds carolled everywhere. The buds on the oak trees were swelling, while those on the maples were bursting into red and furzy bloom. Far off to the left a tall sycamore held out white arms in welcome to the Springtime and perfect stillness lay upon the landscape.

“I am so glad the long reign of winter and bad roads is ended, John, so I can get out with you again into the blessed country.”

“And I am glad to have good company.”

“Thanks for that gallant little speech. Ask me often, but I won't go every time because you might get tired of me and I'd be sure to get tired of you.”

“Thanks for that gracious little speech.”

That evening when the doctor and Mary were sitting alone, she said, “John, that baby's eyes have haunted me all day long. And you say one-third of the blindness of the world is due to this disease.”

“Yes.”

“That seems to me a terrific accusation against you doctors. What have you been doing to prevent it?”

“Everything that has been done – not very much, I'm afraid. Speaking for myself, I can say that I have long been deeply interested. I have written several papers on the subject – one for our State Medical Society.”

“So far so good. But I'd like to know more about it.”

“Write to the secretary of the State Board of Health for all the information that he can give you.”

The next day Mary wrote. Three days later she received the following letter:

Springfield, Nov. 16, 1909.

My dear Mrs. Blank:

Several states of the Union have laws in relation to the prevention of blindness, some good, some bad, and some indifferent, and I fear that the last applies to the manner in which the laws are enforced in the majority of the States. In the December, 1908, Bulletin of this Board, a copy of which I send you under separate cover, you will find the Illinois law, which, as you can readily see, is very difficult of enforcement.

But, as I said, much can be done in its enforcement if the State Board of Health can secure the co-operation of the physicians of the State. However, in this connection you will note that I have made an appeal to physicians, on page 757. Yet, to the best of my knowledge, the Board has not received one inquiry in regard to the enforcement of this law, except from the Committee on the Prevention of Ophthalmia Neonatorum.

In regard to the other States, it will take me some time to look up the laws, but I will advise you in a few days.

Sincerely yours,

J. A. Egan.

After reading it carefully through, Mary's eye went back to the sentence, “Much can be done if the State Board of Health can secure the co-operation of the physicians of the State.”

She rose and walked the floor. “If I were a Voice – a persuasive voice,” she thought, “I would fly to the office of every physician in our great State and then to every physician in the land and would whisper in his ear, ‘It is your glorious privilege to give light to sightless eyes. It is more: it is your sacred duty. O, be up and doing!’”

“To think, John,” she said, turning impetuously toward her husband, “that I, all these years the wife of a man who knows this terrible truth, should just be finding it out. Then think of the thousands of men and women who know nothing about it. How are they to know? Who is to tell them? Who is to blame for the blindness in the first place? Who can – ”

Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling.

“Is this Dr. Blank?”

“Yes.”

“This is Mr. Ardmore. Can you come up to my house right away?”

“Right away.”

When he arrived at his destination he was met at the door by a well-dressed, handsome young man. “Just come into this room for a few minutes, Doctor. My wife says they are not quite ready for you in there.”

“Who is the patient?” asked the doctor as he walked into the room indicated.

“The baby boy.”

“The baby boy!” exclaimed the doctor. “I didn't know the little rascal had got here.”

“Yes, you were out of town. My wife and I thought that ended the matter but he got here just the same.”

“Mighty glad to hear it. How old is he?”

“Just ten days.”

“Pretty fine, isn't he?”

“You bet! I wouldn't take all the farms in these United States for him.”

“To be sure. To be sure,” laughed the doctor. He picked up a little volume lying open on the table. “Do you like Omar?” he asked, aimlessly turning the pages.

“Very much. I don't always get the old Persian's meaning exactly. Take this verse,” he reached for the book and turning back a few pages read:

 
“The moving finger writes; and having writ,
Moves on; nor all your piety nor wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all your tears wash out a word of it.
 

That sounds pretty but it has something in it that almost scares a fellow – he doesn't know why.”

The nurse appeared in the doorway and announced that the doctor might come in now. Both men rose and went across the hall into the bedroom. The doctor shook hands with the baby's mother. “Where did you get this?” he asked, laying his hand on the downy little head.

“He came out of the everywhere into the here,” she quoted, smiling.

“Nurse, turn the baby's face up so the doctor can see his eyes. They're greatly inflamed, Doctor,” she said.

The doctor started. “Bring a light closer,” he said sharply.

While the light was being brought he asked, “Did this inflammation begin when the baby was about three days old?”

“He was exactly three days old.”

“And been growing worse ever since?”

“Yes. Dr. Brown was with me when he was born. He came in the next day and everything was all right. Then he was called to Chicago and I didn't know enough about babies to know that this might be serious.”

“You ought to have known,” said the doctor sternly, turning to the nurse.

“I am not a professional nurse. I have never seen anything like this before.”

The light was brought and the nurse took the baby in her arms. The doctor, bending over it, lifted the swollen little lids and earnestly scrutinized the eyes. The cornea was entirely destroyed!

“O God!” The words came near escaping him. Sick at heart he turned his face away that the mother might not see. She must not know the awful truth until she was stronger. He gave some instructions to the nurse, then left the room followed by the baby's father.

“Stop for a few minutes, Doctor, if you please. I'd like to ask you something about this,” and both resumed their seats, after Mr. Ardmore had closed the door.

“Do you think the baby's eyes have been hurt by too much light?”

“No by darkness – Egyptian darkness.”

The young man looked at him in wonder.

“What is the disease?”

“It is Ophthalmia Neonatorum, or infantile sore eyes.”