here, same as anyone.”
Warren gathered that Miss MacMahon must be the Almoner.
The bed beyond Thompson was the corner bed; there was a screen around it and an intermittent babble of incoherent talk. From the screen, the delirium, and the movements of the nurses Warren gathered that the case was serious; he asked the ward nurse when she came to him with a drink.
“He’s a young man called Tinsley,” she said. “I think he’s a carpenter when he’s in work. He ruptured himself lifting some weight or other, and came in for the operation. The wound healed nicely and we thought he was all right, but then it broke out septic. He’s very ill.”
Warren wrinkled his brows in perplexity. “What made it go like that?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. He had terribly neglectedteeth. Doctor Miller thinks it might have been from that.”
She went away, and Warren lay puzzling what she had said until he fell asleep. It didn’t make sense to him. Bad teeth could not infect a healed wound, unless you turned and bit it. There must be something else wrong with the man; he could not have had an ordinary constitution. But then, were any of these listless people ordinary?
He did not think they were.
That night the young man died. The screen was taken from around the bed, the bed made up, and by lunch time the next day it was occupied again by a man with a crushed foot.
That afternoon the Almoner came to him. He had seen her once or twice before, a slim, dark woman about thirty years of age distributing books and papers in the ward. She came and drew a chair up to his bed; she had a notebook and a pencil in her hand.
“How are you feeling now, Mr. Warren?” she enquired.
“Better, thanks. I’d feel better still if I could get some real food.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll get that for some time. Now, Mr. Warren, I’ve come to talk to you about paying for the treatment that you’ve had. You’ve had a very big operation that would have cost a great deal of money if a surgeon had done it for you privately, and on top of that there’s your expense of living here for at least three weeks.”
“Boiled water,” said Warren.
“Yes,” said Miss MacMahon firmly. “Later on you’llget expensive foods when you are able to take something—patent milk foods out of tins, white fish, chicken, all that sort of thing, until you are able to get on to a normal diet. It all costs a great deal of money, at least thirty-five shillings a week.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t got that much,” said Warren. “You see, I’m out of a job at the moment.”
She looked at him critically. “What is your job?”
“I’m a bank clerk,” he said. “I was over in America, in Philadelphia. Then I fell out of work and the Federal authorities shipped me back here, because I was an Englishman. I was walking down to Hull. I might be able to pick up something there. Otherwise I was going on down to London.”
“Have you got any relations who could help you with this expense?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“You must make good money when you’re in a job.”
He said, “I was making five pounds ten in England seven years ago, and over in America I was drawing two hundred a month. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to dodge this expense. I’ll be able to pay it off when I get work again. But I haven’t got it now, I’m afraid.”
She looked at him searchingly. “How much money have you got?”
“Less than a pound,” he said.
She smiled. “We won’t take any of that if you’ve got to walk to Hull and London. But you must give me an address before you go, and I shall tell you what the treatment has cost the hospital. We shall want you to sign a note acknowledging that you owe the hospitalthat money. And then you must pay it off in instalments when you get a job.”
“That’s right,” said Warren. “I’ll do that.”
Her pencil poised above the pad. “How much a week will you be able to
Warren gathered that Miss MacMahon must be the Almoner.
The bed beyond Thompson was the corner bed; there was a screen around it and an intermittent babble of incoherent talk. From the screen, the delirium, and the movements of the nurses Warren gathered that the case was serious; he asked the ward nurse when she came to him with a drink.
“He’s a young man called Tinsley,” she said. “I think he’s a carpenter when he’s in work. He ruptured himself lifting some weight or other, and came in for the operation. The wound healed nicely and we thought he was all right, but then it broke out septic. He’s very ill.”
Warren wrinkled his brows in perplexity. “What made it go like that?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. He had terribly neglectedteeth. Doctor Miller thinks it might have been from that.”
She went away, and Warren lay puzzling what she had said until he fell asleep. It didn’t make sense to him. Bad teeth could not infect a healed wound, unless you turned and bit it. There must be something else wrong with the man; he could not have had an ordinary constitution. But then, were any of these listless people ordinary?
He did not think they were.
That night the young man died. The screen was taken from around the bed, the bed made up, and by lunch time the next day it was occupied again by a man with a crushed foot.
That afternoon the Almoner came to him. He had seen her once or twice before, a slim, dark woman about thirty years of age distributing books and papers in the ward. She came and drew a chair up to his bed; she had a notebook and a pencil in her hand.
“How are you feeling now, Mr. Warren?” she enquired.
“Better, thanks. I’d feel better still if I could get some real food.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll get that for some time. Now, Mr. Warren, I’ve come to talk to you about paying for the treatment that you’ve had. You’ve had a very big operation that would have cost a great deal of money if a surgeon had done it for you privately, and on top of that there’s your expense of living here for at least three weeks.”
“Boiled water,” said Warren.
“Yes,” said Miss MacMahon firmly. “Later on you’llget expensive foods when you are able to take something—patent milk foods out of tins, white fish, chicken, all that sort of thing, until you are able to get on to a normal diet. It all costs a great deal of money, at least thirty-five shillings a week.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t got that much,” said Warren. “You see, I’m out of a job at the moment.”
She looked at him critically. “What is your job?”
“I’m a bank clerk,” he said. “I was over in America, in Philadelphia. Then I fell out of work and the Federal authorities shipped me back here, because I was an Englishman. I was walking down to Hull. I might be able to pick up something there. Otherwise I was going on down to London.”
“Have you got any relations who could help you with this expense?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“You must make good money when you’re in a job.”
He said, “I was making five pounds ten in England seven years ago, and over in America I was drawing two hundred a month. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to dodge this expense. I’ll be able to pay it off when I get work again. But I haven’t got it now, I’m afraid.”
She looked at him searchingly. “How much money have you got?”
“Less than a pound,” he said.
She smiled. “We won’t take any of that if you’ve got to walk to Hull and London. But you must give me an address before you go, and I shall tell you what the treatment has cost the hospital. We shall want you to sign a note acknowledging that you owe the hospitalthat money. And then you must pay it off in instalments when you get a job.”
“That’s right,” said Warren. “I’ll do that.”
Her pencil poised above the pad. “How much a week will you be able to
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