Lola Page 3

  CHAPTER III

  DR. PAUL CROSSETT

  From her window, a few hours later, Lola could see her father as heturned in from Eighth Avenue and walked briskly toward the house. Withhim was a rather short, extremely animated, and perfectly groomedgentleman, whom she at once knew to be Doctor Paul Crossett. Even fromthat distance she could plainly see that, although she knew him to bea man of her father's age, he had the look of one much younger.

  It would be a bold man who would dare to state that married life andthe atmosphere of a home do more to bring about grey hairs andwrinkles than the emptiness of a bachelor's existence, but in thiscase, at least, the contrast was startling.

  Paul Crossett, quite fifty, had, and looked to have, all theenthusiasms of youth. He was a Frenchman, and to a close observer hewas perhaps rather freer in gesticulations than our somewhat stiff NewYorkers, but he was far from being the Frenchman of the comicsupplement. Indeed, Paul Crossett was a real citizen of the world,quite as much at home in New York, London or Berlin as he was inParis. He was one of the best known authorities on nervous disordersin the medical world, besides being a surgeon of internationalreputation. As he entered the room with her father a moment later,Lola advanced to meet him with a smile, but, to her surprise, at thesight of her he stopped, and a look of deep sorrow, almost of fear,came into his face.

  "This is Lola, Paul," said the Doctor proudly.

  In a moment the look on Dr. Crossett's face changed to one of eagerwelcome, and he stepped forward and took both of her extended hands inhis.

  "You are as your mother was," he said gently, then as he stooped tokiss her saying softly, "My age permits," she saw a tear on hissmooth, almost boyish cheek, and with a woman's quick intuition sheunderstood and loved him for the love he had had for her mother, whomhe had not seen since his early manhood, but whom he had neverforgotten, and never could forget.

  E. M. KIMBALL AS DOCTOR CROSSET.]

  In that moment grew up between those two an affection and anunderstanding that under happier circumstances would have lasted alltheir lives. In the awful time, now so rapidly approaching, he was tobe her truest friend. His love and sympathy was to outlast that oflover and father. He gave to her the place in his heart that hermother had always had, the same blind love and devotion, and it washers until the end.

  "I am glad to know you, Doctor Crossett," said Lola, a little timidly,as he stepped away from her, now smiling merrily.

  "So," he replied heartily, as he looked around the room curiously."So! this is one of your famous New York apartments?"

  "No, Paul," said Dr. Barnhelm, rather ruefully, "this is a flat."

  "But what is the difference?"

  "About a hundred dollars a month."

  "But surely you are not poor, Martin, you, with your mind?"

  "My dear Paul, it takes twenty-four hours a day to make a good livinghere in New York, and I could not spare the time."

  "I see," exclaimed Dr. Crossett, as his keen eyes fell upon thecomplicated electrical apparatus on the table. "You had a better usefor it." He crossed and bent over the affair with deep professionalinterest.

  "So? A high frequency, a most peculiar and most powerful interrupter.Not for the X-ray? No, then for what?"

  "I am going to tell you all about it. There is no man in America, andonly one other in Europe, who could judge of it as you could judge. Itis ten years' work, Paul; it has meant poverty to both of us, but itis a big thing."

  "Tell me," said Dr. Crossett eagerly.

  "Tell him, father," interrupted Lola, "while I run to the store. Iwill only be a few moments, and you won't miss me. When I come back,Doctor Crossett," she smiled at him frankly, "I am going to make youexplain to me all about it. Father never would."

  She left them, in spite of Dr. Crossett's offers to accompany her, andas the door closed behind her he stood for a moment looking after her,and from her to a framed picture of her mother that hung on the wall.

  "Nine years, Martin," he laid his slender, powerful hand gently on hisold friend's shoulder; "nine years since you wrote me that hermother----"

  They stood together for a moment in silence before the Doctoranswered: "Yes, Paul, nine years."

  "I was with you in my heart," the Frenchman continued, "but,tut--tut--! Come, you have discovered--what?"

  As he turned away the bell rang, and with a word of excuse Dr.Barnhelm stepped to the door and admitted John Dorris.

  "Lola told me to wait for her here," said the young man cheerfully."She wouldn't let me go with her, to tell the truth; I am taking alittle holiday, and I don't quite know what to do with myself."

  The Doctor turned to his friend, smiling.

  "Each of us, Doctor Crossett, as we grow older accumulate troubles.Will you let me present my worst, Mr. John Dorris?"

  "I am pleased," said the Frenchman, bowing, "but shall I confess thatI do not understand?"

  "I am going to marry Lola," said John frankly, as he stepped forwardand offered his hand.

  "Ah! Now I do understand," responded Dr. Crossett. "Then Dr. Barnhelmhas my sympathy, and you my approval. You have at least, good taste."

  "Thank you, Doctor--am I in the way?" inquired John, turning to Dr.Barnhelm.

  "Not at all. I was about to explain my pet hobby; as you will oftenhave to hear about it, it might be a good thing if you were to listennow. I will spare you the technical description, John; you would notunderstand, and you, Paul, are of course familiar with this apparatus.This, then, is an instrument by which, if I am right, and I amconvinced that there is no doubt of that, I can restore life to aperson who has been dead for many hours."

  "Doctor!" cried John, horrified and anxious; and he turned to Dr.Crossett, expecting him to share in his belief that long hours ofbrooding over his experiments had turned the old man's brain, but, tohis intense surprise, he read nothing but eager interest in theFrenchman's face, as the latter bent over the instrument and inquiredearnestly: "Many hours, Martin?"

  "Five," replied Dr. Barnhelm; "perhaps six, possibly seven!"

  "That has not been claimed before?"

  "I can do it."

  "You can restore the dead to life?" demanded John with such disbeliefand distress in his voice that Dr. Crossett turned to him with akindly smile and said gently, "You need not look at your futurefather-in-law in horror, my dear young friend. He is not mad. I havestudied these things, as perhaps you know. In Paris I have seen theexperiment tried. I have seen the heart action cease and later beresumed. I have seen muscular activity stimulated and the patient,whom I myself had pronounced dead, rise and walk unaided from theoperating room. But"--he stopped and for a moment eyed his old friendkeenly--"but only has this been done in my peculiar case, and nevermore than five minutes after the last flutter of the pulse!"

  "My theory is right," replied Dr. Barnhelm with deep conviction. "Myinstrument is right! As yet I have been unable to demonstrate it upona human being for want of a subject, but I have succeeded always withthe lower animals."

  "You claim what, Martin?" continued Dr. Crossett. "That you canrestore the heart action to those who die, of what?"

  The Doctor smiled slightly as he replied:

  "Death is what? When the heart ceases to beat! Life is what? When itbeats on, untroubled. I can take the body of a man whose pulse has notfluttered in hours, and I can bring the beating of his heart back! Ican bring him back to life!"

  He looked almost in triumph into the earnest, sympathetic face of hisfriend, then turned to John, but his smile left him at what he saw inthe young man's eyes.

  "Don't say that, Doctor," begged John, earnestly. "I can't believethat it is true, and if it is, it is horrible!"

  "I do not claim to _give_ life," explained the older man gently, "onlyto restore it. For how long depends upon the nature of the disease ofwhich the patient dies. Old age must always have its victims. I cannotcheck decay, nor cancer, nor tuberculosis. There are many cases where,if I were to bring my patient back to life, it would be but to diea
gain, but there are many, many times when I can, and will, restorelife to those who die by accident, by drowning, by heart failure, byshock!"

  "It is sacrilege!" cried John in horror. "Suppose that a man dies, andhis body is brought to you. Do you claim that you will give him backhis life?"

  "I do," answered the Doctor firmly.

  "What of his soul?"

  "John," exclaimed the doctor, startled and offended by the question.

  "When a man dies," continued John earnestly, "more than the throbbingof his pulse leaves him. The thing we call a soul, whatever it may be,wherever it may be, goes out with his life, out of his body to a lifeeverlasting. In God's name, how dare you talk of bringing that emptyshell back into the living world?"

  "I have lived for over twenty years in the dissecting room," remarkedDr. Crossett, with rather a contemptuous smile. "I know the humanbody. They differ very little, each organ has its place, all iscomplete--I have not found a soul."

  "We do not think alike there, Paul," said Dr. Barnhelm gravely. "Thereis something, a soul, an intelligence, call it what you will, but itis not tangible, and it is divine! I mean no sacrilege. Why, thistheory of mine, the truth of which I am prepared to prove, has been myprayer, and now it has been granted. It is for the good of humanity."

  "I don't like it," replied John nervously. "You know best, I suppose,and I am going to try to take your word for it, but I don't like it.If you don't mind, I'll go and meet Lola. It may be all right, Isuppose it is, if you say so, but it gives me the fidgets."

  He left the room as he spoke, and as he closed the door and starteddown the stairs he heard them laughing together.

  "He is not a physician," said Dr. Crossett as soon as John was out ofhearing.

  "No," replied Dr. Barnhelm. "He is a bank clerk."

  "Bank clerk! La! Then why try to make him understand? Come, tell meall about this," and he looked critically at the apparatus before him.

  "It is the theory," began the Doctor, "of a tremendously interruptedelectrical current applied to the heart. The high frequency in itselfis not new."

  "No," agreed Dr. Crossett. "Romanoff, Thailer, Woodstock, eh?"

  "Yes, but the application is new, and also I have here a MercuryTurbine Interrupter of my own invention. I can get over thirtythousand more interruptions a second than were ever before obtained.With it I have never once failed. It was the great high frequency bywhich I won my battle. It is ready now to show to the world."

  "Ah! Your theory--it is pretty."

  "It is true."

  "Then," exclaimed Dr. Crossett, "there need be no more of this." Helooked contemptuously around the shabby room and out through thewindow at the noisy, squalid neighborhood.

  "To live as New York lives! It is not civilization. It is like thecave man, to live in a hole in a cliff. Bah! To sit on an ugly chair,and to look at nothing, out of dirty windows!"

  "New York," laughed Dr. Barnhelm, "is the great market place of theworld. You can buy anything here, even beautiful surroundings."

  "Then you, Martin, shall buy them. This," he touched the electricalapparatus almost tenderly, "will bring fame and wealth. Happiness youhad before."

  "It has been selfish of me in a way, Paul," began the Doctor, asthough trying to find excuses to satisfy his own conscience, "but Lolahas not minded. She is as Helen was. If she is surrounded by love andtenderness, she is content. She does not ask fortune for many of herfavors."

  "She does not need them, Martin."

  As Dr. Crossett spoke, from below, through the open window, came theharsh clang of an ambulance bell, and these two surgeons both stoppedand listened, their professional instinct unconsciously aroused.

  "There is a sound, Martin," he continued, "that is understood in everycountry in the world."

  "The ambulance stopped here at this house," said Dr. Barnhelm, with atrace of nervousness, and he stepped to the window and looked out."There is a crowd collecting. I wonder----"

  DOCTOR BARNHELM PERFECTS HIS MACHINE FOR RESTORINGANIMATION.]

  The door burst open, and John Dorris entered the room; as they saw hisface, they knew at once that the news he brought was bad news, andboth being brave men, they turned calmly and steadily to meet it.

  "Doctor," he panted hoarsely, "Lola--Lola!"

  "Well, John?"

  It was the father who spoke, and his cool, even tone did much tosteady the boy.

  "She," he continued brokenly, "she--they--they are bringing her! Therewas an accident, she--she----" He stopped as Dick Fenway entered, sopale and wild, that Dr. Crossett, to whom he was a stranger, steppedforward, as though to offer to support him, but stopped suddenly asFenway cried out: "I did it! It was my fault! As she crossed theAvenue I turned my car, thinking she would stop, but she hated me, andshe wouldn't stop, and--and--I killed her."

  There was silence for a moment in the room, broken only by Fenway'ssobs and by a low moan of anguish from the father. Then came a soundof stumbling footsteps, slowly, very slowly advancing up the stairs.The sound of men carrying a heavy burden.

  "My friend! Be brave!" and Paul Crossett put his arm about his oldfriend's shoulders. "We will fight for her life, you and I together,as life is not often fought for."

  The footsteps had grown nearer, in the room there was silence as thefour men waited, in the court-yard below a street organ began to play,and the foolish, empty tune burned itself forever into their memoriesas they stood there.

  The footsteps hesitated for a moment on the landing below, then beganagain, nearer, louder now, and suddenly a big, red-faced policemanstood in the doorway.

  "Here?" he inquired, in that queer, impersonal voice that speaks oflong acquaintance with the tragedies of life.

  "Yes," replied John, hoarsely, "here."

  An ambulance surgeon entered in response to the officer's nod, andfollowing him came another policeman and a white-coated driver;between them on a stretcher they bore a covered form, very quiet, soquiet that not even a movement stirred the blanket that covered it.

  As they put their burden down gently on the worn old couch the youngsurgeon turned to Dr. Barnhelm, who stepped forward.

  "It is no use, sir. You can't do anything. It was the heart, I think.She was not crushed, but she died instantly. Can any of you give methe facts for my report?"

  Maria had entered the adjoining room, attracted by the unusual sounds,and heard what he said, and as she heard she cried out pitifully. Thesound seemed to add the finishing touch to the strain they were under,and they turned sharply.

  "Go, Maria!" said the Doctor, coldly. "Answer any questions thisgentleman asks of you. Compose yourself, please, and go."

  The girl turned without a word, and followed by the surgeon went outinto the hall, the driver and one of the policemen joining them, whilethe other crossed and touched Dick Fenway on the arm.

  "You'll have to come with me, sir," he said quietly.

  Fenway for a moment looked at him bewildered, then stooped and pickingup the hat he had dropped on the floor, slowly walked to the door. Atthe door he stopped and looked back at the covered figure on thecouch, shuddered and went out, the officer following.

  John closed the door softly behind them and turned back to where thetwo men stood, Paul Crossett's hand on the father's shoulder.

  "Can't--can't you do anything," he questioned, "anything at all?"

  "Wait!" The word came like a command, sharply, from Dr. Barnhelm'slips. "Paul! You know what I am going to do?"

  Dr. Crossett nodded slightly. The meaning of it came suddenly to John,and he cried out in protest, "Doctor!"

  "You see her there! Dead!" The father spoke slowly, calmly. "Well, Ican bring her back! She is my daughter." He turned quietly to John,but with a look in his eyes that few men would have dared oppose.

  "Shall I let her die? I--who can save her?"

  "No," the young man spoke humbly, "no. I--I love her too."

  "Go--wait outside. Go--now!" and John went with just one look at thestill form on the cou
ch.

  "I am ready, Martin," said Dr. Crossett, when they were alone, and hethrew off his coat and stepping to the table starting to connect thebatteries and adjust his instrument with the practical hand of anexpert. For just one moment the father faltered.

  "It is only a theory, Paul. It may fail."

  "We are here," replied his friend steadily, "to make that theory fact.You must direct me. Call the interruptions as you want them."

  The doctor crossed to the couch, and drawing aside the blanket stoodlooking down at Lola. In that moment all that this child of his meantto him came into his mind, and the thought gave him strength. The fearand grief died, and in their place came firmness, confidence. He kneltand deftly unfastened her dress and bared her girlish breast, thencrossing to the table took in each hand a glass electrode connected bylong wires to the powerful machine, and slowly returned to where hisdaughter lay.

  "Now, Paul!"

  A touch of Dr. Crossett's practised hand and the great machine came tolife. Back and forth in the coil violet sparks jumped, flashing,sparkling. From the electrodes in his strong hands a million tinyspecks of light sprang angrily, and when for a moment he held themclose together these specks became a solid bar of violet light, almosta flame. The noise was deafening, the solid crash of the leapingcurrent, as Dr. Crossett gradually moved his index up to its fullstrength, rang through the little room and echoed back from the walls,the vibrations so close that to any but a practiced ear they soundedlike one steady roar.

  Once again he paused beside the couch, and an electrode in each hand,the violet light dancing all about him, he raised his eyes in a shortprayer. "God help me," he said, his voice half buried in the riot ofsound. "Don't hold my pride against me. I ask it, not as the inventor,but as the father."

  He did not speak again, nor did the friend who stood watchfully besidethe spluttering, crashing machine. Three times he held the electrodesto her body, one over her heart, one against her back, but there wasno movement, no sign of life. The leaping sparks seemed to passthrough her tender frame, but she lay there still, with that awfulstillness of the dead. The man, working over her, the father nolonger, but the physician, the inventor, did not hesitate. Again andagain she was enfolded in the bright beams of violet light. Again andagain he held the leaping current to her heart, and at last, when, forwhat seemed to be the hundredth time he drew back and looked at her,his whole body suddenly stiffened, a hoarse cry burst from him, and hefell crashing to the floor.

  Dr. Crossett shut off the current and sprang to him. He had fainted,and turning from him to Lola, Paul Crossett saw what the father hadseen. A soft color slowly stealing back into that white face and aslow, steady rising and falling of her breast as her heart began againto beat.