Often Lynda Kendall, sitting
beside the long, low, empty chair, longed to tell her old friend all
about it. Strange to say, the recluse in life had become very vital in
death. He had wrought, in his silent, lonely detachment, better even
than he knew. His charities, shorn of the degrading elements of many
similar ones, were carried on without a hitch. Dr. McPherson, under his
crust of hardness, was an idealist and almost a sentimentalist; but
above all he was a man to inspire respect and command obedience. No
hospital with which he had to deal was unmarked by his personality.
Neglect and indifference were fatal attributes for internes and nurses.
"Give the youngsters sleep enough, food and relaxation enough," he would
say to the superintendents, "but after that expect--and get--faithful,
conscientious service with as much humanity as possible thrown in."
The sanatorium for cases such as William Truedale's was already
attracting wide attention. The finest men to be obtained were on the
staff; specially trained nurses were selected; and Lynda had put her
best thought and energy into the furnishing of the small rooms and
spacious wards.
Conning, becoming used to the demands made upon him, was at last
dependable, and grew to see, in each sufferer the representative of the
uncle he had never understood; whom he had neglected and, too late, had
learned to respect.
Pages:
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194