From that
moment on things moved with appalling rapidity. Van was carried from
the dormitory to the school hospital and at the doctor's advice Mr.
Carlton was summoned from New York by telephone. Within an
incredibly few hours both he and his wife arrived by motor, and
their first act was to wire Van's father.
The boy was very ill, so ill that in an operation lay the one
slender chance of saving his life. The case could brook no delay.
There was not sufficient time to consult Van's father, or learn from
him his preferences as to what should be done. To Mr. Carlton fell
the entire responsibility of taking command of the perilous
situation. He it was who secured the famous surgeon from New York;
who sent for nurses and doctors; who made the decision that meant
life or death to the boy who lay suffering on the cot in that silent
room.
How leaden were the hours while the lad's existence trembled in the
balance!
Mr. Carlton paced the floor of the tiny office, his hands clinched
behind him and his lips tightly set. If Van did not survive his
would be the word that had sent him to his end. Should the worst
befall how should he ever greet that desperate father who was even
now hurrying eastward with all the speed that money could purchase?
What should he say? What could he say, Mr. Carlton asked himself. To
lose his own child would be a grief overwhelming enough; but to have
given the order that hurried another man's only boy into eternity--that
would be a tragedy that nothing could ever make right.
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