FullReads

‘Egbert, I’m sure Joyce’s knee isn’t healing properly.’

‘I think it is,’ he said. ‘I think it’s all right.’

‘I’d rather Doctor Wing came again–I don’t feel satisfied.’

‘Aren’t you trying to imagine it worse than it really is?’

‘You would say so, of course. But I shall write a post-card to Doctor Wing now.’

The doctor came next day. He examined the knee. Yes, there was inflammation. Yes, there might be a little septic poisoning–there might. There might. Was the child feverish?

So a fortnight passed by, and the child was feverish, and the knee was more inflamed and grew worse and was painful, painful. She cried in the night, and her mother had to sit up with her. Egbert still insisted it was nothing, really–it would pass. But in his heart he was anxious.

Winifred wrote again to her father. On Saturday the elderly man appeared. And no sooner did Winifred see the thick, rather short figure in its grey suit than a great yearning came over her.

‘Father, I’m not satisfied with Joyce. I’m not satisfied with Doctor Wing.’

‘Well, Winnie, dear, if you’re not satisfied we must have further advice, that is all.’

The sturdy, powerful, elderly man went upstairs, his voice sounding rather grating through the house, as if it cut upon the tense atmosphere.

‘How are you, Joyce, darling?’ he said to the child. ‘Does your knee hurt you? Does it hurt you, dear?’

‘It does sometimes.’ The child was shy of him, cold towards him.

‘Well, dear, I’m sorry for that. I hope you try to bear it, and not trouble mother too much.’

There was no answer. He looked at the knee. It was red and stiff.

‘Of course,’ he said, ‘I think we must have another doctor’s opinion. And if we’re going to have it, we had better have it at once. Egbert, do you think you might cycle in to Bingham for Doctor Wayne? I found him very satisfactory for Winnie’s mother.’

‘I can go if you think it necessary,’ said Egbert.

‘Certainly I think it necessary. Even if there if nothing, we can have peace of mind. Certainly I think it necessary. I should like Doctor Wayne to come this evening if possible.’

So Egbert set off on his bicycle through the wind, like a boy sent on an errand, leaving his father-in-law a pillar of assurance, with Winifred.

Doctor Wayne came, and looked grave. Yes, the knee was certainly taking the wrong way. The child might be lame for life.

Up went the fire and fear and anger in every heart. Doctor Wayne came again the next day for a proper examination. And, yes, the knee had really taken bad ways. It should be X-rayed. It was very important.

Godfrey Marshall walked up and down the lane with the doctor, beside the standing motor-car: up and down, up and down in one of those consultations of which he had had so many in his life.

As a result he came indoors to Winifred.

‘Well, Winnie, dear, the best thing to do is to take Joyce up to London, to a nursing home where she can have proper treatment. Of course this knee has been allowed to go wrong. And apparently there is a risk that the child may even lose her leg. What do you think, dear? You agree to our taking her up to town and putting her under the best care?’

‘Oh, father, you know I would do anything on earth for her.’

‘I know you would, Winnie darling. The pity is that there has been this unfortunate delay already. I can’t think what Doctor Wing was doing. Apparently the child is in danger of losing her leg. Well then, if you will have everything ready, we will take her up to town tomorrow. I will order the large car from Denley’s to be here at ten. Egbert, will you take a telegram at once to Doctor Jackson? It is a small nursing home for children and for surgical cases, not far from Baker Street. I’m sure Joyce will be all right there.’