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Updated: June 25, 2025
Johnny Caruthers had gone home by trolley long ago, and Miss Mathewson was to remain for the night and return with the doctor when he came for his morning after-visit. Burns sent the Green Imp off at a moderate pace, musing as he drove through the now moderated and refreshing air of two o'clock in the morning.
No stories of the desert were ever told at home, though it was so easy to tell them to Burleigh or Mathewson, those contrasts in a pale fitter of clothes and a herculean rustler of dry-goods boxes. But echoes of the tales came to the father through his assistants.
Several bottles stood on the tables, but the fellows had as yet arrived only at the argumentative stage of exhilaration, and it so happened that the subject under discussion at once took Hunt's close attention. Mathewson had been reading the first volume of Goethe's autobiography, and was indulging in some strictures on his course in jilting Frederica and leaving the poor girl heartbroken.
Office-hours were full ones that evening, and it was quite nine o'clock before R.P. Burns, M.D. closed the door on the last of his patients. The moment he was free he turned to Miss Mathewson, his office nurse, with a deep breath of relief. "Let's put out the lights and call it off," he said. "Run home and get an hour to yourself before bedtime, and never mind finishing the books.
Miss Mathewson, in the brief interval consumed by the men in bringing the injured man in from the street, slipped across the hall. "It will be another hour, Mrs. Burns," said she, at the door of the living-room. "But after that I shall not be here to answer the door or the telephone, and the Doctor can ignore them, if he will." Ellen rose, smiling, and came across the room to her.
"Telephone the Pullman ticket office and change my berth reservation from the ten-thirty to the one o'clock train." He went out with the man, and Miss Mathewson heard him say: "You walked in, Joe? You can ride back with us on the running-board." Ten minutes after he had gone Chester came again. He found Miss Mathewson reading by the office droplight.
They're all city men. You've done all this city work and looked after your own patients here, too, to say nothing of living in both places at once. With your housekeeper gone home to her sick folks, and Miss Mathewson off on one of your cases no wonder this place looks the way it does." "It doesn't matter. Cut it out about the place. I'm going back in ten minutes." "You are!
In her own room she presently lay down upon her cot, rejoicing that the old lady could not hear its creaking. Toward morning she fell asleep. "Miss Ruston!" "Yes?" The answer came through the door of the dark-room. "I can't come out for four minutes. Can you give me the message through a closed door?" "Certainly," responded Amy Mathewson, standing outside.
He decided afresh that his wife was the most wonderful woman in the world, to be able to see at a glance that which had escaped his attention for so long, and he congratulated Miss Mathewson, in his mind, on the possibilities he for the first time saw ahead of her. Clearly after all she was a woman, not a machine!
Regularly stationed here, besides Mathewson, there is a young clerk, a cooper, a carpenter, and a handy man, all Scotchmen, and a comparatively new arrival, Rev. Samuel M. Stewart, a missionary of the Church Mission Society of England. Of Mr.
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