THE author of this narration is a medical doctor and his knowledge of medicine shown in what he tells us deserves respect. He gives us quite an unusual story and not at all impossible, if we take adequate consideration of our present meagre knowledge of high frequency electric currents. That electrical currents could be responsible for a man’s undreamt-of physical strength, has, perhaps, not been exploited in science, and it deserves more than passing interest on the part of our research laboratories. It is well known that a strong electrical current will affect our muscular actions to a tremendous extent, so much so that when we grasp a highly-charged handle of an induction coil, we find it impossible to let go of it. These are facts, not fiction. We are quite certain that you will like this most amazing and unusual story.
A Wonderful Surgeon—As Irritable as Able
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hat is the matter, Madge?" The grave-featured head nurse stopped in front of the weeping girl as she asked the question.
"I can't stand that Dr. Carter," the girl gasped. "Here I've been working for him in the operating room the last six months, and he abuses me worse than if I were an apprentice. "I didn't do anything wrong, but I couldn't work fast enough to suit him. It was, 'hurry up nurse—ligature. .needle-holder. .why the deuce do you have to finger over everything before you can find what I want?' If I had had four hands instead of two I couldn't have worked fast enough to suit him. He raved at his assistant all through the operation, and no one could do anything fast enough to please him."
"Yes, I know, my dear," the head nurse comforted, "Dr. Carter is a very hard man to work for, but you must remember that he is a wonderful surgeon and works under great nervous tension."
"He may be" the girl sobbed, "but he might act like a human being as the rest of the doctors do, anyway."
"My dear, you must remember that Dr. Carter is different from other doctors. Really, he is uncanny in his ability. He does things no other surgeon would even think of attempting, and his knowledge of brain surgery is remarkable. Dr. Bryan was telling me just now that Dr. Carter is the greatest living authority on brain-centers and their action."
"That may be true," replied the nurse, "but he isn't human. There are times when I think he isn't just right. His face is so flushed and red when he works, and he looks like a man with a burning fever, his eyes are so bright and piercing. And he always wears that head lamp when he works. He never leaves it off for a minute, and Heaven save anyone who touches it."
"Yes, my dear," the head nurse soothed. "He is a queer man, but we have our duty to perform. You must try to do your best, even if it is hard and disagreeable at times.”
With this copy-book comfort the head nurse continued on her morning round of inspection, leaving the still weeping and irate nurse to compose herself as best she could.
Dr. Reginald Carter and His Life Described
Dr. Reginald Carter was a queer man. He came from the East unheralded and unknown, and in the brief space of a few years had risen to the position of chief surgeon of the hospital, and a commanding position in the medical profession. About his antecedents nothing was known, and being of a very reticent disposition, he made few acquaintances, except among medical associates. No one could claim the position of friend with him. Lean and wiry of figure, with dark eyes and rather swarthy complexion, his personality was that of the student and dreamer—such a one as nature seemed to have designed to tread the pathways of life alone.
The little that could be learned of his past was very unsatisfying to the curious. He had served in the army, and was stationed in a large hospital in Paris. This much was known from the reports of soldiers that were patients in the hospital. His reputation for surgical ability was known there, and his work was the wonder of the hospital. He made no friends, even there, and a soldier-patient was to him merely a problem which had to be dropped as soon as convalescence was established. On his location in the city the American Legion asked him to join their body, which he did, but he never even attended a meeting. No lodge could claim him as a member.
He lived in an apartment in the upper part of the city—alone—except for a single man-servant. Like his master, the servant was a taciturn, reticent type.
With the single exception of Dr. James Bryan, Dr. Carter’s relations with the staff of the hospital was strictly formal. He would occasionally unbend enough with Dr. Bryan to briefly discuss an unusual or interesting case.
Such an attitude and such a personality would indubitably have spelled failure for anyone else. But his weird, and supernormal skill in diagnosis, and his uncanny ability as a surgeon, kept him supplied with work. Brain cases that seemed hopeless, were referred to him. Time and again he had achieved the seemingly impossible, and had restored unfortunates to life and well-being. Their words of gratitude left him untouched, and his anger with and answer to one of the nouveaux-riches who tried to patronizingly offer him an excessive fee, was the talk of the hospital for days.
"My dear sir," the doctor said, "You were a very interesting case. You are well now and therefore of no further interest. Our relations were of a purely business nature and call for no payment beyond the bill I have rendered you."
Gasping like a fish, the patient hastily paid his bill, and without further attempts, left the hospital.
Dr. Carter's gruffness seemed uncalled for.
Dr. Carter’s Head-Lamp
To the nurses and internes of the hospital Dr. Carter was a never-ending source of conversation, tinged with respect and fear as it was. To work with him in the operating room was a task that daunted the stoutest-hearted nurse or interne. Dr. Carter demanded more of them than any other surgeon of the hospital. He himself worked with lightning-like speed, his deft hands moved with the skill and grace of the practiced musician, and with no
