There was fog even in the ward, and the lights burned red
in the silence. There were five beds--low iron bedsteads--and each was
covered with a dark red rug. In the furthest corner lay the wreck of a
great working man. He wore his hob-nails and his corduroys, and his once
brawny arm lay along his thigh, shrivelled and powerless as a child's. In
the middle of the room a little clerk, wasted and weary, without any
strength at all, lay striving for breath. The navvy was alone; the little
clerk had his family round him, his wife and his two children, a baby in
arms and a little boy three years old. The doctor had just come in, and
the woman was prattling gaily about her confinement. She said--
"I was up the following week. Wonderful what we women can go through. No
one would think it.... brought the childer to see their father; they is a
little idol to him, poor fellow."
"How are you to-day, dearie?" Esther said, as she took a seat by her
husband's bed.
"Better than I was on Friday, but this weather'll do for me if it
continues much longer.... You see them two beds? They died yesterday, and
I've 'eard that three or four that left the hospital are gone, too."
The doctor came to William's bed. "Well, are you still determined to go
home?" he said.
"Yes; I'd like to die at home. You can't do nothing for me.
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