The West Virginia News

JUST LUCK
By
KATHERINE NEWELL.
(c) 1920. by McClure Newspaper Syndicate.

"Don't you ever get sick of living
in these mountains?"

Clyde Hanavan contemplated the
questioner in silence for a moment,
slowly removing a piece of sweet clo-
ver he was chewing before he an-
swered. "No, there's lots of life in
the oil country and you meet with all
sorts of folks, mostly big-hearted if
they sometimes ain't much in the way
of morals." His clear blue gaze
swept the green foothills of the Al-
leghenies lovingly.

Clarence Benson winced as the lad's
eyes rested on his white arms.

"Do you always intend to work on
oil leases? Don't you want to be
something different?" Clarence asked
after another silence of watching anx-
iously for a bite.

"Yep, I want to be what your father
wants me to be-the best surgeon in
the country: but there's darned lit-
tle chance for me, the only boy, with
a slew of sisters to put through
school. Gee, but you're a lucky guy!
Ah, well. I guess there will be money
in this oil game for us after a while.
but then maybe I'll be too old for med-
ical school. A fellow should be
trained real young for that work, eh?
My hands would be spoiled for sur-
gery-tool dressing spreads 'em so!"

Clyde looked at his work-stained, well
shaped hands regretfully; then
stretching out his long, graceful limbs
he got up and, pushing back a mop of
dark red hair, looked down with a
wistful smile at Clarence Benson idly
watching the float in the sparkling
water. "They say that everything
comes to those who wait, but I am
Inclined to think that it's just luck
with some folks, like you and your
fishing an' becoming a surgeon. . . .
Some folks would set around this lake
a whole week and don't git the catches
you get in a day!" He strode out
toward the oil well on the hilltop.

"What do you know about that,
mother!
Clarence Benson died last
night!" Clyde Hanavan put down
the newspaper, and his lips trembled
for a moment.

"Yes, I heard that down at the post
office this morning. It appears that
Clarence had appendicitis, but Doctor
Benson was afraid to have him oper
ated on, so he tried treatment. Finally
he got a surgeon from New York, but
it was too late, the lad only lived a
few hours after the operation. Seems
as though Doctor Benson would go
crazy, they say: he'd set his heart on
that boy being such a wonderful sur-
geon; he was an only child, too," said
Mrs. Hanavan with a thankful sigh as
she looked at her family around her.

"Gosh, aren't I glad I'm alive! But
I feel bad over Clarence Benson!

A few months later Doctor Benson,
broken in health and spirit over the
death of his idolized son, came to his
home in the foothills, where he owned
some property adjoining the Hana-
vans' lease.

A few weeks later a "wash out"
wrecked the evening train at the top
of the Mountain Grade, resulting in
many injured and killed. Doctor
Lynch, the nearest medical man, was
miles off and could not reach the spot
for an hour or so. Old "Doc" With-
ers called for Clyde Hanavan to help
him, but the doctor's eyesight was so
bad that it fell to Clyde's skilled
fingers to bandage and ease the in-
jured, to remove and care for the
dead.

Suddenly he thought of Doctor Ben-
son in his loneliness and grief. Here
was a man for the job. Why hadn't
anyone thought of calling him be-
fore?

Clyde was just completing his "first
aid" to the terribly burned engineer
and had given "hypos" to the rest of
the injured under Doctor Withers' or-
ders, when Doctor Benson arrived at
the scene of the wreck.

"I don't see that there is anything
left for me to do. You have already
done everything that can be done un-
der such God-forsaken conditions
and a little more: why call
me? I would like to congratulate the
man or men who are responsible for
such wonderfully efficient first aid,
since I was told there was no doctor
around," he said, lifting his lantern
on the crowd, the light falling on
Clyde Hanavan and the bent form of
Doctor Withers leaning on his arm.

"It was Clyde Hanavan, sir. He
fixed 'em all up!" piped a small voice
from the darkness.

"I fixed 'em up, sir, but Doc With-
ers taught me 'first aid' and I couldn't
have done it without him, sir, an' I al-
ways loved this kind of thing, only for
the sake of helping folks not to suf-
fer though." Clyde's face grew red
under the keen gaze of the big sur-
geon.

"It's too bad the lad can't be made
a surgeon: he's wonderful at his first-
aid' work, Doctor Benson." Doctor
Withers looked affectionately at his
pupil.

"It would be too bad to let the
world lose such an able surgeon, too,
whatever my feelings are in this mat-
ter. Clyde, would you be too proud
to take my son's place?" Doctor Ben-
son lowered his voice so that only
Clyde could hear.

"No, sir: that is if you think that I
could fill it to your satisfaction-in
surgery, I mean," he answered with a
radiant face.

"I am not afraid of that," and the
father of Clarence, as he looked into
the clear eyes of the boy, felt he had
something still to live for.