The Marrow of Tradition · Chapter 7 (2/2)

When Dr. Price entered the nursery, Dr. Burns was leaning attentively over the operating table. The implements needed for the operation were all in readiness⁠—the knives, the basin, the sponge, the materials for dressing the wound⁠—all the ghastly paraphernalia of vivisection.

Mrs. Carteret had been banished to another room, where Clara vainly attempted to soothe her. Old Mammy Jane, still burdened by her fears, fervently prayed the good Lord to spare the life of the sweet little grandson of her dear old mistress.

Dr. Burns had placed his ear to the child’s chest, which had been bared for the incision. Dr. Price stood ready to administer the anaesthetic. Little Dodie looked up with a faint expression of wonder, as if dimly conscious of some unusual event. The major shivered at the thought of what the child must undergo.

“There’s a change in his breathing,” said Dr. Burns, lifting his head. “The whistling noise is less pronounced, and he breathes easier. The obstruction seems to have shifted.”

Applying his ear again to the child’s throat, he listened for a moment intently, and then picking the baby up from the table, gave it a couple of sharp claps between the shoulders. Simultaneously a small object shot out from the child’s mouth, struck Dr. Price in the neighborhood of his waistband, and then rattled lightly against the floor. Whereupon the baby, as though conscious of his narrow escape, smiled and gurgled, and reaching upward clutched the doctor’s whiskers with his little hand, which, according to old Jane, had a stronger grip than any other infant’s in Wellington.