Political fiction; Short stories, American; United States -- Politics and government -- Fiction
Doctor Foerder returned at four o’clock. He had not been expected
before evening, but he was interested in the case. He had mentioned it
in his lecture that day. He had commented on the wonderful display of
vitality on the patient’s part, and spoken of the value in such cases
of moral treatment, of encouraging words and a confident manner. He
read the nurse’s chart, counted the colonel’s pulse for fifteen seconds
and calculated the rate by multiplication, drew down the old man’s
eyelids, noting the senile arc that was whitening the periphery of the
cornea, and he examined the finger-nails; then the percussion and the
auscultation. When he raised his black head, the colonel said:
“Any news?”
“You’re doing well.”
“Aw!” said the colonel impatiently, “I don’t mean that--any news from
the conventions?”
Foerder hesitated, as if half reluctant to display interest in anything
so human, but said:
“Yes.”
“What?” said the colonel eagerly, his eyes brightening with a light
that alarmed the doctor.
“They say you’ve carried some districts on the North Side.”
“Which ones?” asked the colonel.
“Don’t remember.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, they say Warner has carried some North Side districts, too--and
some West Side districts.”
“Warner?”
“Well, whatever his name is.”
Then Foerder was silent, and the colonel lay a long time thinking.
“Did you learn how it’s going in the Ninth, or the Second, or the
Seventeenth?”
“They say it’s about an even break everywhere.”
“And how’s the First?” The colonel put this question in a whisper, as
if he feared the answer. The doctor did not know. Then the silence
again, and the colonel’s labored breathing, and the ticking of the
nurse’s little gold watch.
“What district do you live in, Doctor?” the colonel asked later.
“I?” replied the medical man in some surprise.
“Yes.”
“I--why, I don’t know,” he said.
The colonel faintly smiled. “Where do you live, then?”
“In Drexel Boulevard.”
“That’s the Fifth,” the colonel said. “Warren carried that.”
“Did he?” The doctor looked as if he were ashamed. “We mustn’t talk any
more just now.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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