“I assure you, before God,” I declared, turning to the husband, “that I was not the operating surgeon in this case. You know, possibly, my reputation for professional skill. Will you then permit me to take your wife’s temperature and to make a very brief examination with a view to determining the probable effect of her condition upon her rational faculties?”
To my delight, he consented. With careful formality I prepared a thermometer, taking and noting the temperature both at mouth and armpit. The woman exhibited none of the repulsion she ought to have shown, by all principles of psychology, to being examined by the author of her misfortune.
I then seated myself by the bed and felt the pulse. Taking my watch and detaching it from the chain, I placed it on the white cover of the bed beside her, where she could not fail to hear the ticking. I lifted her hands and applied my finger tips lightly to the arterial beat at the wrist. I looked her steadily in the eyes, and apparently gave the most minute attention to the really faint beating of her pulse.
“Madam,” I said after a long wait, “it is my solemn and painful duty to inform you that you have but fifteen minutes to live. My whole professional life is at stake here. Ruin, disgrace, and even death stare me in the face as a result of what you may say. But I do not urge this upon you. I urge you merely for God’s sake to tell the truth.”
“Doctor, you know you did it,” she whispered wearily.
I had expected that. My bit of work in experimental psychology was just beginning. I kept perfectly silent, my fingers still resting upon the patient’s wrist. The tomb itself is not more still nor more solemn than was that room. I let full five minutes pass without word or movement.
Do you know how long five minutes can be? Did you ever try a silent wait of five little minutes, even though life and death were not in the balance? Try to guess at five minutes; and if you are not skilled in counting seconds, you will call time in two. Five minutes can be an eternity. They were so then.
“Madam,” I said again, “you have but ten minutes to live. I implore you to right the great wrong you have done.”
Why that man did not throw me out of the room I will never know. He seemed fascinated by the fearful experiment.