Later, when it came to matters of life and death, these men were sure to
disagree radically. Van Horn, dignified of presence, polished of speech,
was apt to impress the patient's family with his wisdom, his restraint,
his modestly assured sense of the fitness of his own methods to the
needs of the case; while Burns, burning with indignation over some
breach of faith occasioned by his senior's orders in his absence, or
other indignity, flaming still more hotly over being forced into a
course which he believed to be against the patient's interest, was
likely to blurt out some rough speech at a moment when silence, as far
as his own interests were concerned, would have been more discreet--and
then would come rupture.
Usually those most concerned never guessed at the hidden fires, because
even Burns, under bonds to his wife to restrain himself at moments of
danger, was nearly always able to get away from such scenes without open
outbreak. But more than once a situation had developed which could be
handled only by the withdrawal of one or the other physician from the
case--and then, whether he went or stayed, Burns could seldom win
through without showing what he felt.
Now, however, he was feeling as he had never dreamed he could feel
toward James Van Horn. The way in which the man was facing the present
crisis in his life called for Burns's honest and ungrudging admiration.
With that same cool and unflurried bearing with which Van Horn was
accustomed to hold his own in a consultation was he now awaiting the
uncertain issue of his determination to end, in one way or the other,
the disability under which he was suffering.
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