§ 361 Consolation for the Imperilled One
In a California town is an old family physician with rather a caustic wit. He was in attendance at the confinement of a lady whom we will call Mrs. A—a wife of a year. There were no complications; the affair was progressing as well as might reasonably be expected.
But the husband was in a distressful state. While sympathetic friends endeavored vainly to calm him he walked the floor of the room adjoining the sick room. At frequent intervals he beat upon the connecting door and from those within pleaded for assurance that all was going well. Yet the answers, while consoling, did not avail to soothe his agitation. What the midwife told him only seemed to harass him the more. Messages of cheer from the trained nurse were received by him with choked groaning sounds.
Finally he called through the keyhole that he must have a word personally with the officiating practitioner. The old gentleman came forth.
“Doctor,” exclaimed the suffering young man, “I’ve been waiting for hours now. I can’t stand this terrible suspense any longer. Doctor, for my own sake, please tell me what the prospects are?”
“Well, son,” said the doctor. “I can only say this to you: I’ve been bringing babies into the world for forty-odd years now—and I never lost a father yet.”