ned from Hayes that I was lying in a room adjoining the operating
chamber and was being prepared for the operating table. Some information
concerning the extent of my injuries and the purpose of the operation
would have been comforting and would have relieved the sensation of
utter helpless childishness that I was experiencing.

I knew I was about to go under the influence of the anesthetic and that
something was going to be done to me. I had every confidence that
whatever was done would be for the best but it was perfectly natural
that I should be curious about it. Was the operation to be a serious one
or a minor one? Would they have to remove my eye? Would they have to
operate on my skull? How about the arm? Would there be an amputation?
How about the other eye? Would I ever see again? It must be remembered
that in spite of all the examinations I had not been informed and
consequently had no knowledge concerning the extent of my injuries. The
only information I had received had been included in vague remarks
intended as soothing, such as "You're all right, old man." "You'll pull
through fine." "You're coming along nicely." But all of it had seemed
too professionally optimistic to satisfy me and my doubts still
remained.

They were relieved, however, by the pressure of a hand and the sound of
a voice. In the words spoken and in the pressure of the hand, there was
hardly anything different from similar hand pressures and similar spoken
phrases that had come to me during the night, yet there was everything
different. This voice and this hand carried supreme confidence. I could
believe in both of them. I felt the hand pressure on my right shoulder
and the mild kindly voice said:

"Son, I am going to operate on you. I have examined you and you are all
right. You are going to come through fine. Don't worry about anything."

"Thank you, very much," I said, "I like your voice. It sounds like my
father's. Will you tell me your name?"

"I am Major Powers," the kindly voice said. "Now just take it easy, and
I will talk to you again in a couple of hours when you feel better."

The speaker, as I learned later, was Major Charles Powers, of Denver,
Colorado, one of the best-known and best-loved surgeons in the West. A
man far advanced in his profession and well advanced in his years, a man
whose life has not been one of continual health, a man who, upon
America's entry of the war, sacrificed the safety of the beneficial air
ra