Andrew Manson had brought the mother to a point of safety. Susan Morgan was now out of danger. Now the doctor immediately turned his attention to the child. “Where’s the child?” He asked the midwife. The midwife made a frightened gesture. She had placed the child beneath the bed. The doctor searched him among the dirty newspapers below the bed and pulled out the child. He was a boy, perfectly formed. His limp warm body was white and soft. The cord was hastily slashed. It lay like a broken stem. The head lolled on his thin neck. The limbs seemed boneless. It seemed that he suffered from ‘asphyxia’, the lack of oxygen in the blood. Instantly, the doctor was on his feet. He was unnaturally tense. His mind raced back to a case. He was resorting to the same treatment now.

The doctor demanded hot and cold water in two basins. Like some crazy juggler, he hurried the child between the two. First he plunged him into the icy and then into the steamy water. Fifteen minutes passed. A hopeless sense of defeat pressed on him. But he still persisted in one last effort. He rubbed the child with a rough towel, crushing and releasing him in turn with both his hands. The pigmy chest gave a short heave. The doctor redoubled his efforts feverishly. The child gasped and finally gave a loud cry. His skin was slowly turning pink. At last, Andrew Manson brought him back to life from the jaws of death.

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V. Imp.