Old Rose and Silver Part 43

"Plenty of discouragement in the world," he observed, "handed out free of charge, without paying people to bring it into the house when you're peevish."

"Very true," she answered, then her eyes filled. "Oh," she breathed, with white lips, "if you can--if you only can--"

"We'll have a try for it," he said, then continued, kindly: "no salt water upstairs, you know."

"I know," she sighed, wiping her eyes.

"Then 'on with the dance--let joy be unconfined.'"

Rose obediently went back to the piano. The arrival of the trunk and the composition of a hopeful telegram to Colonel Kent occupied the resourceful visitor for ten or fifteen minutes. Then he went back to his patient, who had already begun to miss him.

"You forgot to tell me your name," Allison suggested.

"Sure enough. Call me Jack, or Doctor Jack, when I'm not here and have to be called."

"But, as you said yourself a few minutes ago, I can't begin that way.

What's the rest of it?"

"If you'll listen," responded the young man, solemnly, "I will unfold before your eyes the one blot upon the 'scutcheon of my promising career. My full name is Jonathan Ebenezer Middlekauffer."

"What--how--I mean--excuse me," stammered Allison.

The young man laughed joyously. "You can search me," he answered, with a shrug. "The G.o.ds must have been in a sardonic mood about the time I arrived to gladden this sorrowful sphere. I've never used more of it than I could help, and everybody called me 'Jem' until I went to college, the initials making a shorter and more agreeable name. But before I'd been there a week, I was 'Jemima' or 'Aunt Jemima' to the whole cla.s.s. So I changed it myself, though it took a thras.h.i.+ng to make two or three of 'em remember that my name was Jack."

"How did you happen to come here?" queried Allison, without much interest.

"The man who was down here on the fifth sent me. He told me about you and suggested that my existence might be less wearing if I had something to do. He just pa.s.sed along his instructions and faded gracefully out of sight, saying: 'You'd better go, Middlekauffer, as your business seems to be the impossible,' so I packed up and took the first train."

"What did he mean by saying that your business was impossible?"

"Not impossible, but THE impossible. Good Heavens, man, don't things get mixed like that! All he meant was that such small reputation as I have been able to acquire was earned by doing jobs that the other fellows s.h.i.+rked. I'm ambidextrous," he added, modestly, "and I guess that helps some. Let's play piquet."

When Rose came up, an hour or so later, they were absorbed in their game, and did not see her until she spoke. She was overjoyed to see Allison sitting up, but, observing that she was not especially needed, invented a plausible errand and said good-bye, promising to come the next day.

"Nice girl," remarked Doctor Jack, shuffling the cards for Allison.

"Mighty nice girl."

"My future wife," answered Allison, proudly, forgetting his promise.

"More good business. You'd be a brute if you didn't save that hand for her. She's ent.i.tled to the best that you can give her."

"And she shall have it," returned Allison.

Doctor Jack's quick ears noted a new determination in the voice, that only a few hours before had been weak and wavering, and he nodded his satisfaction across the card table.

That night, while Allison slept soundly, and the nurse also, having been told that she was off duty until called, the young man recklessly burned gas in the next room, with pencil and paper before him. First, he carefully considered the man with whom he had to deal, then mapped out a line of treatment, complete to the last detail.

"There," he said to himself, "by that we stand or fall."

The clocks struck three, but the young man still sat there, oblivious to his surroundings, or to the fact that even strong and healthy people occasionally need a little sleep. At last a smile lighted up his face.

"What fun it would be," he thought, "for him to give a special concert, and invite every blessed moss-back who said 'impossible!' It wouldn't please me or anything, would it, to stand at the door and see 'em come in? Oh, no!"

There was a stir in the next room, and Allison called him, softly.

"Yes?" It was only a word, but the tone, as always, was vibrant with good cheer.

"I just wanted to tell you," Allison said, "that my heart is over the bar."

In the dark, the two men's hands met. "More good business," commented Doctor Jack. "Just remember what somebody said of Columbus: 'One day, with life and hope and heart, is time enough to find a world.' Go to sleep now. I'll see you in the morning."

"All right," Allison returned, but he did not sleep, even after certain low sounds usually a.s.sociated with comfortable slumber came from the doctor's room. He lay there, waiting happily, while from far, mysterious sources, life streamed into him, as the sap rises into the trees at the call of Spring. Across the despairing darkness, a signal had been flashed to him, and he was answering it, in every fibre of body and soul.

XX

RISEN FROM THE DEAD

COLONEL KENT, in a distant structure which, by courtesy, was called "the hotel," had pushed away his breakfast untasted, save for a small portion of the nondescript fluid the frowsy waitress called "coffee." He had been delayed, missed his train at the junction point, and, fretting with impatience, had been obliged to pa.s.s the night there.

He had wired to Madame Francesca the night before, but, as yet, had received no answer. He had personally consulted every surgeon of prominence in the surrounding country, and all who would not say flatly, without further information than he could give them, that there was no chance, had been asked to go and see for themselves.

One by one, their reports came back to him, unanimously hopeless.

Heartsick and discouraged, he rallied from each disappointment, only to face defeat again. He had spent weeks in fruitless journeying, following up every clue that presented itself, waited days at hospitals for chiefs of staff, and made the dreary round of newspaper offices, where knowledge of every conceivable subject is supposedly upon file for the asking.

One enterprising editor, too modern to be swayed by ordinary human instincts, had turned the Colonel over to the star reporter--a young man with eyes like Allison's. By well-timed questions and sympathetic offers of a.s.sistance, he dragged the whole story of his wanderings from the unsuspecting old soldier.

It made a double page in the Sunday edition, including the ill.u.s.trations--a "human interest" story of unquestionable value, introduced by a screaming headline in red: "Old Soldier on the March to Save Son. Violinist about to Lose Hand."

When the Colonel saw it, his eyes filled so that he could not see the words that danced through the mist, and the paper trembled from his hands to the floor. He was too nearly heartbroken to be angry, and too deeply hurt to take heed of the last stab.

No word reached him until late at night, when he arrived at the metropolitan hotel that he had made his headquarters. When he registered, two telegrams were handed to him, and he tore them open eagerly. The first was from Madame Francesca:

"Slight change for the better. New man gives hope. Better return at once."

The second one was wholly characteristic:

"Willing to take chance. Am camping on job. Come home." It was signed: "J. E. Middlekauffer."

When he got to his room, the Colonel sat down to think. He knew no one of that name--had never even heard it before. Perhaps Francesca--it would have been like her, to work with him and say nothing until she had something hopeful to say.

His heart warmed toward her, then he forgot her entirely in a sudden realisation of the vast meaning of the two bits of yellow paper. Why, it was hope; it was a fighting chance presenting itself where hitherto had been only despair! He could scarcely believe it. He took the two telegrams closer to the light, and read the blessed words over and over again, then, trembling with weakness and something more, tottered back to his chair.

Until then, he had not known how weary he was, nor how the long weeks of anxiety and fruitless effort had racked him to the soul. As one may bear a burden bravely, yet faint the moment it is lifted, his strength failed him in the very hour that he had no need of it. He sat there for a long time before he was able to shut off the light and creep into bed, with his tear-wet cheek pillowed upon one telegram, and a wrinkled hand closely clasping the other, as though holding fast to the message meant the keeping of the hope it brought.