The Primrose Ring Part 6

The smile had gone; she was very sober now. And the House Surgeon, still watching the two profiles, suddenly felt his heart settle down to a single steady beat. He wanted to get up that very instant and tell the nurse in charge of Ward C what had happened and what he thought of her; but instead he dug his hands deep in his pockets. How in the name of the seven continents had he never before realized that she was the sweetest, finest, most adorable, and onliest girl in the world, and worth a whole board-room full of youngest and prettiest trustees?

"I came back," went on Margaret MacLean, slowly, "really because of the Old Senior Surgeon, to stand, as he stood in the days long ago, between you and the incurable ward; to shut out--if I could--the little, thoughtless, hurting things that you are always saying without being in the least bit conscious of them, and to keep the children from wanting too much the friends.h.i.+p and loving interest that, somehow, they expected from you. I wanted to try and make them feel that they were not case this and case that, abnormally diseased and therefore objects of pity and curiosity to be pointed out to sympathetic visitors, but children--just children--with a right to be happy and loved. I wanted to fill their minds so full of fun and make-believe that they would have to forget about their poor little bodies. I tried to make you feel this and help without putting it--cruelly--into words; but you would never understand. You have never let them forget for a moment that they are 'incurables,' any more than you have let me forget that I am a--foundling."

She stopped a moment for breath, and the smile came back--a wistfully pleading smile. "I am afraid that last was not in the report. What I want to say is--please keep the incurable ward; take the time to really know them--and love them a little. If you only could you would never consider sending them away for a moment. And if, in addition to the splendid care you have given their bodies, you would only help to keep their minds and hearts sound and sweet, and s.h.i.+eld them against curious visitors, why--why--some of them might turn out to be 'a case in a thousand.' Don't you see--can't you see--that they have as much right to their sc.r.a.ps of life and happiness--as your children have to their complete lives, and that there is no place for them anywhere if Saint Margaret's closes her doors?"

With an overwhelming suddenness she became conscious of the att.i.tude of the trustees. She, who was nothing but a foundling and a charity patient herself, had dared to pa.s.s judgment on them; it was inconceivable--it was impertinent--it was beyond all precedent. Only the gray wisp of a woman sat silent, seeming to express nothing.

Margaret MacLean's cheeks flamed; she shrank into herself, her whole being acutely alive to their thoughts. The scared little-girl look came into her face.

"Perhaps--perhaps," she stammered, pitifully, "after what I have said you would rather I did not stay on--in charge of Ward C?"

The Dominating Trustee rose abruptly. "Mr. President, I suggest that we act upon Miss MacLean's resignation at once."

"I second the motion," came in a quick bark from the Meanest Trustee, while the Oldest Trustee could be heard quoting, "Sharper than a serpent's tooth--"

The Executive Trustee rose, looking past Margaret MacLean as he spoke.

"In view of the fact that we shall possibly discontinue the incurable ward, and that Miss MacLean seems wholly unsatisfied with our methods and supervision here, I motion that her resignation be accepted now, and that she shall be free to leave Saint Margaret's when her month shall have expired,"

"I second the motion," came from the Social Trustee, while she added to the Calculating, who happened to be sitting next: "So ill-bred. It just shows that a person can never be educated above her station in life."

The President rose. "The motion has been made and seconded. Will you please signify by raising your hands if it is your wish that Miss MacLean's resignation be accepted at once?"

Hand after hand went up. Only the little gray wisp of a woman in the chair by the door sat with her hands still folded on her lap.

"It is, so to speak, a unanimous vote." There was a strong hint of approval in the President's voice. He was a good man; but he belonged to that sect which holds as one of the main articles of its faith, "I believe in the infallibility of the rich."

"Can any one tell me when Miss MacLean's time expires?"

The person under discussion answered for herself. "On the last day of the month, Mr. President."

"Oh, very well." He was extremely polite in his manner. "We thank you for your very full and--hmm--comprehensive report. After to-night you are excused from your duties at Saint Margaret's."

The President bowed her courteously out of the board-room, while the primroses in the green Devons.h.i.+re bowl on his desk still nodded guilelessly.

V

ODDS AND ENDS

Margaret MacLean walked the length of the first corridor; once out of sight and hearing, she tore up the stairs, her cheeks crimson and her eyes suspiciously moist. Before she had reached the second flight the House Surgeon overtook her.

"I wish," he panted behind her, trying his best to look the big-brother way of old--"I wish you'd wait a moment. This habit of yours of always walking up is a beastly one."

"Don't worry about it." There was a sharp, metallic ring in her voice that made it unnatural. "That's one habit that will soon be broken."

The House Surgeon smiled rather helplessly; inside he was making one of the few prayers of his life--a prayer to keep Margaret MacLean free of bitterness. "There is something I want to say to you," he began.

She broke in feverishly: "No, there isn't! And I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear you're sorry. I don't want to hear they'll be taken care of--somewhere--somehow. I think I should scream if you told me it was bound to happen--or will all turn out for the best."

"I had no intention of saying any of those things--in fact, they hadn't even entered my mind. What I was going to--"

"Oh, I know. You were going to remind me of what you said this morning. Almost prophetic, wasn't it?" And there was a strong touch of irony in her laugh. She turned on him crus.h.i.+ngly. "Perhaps you knew it all along. Perhaps it was your way of letting me down gently."

"See here," said the House Surgeon, bluntly, "that's the second disagreeable thing you've said to-day. I don't think it's quite square. Do you?"

"No!" Her lips quivered; her hands reached out toward his impulsively.

"I don't know why I keep saying things I know are not true. I'm perfectly--unforgivably horrid."

As impulsively he took both hands, turned them palm uppermost, and kissed them.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Impulsively he took both hands, turned them palm uppermost, and kissed them.]

She s.n.a.t.c.hed them away; the crimson in her cheeks deepened. "Don't, please. Your pity only makes it harder. Oh, I don't know what has happened--here--" And she struck her breast fiercely. "If--if they send the children away I shall never believe in anything again; the part of me that has believed and trusted and been glad will stop--it will break all to pieces." With a hard, dry sob she left him, running up the remaining stairs to Ward C. She did not see his arms reach hungrily after her or the great longing in his face.

The House Surgeon turned and went downstairs again.

In the lower corridor he ran across the President, who was looking for him. With much courtesy and circ.u.mlocution he was told the thing he had been waiting to hear: the board, likewise, had discovered that Saint Margaret's had suddenly grown too small to hold both the Senior Surgeon and himself. Strangely enough, this troubled him little; there are times in a man's life when even the most momentous of happenings shrink into nothing beside the simple process of telling the girl he loves that he loves her.

The President was somewhat startled by the House Surgeon's commonplace acceptance of the board's decision; and he returned to the board-room distinctly puzzled.

Meanwhile Margaret MacLean, having waited outside of Ward C for her cheeks to cool and her eyes to dry, opened the door and went in.

Ward C had been fed by the a.s.sistant nurse and put to bed; that is, all who could limp or wheel themselves about the room were back in their cribs, and the others were no longer braced or bolstered up. As she had expected, gloom canopied every crib and cot; beneath, eight small figures, covered to their noses, shook with held-back sobs or wailed softly. According to the custom that had unwittingly established itself, Ward C was crying itself to sleep. Not that it knew what it was crying about, it being merely a matter of atmosphere and unstrung nerves; but that is cause enough to turn the mind of a sick child all awry, twisting out happiness and twisting in peevish, fretful feelings.

She stood by the door, unnoticed, looking down the ward. Pancho lay wound up in his blanket like a giant chrysalis, rolling in silent misery. Sandy was stretched as straight and stiff as if he had been "laid out"; his eyes were closed, and there was a stolid, expressionless set to his features. Margaret MacLean knew that it betokened much internal disturbance. Susan, ex-philosopher, was sobbing aloud, pulling with rebellious fingers at the pieces of iron that kept her head where nature had planned it. The Apostles gripped hands and moaned in unison, while Peter hugged his blanket, seeking thereby some consolation for the dispelled Toby. Toby persistently refused to be conjured up on Trustee Days.

Only Bridget was alert and watchful. One hand was slipped through the bars of Rosita's crib, administering comforting pats to the rhythmic croon of an Irish reel. Every once in a while her eyes would wander to the neighboring cots with the disquiet of an over-troubled mother; the only moments of real unhappiness or worry Bridget ever knew were those which brought sorrow to the ward past her power of mending.

To Margaret MacLean, standing there, it seemed unbearable--as if life had suddenly become too sinister and cruel to strike at souls so little and helpless as these. There were things one could never explain in terms of G.o.d. She found herself wondering if that was why the Senior Surgeon wors.h.i.+ped science; and she s.h.i.+vered.

The room had become repellent; it was a sepulchral place entombing all she had lost. In the midst of the dusk and gloom her mind groped about--after its habit--for something cheerful, something that would break the colorless monotone of the room and change the atmosphere. In a flash she remembered the primroses; and the remembrance brought a smile.

"They're nothing but charlatans," she thought, "but the children will never find that out, and they'll be something bright for them to wake up to in the morning."

This was what sent her down the stairs again, just as the board meeting adjourned.

Now the board adjourned with thumbs down--signifying that the incurable ward was no more, as far as the future of Saint Margaret's was concerned. The trustees stirred in their chairs with a comfortable relaxing of joint and muscle, as if to say, "There, that is a piece of business well despatched; nothing like methods of conservation and efficiency, you know." Only the little gray wisp of a woman by the door sat rigid, her hands still folded on her lap.

The Oldest Trustee had just remarked to the Social Trustee that all the things gossip had said of the widow of the Richest Trustee were undoubtedly true--she was a nonent.i.ty--when the Senior Surgeon dropped in. This was according to the President's previous request. That gentleman of charitable parts had implied that there would undoubtedly be good news and congratulations awaiting him. This did not mean that the board intended to slight its duty and fail to consider the matter of the incurables with due conscientiousness--the board was as strong for conscience as for conservation. It merely went to show that the fate of Ward C had been preordained from the beginning; and that the President felt wholly justified in requesting the presence of the Senior Surgeon at the end of the meeting.

His appearance called forth such a laudatory buzzing of tongues and such a cordial shaking of hands that one might have easily mistaken the meeting for a successful political rally or a religious revival. The Youngest and Prettiest Trustee fluttered about him, chirping ecstatic expletives, while the Disagreeable Trustee watched her and growled to himself.

"So splendid," she chirped, "the unanimous indors.e.m.e.nt of the board--at least, practically unanimous." And she eyed the widow of the Richest Trustee accusingly.

"The incurable ward and Margaret MacLean have really been a terrible responsibility, haven't they? I can't help feeling it will mean quite a load off our minds." It was the Social Trustee who spoke, and she followed it with a little sigh of relief.

The sigh was echoed twice--thrice--about the room. Then the Meanest Trustee barked out: