Geoffrey Strong Part 13

But why the malignant and the turbaned Turk effect? is my head broken, too?"

"Oh, no, dear Doctor Strong, nothing malignant; nothing at all of that nature, I a.s.sure you. Oh, I hope, I hope the arm is properly cared for!

but it was so unfortunate his being laid up with pleurisy just at this time, wasn't it? and a severe contusion on your head, you see, so that for some hours we were sadly--but now you are entirely yourself, and we are so humbly and devoutly thankful, dear Doctor Strong!"

"I think you might say 'Geoffrey,' when I am all broke up!" said the boy.

"Geoffrey, dear Geoffrey!" murmured Miss Vesta, patting his sound arm softly.

"I think you might sit down by me and tell me all about it. Who is laid up with pleurisy? how much am I broken? who brought me home? who set my arm? I want to know all about it, please!"

The young doctor spoke with cheerful imperiousness. Miss Vesta glanced timorously toward the door, then sat down by the bedside. "Hus.h.!.+" she said, softly. "You must not excite yourself, my dear young friend, you must not, indeed. I will tell you all about it, if you think--if you are quite sure you ought to be told. You are a physician, of course, but she was very anxious that you should not be excited."

"Who was anxious? I shall be very much excited if you keep things from me, Miss Vesta. I feel my temperature going up this moment."

"Dear! dear!" cried poor Miss Vesta. "Try--to--to restrain it, Geoffrey, I implore you. I will--I will tell you at once. As you surmise, my dear, a dog--we suppose it to have been a dog, though I am not aware that anyone saw the accident. An old man whom you once attended--Mr. b.u.t.ters; you spoke of him, I remember--found you lying in the road, my child, quite unconscious. He is an unpolished person, but possessed of warm affections. I--I can never forget his tender solicitude about you. He brought you home in his wagon, and carried you into the house. He volunteered to go to Greening for Doctor Namby--"

"Namby never put on this bandage!" interrupted Geoffrey.

"No, Geoffrey, no! we do not think highly of Doctor Namby, but there was no one else, for you seem to feel so strongly about Doctor Pottle--"

"Pottle is a boiled cabbage-head!" said Geoffrey. "He couldn't set a hen's leg without tying it in bow-knots, let alone a man's arm. Who did set it, Miss Vesta? I'm sure I must be up to 105 by this time. I can't answer for the consequences, you know, if--"

"Oh! hus.h.!.+ hus.h.!.+" cried Miss Vesta. "He had the pleurisy, as I said; very badly indeed, poor man, so that he was quite, quite invalided--"

"Pottle had? serve him--"

"No, no, Geoffrey; Doctor Namby had. And so--she was quite positive she understood the case, and--Mr. b.u.t.ters upheld her--oh, I trust, I trust I did not do wrong in allowing her to take so grave a responsibility--Sister Phoebe in bed with her erysipelas--Geoffrey--you will not be angry, my dear young friend? Little Vesta set the arm!"

The word finally spoken, Miss Vesta sat panting quickly and softly, like a frightened bird, her eyes fixed anxiously on the young doctor.

The young doctor whistled; then considered the arm again with keen scrutiny.

"The de--that is--she did, did she?" he said, half to himself. He felt it all over with his sound hand, and inspected it again. "Well, it's a mighty good job," he said, "whoever did it."

Miss Vesta's sigh of relief was almost a gasp. Geoffrey looked up quickly, and saw her gentle eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears.

"You dear angel!" he cried, taking her hand. "I have made you anxious.

I am a brute--a cuttlefish--hang me, somebody, do!"

"Oh! hush, hus.h.!.+ my boy!" cried the little lady, wiping away her tears.

"It was only--the relief, Geoffrey. To feel that you are not angry at her--Sister Phoebe would call it presumption, but Vesta did not _mean_ to be presumptuous, Geoffrey--and that you think it is not so ill done as I feared. I--I am so happy, that is all, my dear!"

She wept silently, and Geoffrey lay and called himself names.

Presently--"Where is she?" he asked.

"Sister Phoebe? she is still in bed, and suffering a good deal. I am continuing the remedies you gave her. I--I have thought it best to let her suppose that Doctor Namby had attended you, Geoffrey. She is very nervous, and I feared to excite her."

Geoffrey commended her wisdom, but made it clear that he was not thinking of Miss Phoebe. Couldn't he see Miss Little Vesta? he asked.

He wanted to--to thank her for what she had done, and ask just how she had done it. There were all sorts of details--in short, it was important that he should see her at once. Asleep? Why--it seemed unreasonable that she should be asleep at this hour of the morning. Was she not well?

"She--she watched by you most of the night!" Miss Vesta confessed.

"Your head--she was afraid of congestion, and wanted the cloths changed frequently. She would not let me sit up, Geoffrey, though I begged her to let me do so. She will come as soon as she wakes, I am sure."

"I told you I was a cuttlefis.h.!.+" said Geoffrey. "Now you see! I--I believe I am getting sleepy again, Miss Vesta. What is that pretty thing you have around your neck? Did she sit in that chair? What a fool a man is when he is asleep!"

Seeing his eyelids droop, Miss Vesta moved softly away; was called back at the door, and found him looking injured. "You haven't tucked me up!"

he said.

Miss Vesta tucked him up with delicate precision, and drew the snowy counterpane into absolute smoothness. "There!" she said, her gentle eyes beaming with maternal pleasure. "Is there anything else, dear doctor--I mean dear Geoffrey?"

"No, nothing--unless--I don't suppose angels ever kiss people, do they?"

Very pink indeed, even to her pretty little ears, Miss Vesta stooped and deposited a very small and very timid kiss on his forehead; then slipped away like a little shocked ghost, wondering what Sister Phoebe would say.

CHAPTER XII.

CONVALESCENCE

"Where did you get your splints?" asked Geoffrey. "Was this thing all arranged beforehand? you confess to the bandages in your trunk."

Vesta laughed. "Your poor cigars! I tumbled them out of their box with very little ceremony. See them, scattered all over the table! I must put them tidy."

She moved to the table, and began piling the cigars in a hollow square.

"A cigar-box makes excellent splints," she said; "did you ever try it?"

But Geoffrey was thinking what a singular amount of light a white dress seemed to bring into a room, and did not immediately reply.

When he did speak, he said, "You watched me--I kept you up all night. I ought to be shot."

"That would be twice as troublesome," said Vesta, gravely; "I can set an arm, but I don't know anything about wounds, except theoretically.

Perhaps you would'nt like theoretic treatment."

"Perhaps not. Was there--it seems a perfectly absurd question to ask, but--well, was any one playing the 'cello here last night? why do you laugh?"

"Only because you seem to have the 'cello so on your mind. You said such funny things last night, while you were light-headed, you know."

Geoffrey became conscious of the roots of his hair. "What did I say?"

he asked.

"You seemed to think that some one was playing the 'cello; or rather, you fancied there was a 'cello in the room, and it seemed to be endowed with life. You said, 'I didn't know that 'cellos had hands!' and then you asked if it spoke Spanish. I couldn't help laughing a little at that, and you were quite short with me, and told me I that didn't know phlox from flaxseed. It was very curious!"

"Must have been!" said Geoffrey, dryly. "I'm only thankful--was that the worst thing I said?"

"Wasn't that bad enough? yes, that was the very worst. I am going out now, Doctor Strong. Is there anything I can do for you?"