The Triumph of Virginia Dale Part 36

"Get off of me with that thing. It hurts," protested the moist private secretary.

Regardless of these objections from his victim, Mr. Quince would have persisted in his efforts with a diligence certain of reward had not Kelly reached down from the bank, and, seizing the dripping and miserable stenographer by the hand, pulled him ash.o.r.e.

Mr. Quince desisted from his fis.h.i.+ng operations only when his prey was beyond his reach. Turning to Ike who had regarded his life saving with profound approval, he boasted, "I'd a got him by the britches sure, if he hadn't a bin a settin' down." He rested upon his pole and his eagle eye swept the river, flas.h.i.+ng brilliant in the suns.h.i.+ne.

Into his face, but recently lighted with enthusiasm, came a look of dissatisfaction, of disappointment, as he confided his woe to the chauffeur. "There hain't n.o.body ever gits drownded in the old Lame Moose," he complained. "Hain't 'nough water to drownd a weasel."

To Ike came comprehension of the troubled soul of the river-man, and he endeavored to comfort him. "Dey am' 'nough water in dis yere river to slac' de thirst o' er g'a.s.shopper," he agreed.

Loud conversation took place among the mothers as Dr. Jackson announced his purpose of serving sustenance to those infants whose habit it was to resort to artificial sources for nourishment. Much attention was given to the sterilization of bottles, the measuring of milk, and the addition of lime water thereto. The medical man took the opportunity to deliver a lecture upon the feeding of infants with some reference to their early care and discipline, and Virginia took base advantage of her position as picnic manager to hold the babies while they enjoyed bottled refreshments. She would have also kissed each recipient of her favor had she not been sternly repressed by Dr. Jackson, much to the amus.e.m.e.nt of Mrs. Henderson.

"Let the child kiss the babies if she wants to, Doctor," urged the widow.

"No," he refused with firmness. "Kissing is dangerous. Now that we have prohibition, if we could get rid of smoking and kissing, things would be about right."

"Are you engaged, Doctor?"

"No, certainly not. What made you ask me that, Mrs. Henderson?"

"I wonder why I did, myself, Doctor. It was a foolish question."

At the close of the infantile banquet, the mothers returned their offspring to the line of cots, where, protected by mosquito netting, they straightway relapsed into slumber.

Kelly, who had returned alone from the depths of the woods into which he had departed with the dripping Mr. Jones, was greatly interested, and addressed Miss Knight. "Watch those kids pound their ears! They sure eat sleep as soon as they hit the hay."

The nurse looked at the bookkeeper inquiringly. "What are you? Wop, Guiney, Polock or Sheeny?"

"Why?"

"You must hate the English language. I thought that you must be foreign."

His eyes were dancing when he looked at her and said, "My name is Kelly, Miss Knight."

"That explains it," she laughed.

The bachelor farmer who owned the grove watched the pleasant scene from a seat upon the well curb. Resting upon the damp planking, he philosophically sucked upon a black pipe, and gave ear to the prevalent wisdom on baby feeding. He modified this, no doubt, in his own mind, in the light of his own experience as a successful stock feeder.

With that social spirit always noticeable in his character, Ike joined the agriculturist and entered into casual conversation. "Dis is er fine grove you got yere, Misto Elgin."

"It's by long odds the best grove on the river."

"Yas'r." The chat languished until reopened by Ike on other lines.

"You has er fine view, Misto Elgin, an' you has got fine trees an'

you has got fine aiah."

The farmer chuckled. "If you'd a bin 'round here yesterday afternoon when I cleaned out the well I'll bet the air would have made you sick at your stomach, boy."

"How c.u.m?" Ike demanded sharply, his eyes rolling white with anxiety.

"The old hole was full of dead reptiles and varmints. I got a skunk, a rabbit, two frogs and three snakes out and a couple of things so far gone I couldn't tell 'em. Gorry but they stunk."

"You 'spec' dey mek dat water bad?" pleaded Ike, in a voice pathetic in its intenseness.

"Water with things like that in it is deadly pizen, I cal'late," the farmer told him, with a shudder at his own repulsive memories.

Ike leaped to his feet hurriedly. Fear lifted him "'Scuse me, Sar,"

he murmured, as if he had been suddenly taken ill. A moment later, discovering the medical man resting in the shade of a great tree, the negro approached him with an air of indifference tempered with respect.

For all that he knew this might be a dreaded "night doctor"--one of those fearful beings who steal about in the late hours of the night despoiling sepulchers and seizing late strollers for the benefit of science. It is obviously unwise to irritate such characters, lest evil befall one.

"Dis is er fine day, Doc," Ike suggested.

"Yes."

"Doc, do pizen hit er man suddin?"

The physician glanced lazily at the negro. The spirit of mischief seized him. "Look here, boy," he cried, in a threatening manner, "I warn you as a friend as well as a medical man to keep away from poison. You are so tough, so ornery, so low down good for nothing and lazy, that poison would have to work slow under your hide and you would die a lingering and painful death."

Without another word Ike departed. The verdict had been handed down and sentence pa.s.sed. Before him lay a dreadful death. He sought solitude in which to pa.s.s his few remaining hours and to prepare for his fearful end. Stumbling along, he came upon the ice cream freezers and the lunch baskets. Serena and Mr. Vivian sat among them, engaged in debate regarding the preparation of certain types of cake in view of the high cost of eggs.

To Ike's mind, this was the kitchen. His home, his place of retirement, should logically be back of this. Within him burned increasing fear.

Upon self-examination, he discovered that peculiar symptoms beset every part of his body. Unquestionably the fatal hour approached. The time of paroxysms and fits was at hand. Trembling and almost blind from apprehension, the chauffeur circled the refreshments and the culinary argument. He came upon a shady nook. The tall brush had been pulled aside and fas.h.i.+oned into a rude canopy which, with the tree branches overhead, afforded a double protection from the sun. Within it, his confused eyes made out that which appeared a couch decked forth with old blankets and gunny sacks. Ike sank upon this with a moan of anguish and, with his kinky head buried in the crook of his elbow, awaited the final agony which would herald the pa.s.sing of his soul.

With that love for solitude and self-communion, so common to unusual minds, Mr. Quince had not mingled with the ladies. While technically a member of the picnic party, he was not one with it in spirit, in taste or in aspiration. Those who go down to the sea in s.h.i.+ps give but little heed to infant culture. Therefore, he strolled about the circ.u.mference of the festivities instead of in their midst and thus came upon the rec.u.mbent Ike.

"What's the matter now?" he demanded in the rough manner of a man hardened by contact with nature in her wildest moods.

Ike emitted a dismal groan.

Mr. Quince, ever one of action, promptly applied that treatment deemed peculiarly efficacious in the treatment of those intoxicated. He seized the negro by his shoulders and shook him violently. "Come up!" he roared. "Git a move on yer, yer lazy b.u.m."

"Lemme go!" protested Ike, astounded at the administration of such radical restorative measures to one about to shuffle off. "Ah'm er dead man. Ah'm er gwine to pa.s.s away."

Mr. Quince registered intense interest. "Yer don't say?" He scratched his head reflectively and brought the cold light of reason to bear upon the problem. "Whatcher talkin' about," he went on in tones of regret. "Yer hain't dead"; and concluded more hopefully, "Leastways not yit."

"He'p," moaned Ike, apparently in intense agony.

Mr. Quince pensively spat a stream of tobacco juice across the bier of the dying one. "Maybe that doctor mought give yer some dope," he suggested, with great deliberation.

Ike's answer was a sepulchral groan.

Dr. Jackson, with the utmost possible composure was receiving from a group of mothers that feminine adulation usually accorded the members of his profession.

Mr. Quince slowly approached them. "That black boy is er dying over there," he hailed, as an officer ex-changing casual greetings from his bridge with a pa.s.sing s.h.i.+p.

The doctor leaped to his feet with a startled look. So did the mothers as well as every one else who was sitting down. They moved in a body to the side of the expiring chauffeur. About his couch they grouped, as it is painted that courts gather by the bedside of expiring monarchs to receive the royal farewell.

Before the a.s.sembled mult.i.tude, Ike moaned and groaned in anguish of mind and body.

Dr. Jackson examined him. "What's the matter?" he asked.