The Fighting Chance Part 45

"You--know," muttered Siward, abandoning his wrist to the little man, who seated himself beside him. Dr. Grisby scarcely noted the pulse; the delicate pressure had become a strong caress.

"Know what?" he grunted. "How do I know what's the matter with you? Hey?

Now, now, don't try to explain, Steve; don't fly off the handle! All right; grant that I do know what's bothering you; I want to see that ankle first. Here, somebody! Light that gas. Why the mischief don't you have the house wired for electricity, Stephen? It's wholesome.

Gas isn't. Lamps are worse, sir. Do as I tell you!" And he went on loquaciously, grumbling and muttering, and never ceasing his talk, while Siward, wincing as the dressing was removed, lay back and closed his eyes.

Half an hour later Gumble appeared, to announce dinner.

"I don't want any," said Siward.

"Eat!" said Dr. Grisby harshly.

"I--don't care to."

"Eat, I tell you! Do you think I don't mean what I say?"

So he ate his broth and toast, the doctor curtly declining to join him.

He ate hurriedly, closing his eyes in aversion. Even the iced tea was flat and distasteful to him.

And at last he lay back, white and unstrung, the momentarily deadened desperation glimmering under his half-closed eyes. And for a long while Dr. Grisby sat, doubled almost in two, cuddling his bony little knees and studying the patterns in the faded carpet.

"I guess you'd better go, Stephen," he said at length.

"Up the river--to Mulqueen's?"

"Yes. Let's try it, Steve. You'll be on your feet in two weeks. Then you'd better go--up the river--to Mulqueen's."

"I--I'll go, if you say so. But I can't go now."

"I didn't say go now. I said in two weeks."

"Perhaps."

"Will you give me your word?" demanded the doctor sharply.

"No, doctor."

"Why not?"

"Because I may have to be here on business. There seems to be some sort of crisis coming which I don't understand."

"There's a crisis right here, Steve, which I understand!" snapped Dr.

Grisby. "Face it like a man! Face it like a man! You're sick--to your bones, boy--sick! sick! Fight the fight, Steve! Fight a good fight.

There's a fighting chance; on my soul of honour, there is, Steve, a fighting chance for you! Now! now, boy! Buckle up tight! Tuck up your sword-sleeve! At 'em, Steve! Give 'em h.e.l.l! Oh, my boy, my boy, I know; I know!" The little man's voice broke, but he steadied it instantly with a snap of his nut-cracker jaws, and scowled on his patient and shook his little withered fist at him.

His patient lay very still in the shadow.

"I want you to go," said the doctor harshly, "before your self-control goes. Do you understand? I want you to go before your decision is undermined; before you begin to do devious things, sly things, cheating things, slinking things--anything and everything to get at the thing you crave. I've given you something to fight with, and you won't take it faithfully. I've given you free rein in tobacco and tea and coffee. I've helped you as much as I dare to weather the nights. Now, you help me--do you hear?"

"Yes I will."

"You say so; now do it. Do something for yourself. Do anything! If you're sick of reading--and I don't blame you, considering the stuff you read--get people down here to see you; get lots of people. Telephone 'em; you've a telephone there, haven't you? There it is, by your elbow.

Use it! Call up people. Talk all the time."

"Yes, I will."

"Good! Now, Steve, we know what's the matter, physically, don't we? Of course we do! Now, then, what's the matter mentally?"

"Mentally?" repeated Siward under his breath.

"Yes, mentally. What's the trouble? Stocks? Bonds? Lawsuits? Love?" the slightest pause, and a narrowing of the gimlet eyes behind the lenses.

"Love?" he repeated harshly. "Which is it, boy? They're all good to let alone."

"Business," said Siward. But, being a Siward, he was obliged to add "partly."

"Business--partly," repeated the doctor. "What's the matter with business--partly?"

"I don't know. There are rumours. Hetherington is pounding us--apparently. That Inter-County crowd is acting ominously, too.

There's something underhand, somewhere." He bent his head and fell to plucking at the faded brocade on the arm of his chair, muttering to himself, "somewhere, somehow, something underhand. I don't know what; I really don't."

"All right--all right," said the doctor testily; "let it go at that!

There's treachery, eh? You suspect it? You're sure of it--as reasonably sure as a gentleman can be of something he is not fas.h.i.+oned to understand? That's it, is it? All right, sir--all right! Very well--ver-y well. Now, sir, look at me! Business symptoms admitted, what about the 'partly,' Stephen?--what about it, eh? What about it?"

But Siward fell silent again.

"Eh? Did you say something? No? Oh, very well, ver-y well, sir.

Perfectly correct, Stephen. You have not earned the right to admit further symptoms. No, sir, you have not earned the right to admit them to anybody, not even to yourself. Nor to--her!"

"Doctor!"

"Sir?"

"I have--admitted them."

"To yourself, Steve? I'm sorry. You have no right to--yet. I'm sorry--"

"I have admitted them--admitted them--to her."

"That settles it," said the doctor grimly, "that clinches it! That locks you to the wheel! That pledges you. The squabble is on, now. It's your honour that's engaged now, not your nerves, not your intestines. It's a good fight--a very good fight, with no chance of losing anything but life. You go up the river to Mulqueen's. That's the strategy in this campaign; that's excellent manoeuvring; that's good generals.h.i.+p! Eh?

Mask your purpose, Steve; make a feint of camping out here under my guns; then suddenly fling your entire force up the Hudson and fortify yourself at Mulqueen's! Ho, that'll fix 'em! That's going to astonish the enemy!"

His harsh, dry, crackling laughter broke out like the distant rattle of musketry.

The ghost of a smile glimmered in Siward's haunted eyes, then faded as he leaned forward.

"She has refused me," he said simply.

The little doctor, after an incredulous stare, began chattering with wrath. "Refused you! Pah! Pooh! That's nothing! That signifies absolutely nothing! It's meaningless! It's a detail. You get well--do you hear? You go and get well; then try it again! Then you'll see! And if she is an idiot--in the event of her irrational persistence in an incredible and utterly indefensible att.i.tude"--he choked up, then fairly barked at Siward--"take her anyway, sir! Run off with her! Dominate circ.u.mstances, sir! take charge of events!

But you can't do it till you've clapped yourself into prison for life.