CTOR 
 RYSON 
 
 FRANK H. SPEARMAN
 
 DOCTOR BRYSON 

 
 
 DOCTOR BRYSON 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANK H. SPEARMAN 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 NEW YORK:::::::::::::::::i902
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Published, September, 1902 
 
 TROW DIRECTORY 
 i ANU AOOKIINDINQ 
 
 NEW YORK
 
 
 Co 
 MY SISTER, GERTRUDE 
 
 2220193
 
 i
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE receiving- room of the Laflin College for the 
 Eye and Ear is very large and its day is long. 
 
 The day, indeed, may be said to begin at eleven 
 o'clock night, when, the janitor arriving, followed by a 
 brigade of scrub-women, turns on the incandescent 
 bulbs hot yet from the work of the evening, and the 
 big room and its fellows are beaten, scrubbed, cleansed, 
 and disinfected for the work of the new day. 
 
 In the morning at one o'clock the preparations are 
 complete and the receiving-room naps. At three 
 o'clock and at four the watchman looks through it; at 
 six the porter throws open the wide windows and the 
 cool air of the lake, uncontaminated yet by the traffic 
 of the street, rushes in. At seven students begin to 
 arrive ; at eight there are assistants in the laboratories ; 
 at nine professors are seen among the lockers ; half an 
 hour later the big doors opening upon the elevators are 
 closed to exclude stragglers ; at ten the clinics begin. 
 
 The main doors open then for all day open to a 
 mass of human misery, for the clinic of the Laflin 
 College for the Eye and Ear is the largest in the world. 
 They open, the big doors, not so much to the blind 
 few of the blind pass them they open to those that are
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 going blind. Indeed, to be blind is not so much ; it is 
 the going blind that costs. 
 
 In Chicago, where nothing comes by chance, every- 
 thing seems to; but it is not to luck nor to fortuity 
 that the Laflin College owes its extraordinary clinic. 
 When Bryson became a factor in the councils of the 
 College the clinic was no more than a feature of the 
 catalogue; an advantage that the school was reputed 
 to enjoy. Situated in the very heart of the most typical 
 of the great cities of America, less than two minutes' 
 walk from all surface terminals and within the loop of 
 the elevated systems, the Laflin College for the Eye 
 and Ear enjoys such was the word, enjoys through 
 its exceptional advantage of location the most impor- 
 tant adjunct of a medical institution, viz., a large clinic. 
 So said the catalogue. 
 
 Yet the " viz., a large clinic," when Doctor Bryson 
 was offered the position of surgeon-in-chief for the 
 Eye at the Laflin College, was like many catalogue an- 
 nouncements, viz., a large fiction. The large receiving- 
 room was there, the large medical staff was there, the 
 large body of students was there, but the misery there 
 was no misery. The problem was to get the misery. 
 
 " While I am sensible of the honor," said Henry 
 El wood Bryson, M.D., and fellow of many societies, 
 as he stood afterward paged in the Laflin catalogue, 
 '' while I am very sensible of the honor," he repeated 
 to the trustees when offered the highest position at 
 their disposal, " there are matters of policy to be con- 
 sidered that should be discussed rather frankly before 
 I venture on accepting it." 
 
 The most vital of these matters related to the clinic.
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 Doctor Bryson made known his position on this defi- 
 nitely and at once. " If I take the surgery of the eye," 
 he said in effect, '' it must be on this condition that 
 no student of the institution be permitted to touch the 
 eye of a clinic patient. Operations upon the eye, how- 
 ever slight, must be performed by the surgeons and 
 the assistant surgeons of the staff, and by them alone." 
 
 The position was radical. It must be considered that 
 the courses at the Laflin institution are post-graduate : 
 that every student is already a doctor of medicine. 
 " What will become of our classes ? " asked the trus- 
 tees, bewildered ; " they will quit school." Doctor Bry- 
 son was firm. " I don't want any student operating on 
 my eye," he contended ; " you, gentlemen, wouldn't 
 want one cutting into yours. Let the poor be assured 
 that there will be no experimenting in their distress 
 and we can work up a clinic here that will beat 
 Vienna." 
 
 The trustees cautiously misgave; Bryson stood out. 
 He was looked on as the coming man on this side ; they 
 really wanted him to take the chair ; moreover, the bait 
 he cast in his talk was attractive. It can be made to 
 beat Vienna, Doctor Bryson had said. To beat Vienna, 
 they well knew, would be to beat the world. How could 
 a board of Chicago trustees resist an attempt that 
 promised in any respect to beat the world? So say 
 you, said they at last, so let it be ; so it was. Doctor 
 Bryson accepted their chair. The new word went 
 forth; the clinic grew marvelously. 
 
 How could it be otherwise? The poor heard they 
 were no longer to be butchered to make a student holi- 
 day. They came, suspicious, for treatment ; they went 
 
 3
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 away reassured. The word passed; poverty also has 
 its freemasonry what binds closer than common ties 
 of distress? More came, and more, until soon at the 
 Laflin College there was misery to spare. Nor was 
 a student lost, for the student must follow the clinic; 
 he cannot lead it. And the clinic grew; grew until 
 the smooth, prosperous, alert, public-spirited trustee, 
 with his thin cigar, a mere quill of a cigar, and his 
 black coffee, and that easy indifference that the Chicago 
 trustee loves, could say, " It is I believe now the 
 largest in the world. Vienna? Yes " but ah, the 
 gentle, precise emphasis of that word. " Vienna ? 
 Yes; next." In Chicago much hangs on the word 
 "next." Are you first in the world or next? Be- 
 tween those extremes all lies favor, happiness, every- 
 thing. 
 
 Through the receiving-room passes also the various 
 business of the College and of its people. Patients of 
 members of the faculties come here to consult their 
 doctors because the situation is central, and the busi- 
 ness man, pressed for time, finds it convenient to run 
 in for hasty consultation. Some of the faculty have 
 their private offices at the college; during the busy 
 hours of the day it is easier to find them here than on 
 State Street. All this traffic, the private patients for 
 the doctors, the public patients for the clinics, the 
 callers on business, and those seeking business, are 
 sorted in the receiving-room and directed to their 
 seeking. 
 
 This is done by a woman a woman, because no man 
 could hope successfully to handle the stream of people 
 whose feet cross the College threshold. Men have 
 
 4
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 tried and failed. To tell the canvasser from the one 
 that is entitled to admission, the prospecting fiend from 
 the man of business, the one that pays from the one 
 that does not pay, in a word, the sheep from the goats 
 who for this but a woman? And of women, who 
 like Miss Martin? 
 
 Miss Martin sits in the chair behind the table that 
 commands the double doors. Her position visibly 
 threatens the intruder. To the peddler it is a menace ; 
 to the unfortunate it is a barrier ; to the prosperous, a 
 clearing house. Miss Martin, in the language of the 
 lodge, is the inner guard; she is paid to shield busy 
 men. It is her business to welcome the unfortunate 
 whose lot it is to wait and to wait, and to see that the 
 man with the check book who calls brusquely for his 
 doctor gets him without delay. She has her assistants, 
 assistants for the several clinics and for the private 
 offices ; she has her typewriter ; she has the messenger 
 calls, the college calls, the telephones. She is tall, fair 
 of face, and dark of hair and eyes and dress. Lips thin- 
 nish,but ruddy, like lips that breed hemorrhages. Teeth 
 white and regular. Placid, alive, intelligent, she is one 
 that can listen calmly to sorrowful things; unmoved 
 to startling things ; marblelike to awful things. In her 
 mental attitude Miss Martin is, in a word, never 
 " next " on any proposition ; she is " first " always, 
 whether it be on " The World's Greatest Living Ar- 
 tists " in twenty-four volumes, a modified tontine in the 
 form of an annuity bond, a malingering damage case 
 done in very old clothes or a really malignant trachoma 
 in a visitor from Southern Illinois. She is informed 
 on the essential advantages of the true Delsarte, differ- 
 
 5
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 entiating it clearly from the false, and can pass rapidly 
 on the points of a military corset should one imperti- 
 nently be presented during business hours. At this 
 moment she was talking to a lady with a little girl. 
 
 The long rows of chairs in the receiving-room were 
 filled with waiting patients disposed in the silently 
 miserable attitudes that mark the suffering that is 
 dumb. At the several doors of the operating-rooms 
 for the eye, the ear, and the nose and throat, ushers 
 called at intervals by number for clinic cards. At each 
 call the lines stirred and, followed by all eyes that still 
 could see, a patient stumbled forward and handed in 
 his red ticket at the eye-door or his blue ticket at the 
 ear-door or his green ticket at the nose-and-throat- 
 door. As he disappeared through the portal, heads 
 subsided into hands, shawls and mufflers, and the re- 
 ceiving-room buzzed low again with the murmur of 
 silence. It was long past the luncheon hour, and the 
 lady in black with the little girl stood before flVIiss 
 Martin's table. 
 
 She was a patient lady, young herself, and the little 
 girl did not look above eight. " Do you think," asked 
 the mother, " there will be any use of my waiting 
 longer to-day ? " 
 
 She had been waiting since half-past eleven o'clock ; 
 it was now after two. Miss Martin was puzzled, be- 
 cause she knew her to be a patient of Doctor Kurd's. 
 She had been of late a frequent caller with this little 
 girl, who, Miss Martin understood, was going blind. 
 But if Doctor Kurd had given her an appointment at 
 the College why hadn't he kept it ? Doctor Kurd never 
 let profitable patients escape he was the last man in 
 
 6
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 the College to do that. Astute as she was, women some- 
 times gave Miss Martin pause. A woman can tell 
 whether a man can pay; but who can answer for a 
 woman? Provided her affections are not involved no 
 man can deceive a woman; but a woman may. This 
 lady, this Mrs. Eliot for instance, her face when she 
 first began to call had been bright and the poise of her 
 head spoke confidence. Latterly her manner showed 
 depression, anxiety and her doctor, one of the leading 
 surgeons of the College and the town, acted as if he 
 were at least indifferent; it occurred to Miss Martin 
 that the business could not be very good. She made 
 no allowance for hours spent in the depression of the 
 receiving-room, being herself used to that. When she 
 had gone out for luncheon Mrs. Eliot was waiting; 
 when she returned, refreshed by coffee and chicken pie 
 at the Women's Exchange, and by the whirl and the 
 sun of two blocks of State Street, Mrs. Eliot was still 
 waiting Doctor Kurd most unaccountably hadn't 
 come. If he had cared very much for his patient's 
 comfort, Miss Martin decided, he would have come. 
 If he was indifferent she could not well afford en- 
 thusiasm ; her apologies were vague. 
 
 " I don't know, really; I should hardly look for the 
 doctor now before three o'clock. You might " ven- 
 tured Miss Martin, relenting, doubtfully, " go out and 
 get your lunch." 
 
 " But if he came in and went away again I should 
 miss him." Miss Martin could not gainsay it. 
 
 The little girl, a tot with babyish eyes and brown 
 curls, listened at her mother's side. The fingers of one 
 fat hand wandered over the row of push-buttons along 
 
 7
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 the side of the table. Miss Martin, smiling, put her 
 hand away; children around desks are troublesome. 
 Mrs. Eliot, balancing chances, looked appealingly at 
 the clock, which professed to be corrected daily by the 
 Western Union Telegraph Company ; but beyond the 
 pointed statement that it was half -past two, the clock, 
 slave to a corporation, could suggest nothing. Give 
 up, Mrs. Eliot felt she could not; she led the child 
 back to the chairs. 
 
 " When shall we go, mamma? " asked the little one 
 as they sat down. 
 
 " Pretty soon, Ruth." 
 
 " Mamma," whispered Ruth, with the pause of a 
 child, " I'm hungry." 
 
 " Yes, dearie ; pretty soon we'll go." 
 
 After another pause, " Mamma, I want a drink." 
 Rising, her mother led her across the room to the 
 water-cooler. 
 
 " Let me hold the cup, mamma. Oh, mamma, I can 
 see a cloud around the cup," cried Ruth, taking the 
 mug in her hand. 
 
 " Can you, dearie ? " asked her mother, with mechan- 
 ical sadness. 
 
 " Can you, blue eyes ? " echoed a voice behind them. 
 A surgeon who had just come in stood at Mrs. Eliot's 
 elbow. He repeated his question to Ruth, " Can you 
 see a cloud ? " 
 
 Ruth did not venture reply. " Don't do it, don't see 
 any clouds," said the strange gentleman, pinching her 
 chin mildly. 
 
 " Oh, do not drink out of that," he exclaimed, with 
 apprehension, as Mrs. Eliot filled the cup. He opened 
 
 8
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 the door of a cabinet just above the cooler and took 
 down a thin tumbler. " Use this. Let me help you." 
 He filled the glass, and, smiling, gave it to Ruth. 
 When Ruth had finished he asked her mother with 
 .deference whether she would drink. Declining, she 
 thanked him and he filled the glass for himself. He 
 was young, the deferential gentleman; smooth-faced 
 and tall. He was quick and easy in movement ; nervous 
 energy flowed from his finger-tips. 
 
 While he stood drinking the water the main door 
 flew open and a second surgeon hurried into the room. 
 His step was brisk and heavy. He was stocky in 
 figure, his neck short and ruddy, and his manner abrupt. 
 He looked around the room hurriedly, saw Mrs. Eliot 
 and bobbed forward. His eyes were very bright, his 
 cheeks newly shaven around a black mustache, and 
 his hair, which was straight and thick and black, 
 burst, as he took off his hat, aggressively from his 
 forehead. 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Eliot, how do you do ? " he exclaimed, 
 with the cordial emphasis that simulates sincerity. " I 
 am afraid I have kept you waiting." A protest that 
 would not sink in her eyes he choked down with an 
 apology. " A sudden illness of one of the staff over at 
 the hospital put me in the harness for three hours. I 
 telephoned the College here. Miss Martin, didn't you 
 get my message for Mrs. Eliot? What? Why, I 
 don't understand that. I stood right by the girl while 
 she was 'phoning it. However step right this way, 
 Mrs. Eliot. Ruth, how do you do to-day? Not very 
 well ? Why, I'm sorry. Come with me. By the way, 
 
 9
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 doctor," he added, speaking to the tall young man who 
 had by this time crossed to the lockers, " I've got a 
 case here I'd like you to look at in a minute " The 
 one addressed as doctor was taking off his coat. " I 
 shall be in my office," he replied. 
 
 10
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE Miss Borderlys' meant more than the Misses 
 Borderly. It meant besides three old maids, 
 three brick houses and a stone house, communicating 
 and adjoining, situated on a lower southside avenue. 
 
 The Miss Borderlys' meant an establishment and a 
 very considerable one conducted by the Misses Bor- 
 derly. There was Miss Mary Borderly, who was Miss 
 Borderly proper, and Miss Anna, and Miss June 
 Borderly, who might be described as Miss Borderly 
 improper. The first and eldest stood for dignity. She 
 was like her bill of fare, plumply generous, but within 
 bounds. She sat during meals on a dais in the dining- 
 room and, what was of first importance to the establish- 
 ment, was " strictly business." The next sister, Miss 
 Anna, was in no respect notable except that without 
 having them she continually gave the impression of 
 weak eyes. This may have been mere apathy; her 
 sisters overshadowed her, the older, Mi'ss Mary, with 
 her dignity; the younger, Miss June, with her pro- 
 fanity. 
 
 Miss June Borderly supplied in the trio of old maids 
 the sporting element. When taxed with her iniquities 
 she would frankly say, " Well, I never had any broth- 
 ers the meanness that belonged by rights to boys in 
 our family all stuck to me. But I'm up, just the same," 
 she would add, defiantly, if the game was poker, " and 
 
 II
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 you're not, Mr. Mitchell ; nor you either, John C. My 
 ante is there every time." 
 
 And there it certainly could be found if there was a 
 game anywhere under the roof. Miss June was tall, 
 exceedingly tall, with a face of unusual length. Her 
 face was uncompromisingly plain, her brows arched 
 high most of the time at the world's wickedness, and 
 she had one large, cold, gray, weeping eye. Her other 
 eye was large and cold and reasonably gray, but it did 
 not transfix like its mournful mate. Mr. Bowles, of the 
 Annex set, who was a newspaper man and wrote for 
 the funny papers, called the main eye Miss June's 
 April; but all the same when it was poker if April 
 clouded he anted at once. 
 
 Gambling was a propensity of Miss June's for which 
 she offered no apology. It never went above penny 
 ante or euchre for a prize, yet it was a mania ; as dis- 
 tinctly one as if she had belonged to the Board of 
 Trade. Nor was gambling her only failing; she 
 swayed at times perceptibly toward strong language, 
 and if there is such a thing as being an ethical drunk- 
 ard or going on a moral spree Miss June will be ulti- 
 mately held, I fear, for some excess of the sort. She 
 was certainly at all times inclined to skepticism in re- 
 ligious matters and she had periods of unbelief that 
 were no less than immoderate. 
 
 It will easily be understood that in Miss Borderlys' 
 June was a factor. She looked after the gas bills, 
 hired and discharged the servants, and took what she 
 herself termed frankly the kicks. The intending kicker 
 was instinctively awed by Miss Mary's dignity; Anna 
 was apathetic to complaints; but the boarder with a 
 
 12
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 grievance could get an interview with Miss June any- 
 where, at any time, on any subject connected with the 
 establishment. If her sad eye encouraged a stranger 
 to begin a disturbance it acted after the discussion was 
 fairly under way as a peacemaker something on the 
 principle of a machine gun. 
 
 Beyond this tendency to occasional man or woman- 
 slaughter, to which she could properly plead self-de- 
 fense, Miss June performed the office of comforter and 
 gossip at Borderlys'. She heard, I do not say believed, 
 the many tales of woe within the gates, and she merci- 
 fully kept the brick houses, which constituted the ple- 
 beian end of the establishment, informed as to the do- 
 ings of the Annex set, the aristocrats who occupied the 
 big stone-front and made up the exclusive end of the 
 big dining-room. 
 
 Yet Miss June could tell much and leave much un- 
 told, saving, perhaps, as to the depravity of cooks ; on 
 that subject she cultivated no reserve. It was half- 
 past three o'clock when Mrs. Eliot got back to the 
 boarding-house with Ruth. She rang at the north 
 basement door; Miss June answered the bell. The 
 double doors leading from the hall to the dining-room 
 were closed. 
 
 " We are too late for luncheon, aren't we ? " ven- 
 tured Mrs. Eliot, looking with a touch of appeal into 
 Miss June's tall face. June's brows and voice rose to- 
 gether. 
 
 " Lunch ? My grief ! It's half-past three o'clock ! " 
 she exclaimed, like a firecracker. 
 
 " I know," broke in Mrs. Eliot, appeasingly, " it is 
 too late, of course. Oh, we were kept so, waiting." 
 
 13
 
 Doctor Brjrson 
 
 "Can't I have something, mamma?" whispered 
 Ruth, clinging to her skirt. 
 
 " Hush, dear," said her mother, taking her hand, 
 " dinner will be ready pretty soon. Come." 
 
 If there was one thing June Borderly had a horror 
 of, so she said, it was children. She said this of chil- 
 dren and of cooks and of gas companies. In June 
 Borderly's inferno for these offenders there will be ex- 
 clusive pits. Oddly enough, June reversed the usual 
 beginnings of doubt; she found no difficulty in believ- 
 ing in hell ; it was only concerning heaven that she re- 
 mained unconvinced. She stood a moment looking in- 
 dignantly after Mrs. Eliot as the troubled lady soothed 
 and hurried Ruth upstairs. June might have been im- 
 precating. Her attitude was profane at all events, and 
 there was a vague anathema in her eye. 
 
 The stairs were heavy and with empty stomachs they 
 were hard to climb. Mrs. Eliot's room was at the rear 
 of the hall on the second floor. She closed the door 
 behind her just as Ruth's patience broke softly into 
 sobs ; she was very tired and very hungry. Her mother 
 took off her little reefer jacket and hat and tried to 
 quiet her sobs, but she made a poor attempt, for her 
 own heart was troubled. Taking Ruth at last in her 
 arms, she rocked her till the hunger was forgotten, then 
 tiptoed with her over to the bed. Supporting her on 
 one arm, she pulled back the spread, laid her down and 
 lay down beside her. Ruth turned uneasily, sobbing a 
 little yet in her sleep. At length she threw her head on 
 her mother's arm and lay quiet. Mrs. Eliot's eyes were 
 fixed on the ceiling where flyspecked roses in plaster 
 of paris hung about a three-burner chandelier. The 
 
 14
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 room had once been part of a home ; it was now part of 
 a house. A knock at the door interrupted her reflec- 
 tions. Ruth started uneasily as her mother rose. It 
 was Miss June, indefinably tall in the gloom and in- 
 definably threatening. She walked solemnly in with a 
 flaring glass of milk and a plate of crackers. At the 
 vision Ruth's eyes opened and she sat up. June 
 marched over to the bed and put the tray in her lap. 
 
 " Oh, Miss June, you shouldn't have taken this 
 trouble," said Mrs. Eliot, softly. 
 
 " Children are eternal trouble, I know that ; you 
 can't tell me anything about children; I know 'em." 
 She sat down on the side of the bed and looked at 
 Ruth Eliot as a monster hovering over a victim med- 
 itates mildly. Presently she turned on the mother, who 
 had hardly recovered her breath. 
 
 " Sit down," she said, peremptorily ; " what's the 
 matter ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Oh, yes there is." After a pause, " You're in 
 trouble " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Yes you are. You can't fool me. What've you 
 been crying about? I've got as many troubles as any- 
 body in Chicago. 1 don't cry." 
 
 Her main eye, April, shone moist and searching on 
 Ruth's mother; her good eye was non-committal, but 
 there was a note in her voice from somewhere near the 
 heart. It didn't need much to win the weary woman's 
 confidence just then ; she was heavy. 
 
 " I haven't been crying, but I feel like crying." 
 
 " Then why don't you cry ? It'll do you more good 
 
 IS
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 than anything else when you feel like it. I cry like 
 fury sometimes." 
 
 " Ruth's eye the one that was injured I told you 
 about it" 
 
 " What's the matter is it worse ? " 
 
 Mrs. Eliot nodded impressively and shook her head 
 mournfully, looking toward Ruth. Ruth, too, looked 
 grave and buried the blue offender deep in the glass 
 of milk. 
 
 " Some terrible disease has followed the inflamma- 
 tion." 
 
 " How did her eye get hurt ?" 
 
 " A little boy shot a ball out of a Roman candle at 
 her on the Fourth of July and it struck her in the eye. 
 Oh, what a Fourth of July that was. Now she may 
 lose the eye." 
 
 Mrs. Eliot spoke under repression, but what it cost 
 her to speak was written in her face. " Since I have 
 been told I can hardly think," she struggled on. " Isn't 
 it a terrible dream ? In Evanston I had her under the 
 care of our own physician. Then they told me I must 
 go to an oculist, and my friends said Doctor Kurd was 
 the best. When he saw her he said I had waited too 
 long. I have to take Ruth down every other day and 
 sometimes we have to wait so for him, and he is so 
 busy. Sometimes he seems to me almost indifferent. 
 Delay and anxiety and expense the expense is fear- 
 ful. Doctor Kurd's time is in great demand, of 
 course. 
 
 " He makes you think so," blurted June. 
 
 " Do you know him ? " 
 
 " Kurd ? " exclaimed June, gutturally fierce and with 
 16
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 impressive pause, " I guess I do. He used to board 
 here." Mrs. Eliot dimly conceived what that meant. 
 
 " Did he ? " she echoed, feebly. 
 
 " This wasn't good enough for him. He thought he 
 could get his name up quicker by going to some swell 
 hotel. So your friends told you he was the best, did 
 they? You go to the Apostle's Memorial, don't you? 
 Ah-ha ; he's the big man up there." 
 
 " He is Doctor Batterly's oculist." 
 
 " Of course," assented June, with rapidly lighting 
 face, " that makes him the big man in the church, don't 
 it? But he ain't the best, my dear madam, not by a 
 long shot. D'you know why he's always so busy when 
 you're waiting? Because you're not a big swell, with 
 a carriage and footman, that can turn business to him 
 that's why. Kurd ? I guess I know him. You'll chase 
 that man until you are blind for all he'll worry about it. 
 Doctor Kurd is out for the stuff, and you're only a 
 music-teacher and earn your living. Don't you sup- 
 pose he knows it ? " demanded June with a show of 
 force. 
 
 Mrs. Eliot took the empty glass and plate from Ruth. 
 " He says an operation will have to be performed," she 
 responded, " or she may lose " 
 
 " Lose her eye?" 
 
 A " Both eyes," sobbed Mrs. Eliot, breaking down at 
 last. 
 
 " My godfrey ! I'll bet," exclaimed June, rallying 
 unsteadily, " he's only trying to scare you. What kind 
 of an operation ? " 
 
 " Oh, I couldn't understand it at all." 
 
 " That means five hundred dollars," observed June 
 
 17
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 grimly. " When he gets you where you don't under- 
 stand things, then look out. It means five hundred 
 dollars." 
 
 " Oh, June, don't say that." 
 
 " Five hundred dollars to a thousand. He wanted 
 to operate on my eye the old fraud." June shook 
 her head defiantly at the recollection. 
 
 Ruth threw her face into her mother's lap. Though 
 she suffered constant pain, she complained little. That 
 was why people in the house thought her such a queer 
 little, girl. " My dearie, my dearie," murmured her 
 mother, clasping her. " What will become of you and 
 me?" 
 
 " Why didn't you tell me in the first place how bad 
 it was ? " demanded June, indignantly. " I could have 
 told you what to do. The best eye doctor in Chicago 
 lives right in this house ; he's lived here for three years. 
 He don't have to chase into high-toned churches and 
 board at swell hotels to get business. He stays right 
 here he's over in the Annex and he's forgot more 
 about eyes than Doctor Kurd '11 ever know. Well, he 
 has ; and he's got more heart than Doctor Kurd Eas 
 cheek and that's saying a good deal, the Lord knows." 
 
 "Who is he, June?" 
 
 " Doctor Bryson." 
 
 "Bryson?" 
 
 " Yes, Henry Bryson. Why ? Do you know him ?" 
 
 " No, but haven't I heard the name ? " 
 
 " Like enough. I guess everybody's heard it. He is 
 in the Laflin College." 
 
 " That is where I must have heard it." 
 18
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " You ought to hear it there. He's the smartest man 
 in the whole institution." 
 
 " I remember. Doctor Kurd has spoken of him." 
 " He didn't tell you that Bryson was there, did he ? 
 I guess not. He didn't tell you he boarded here, did 
 he ? I guess not. Kurd is one of the professors there, 
 and Bryson is the professor; that's all the difference. 
 Swell churches and hotels don't count down there, let 
 me tell you. It's business, you bet. Mrs. Eliot, you're 
 a goose, running after that man Kurd. He's looking 
 for big patients that's the reason he's so busy. If 
 you'd told me I could have put you on the right track 
 in half an hour. I'd have had Doctor Bryson look at 
 her eye then you'd know what the matter is." 
 
 " Do you suppose he would look at her eye, Miss 
 June?" 
 
 " He would if I said so. Oh, you needn't be afraid. 
 I know what I'm talking about. I nursed him through 
 pneumonia once and he said he'd have died if it hadn't 
 been for me." 
 
 " But if he is such a celebrated doctor I could never 
 pay his fees. I can hardly keep up with Doctor Kurd." 
 
 " You jtist wait till I see him and have a little talk 
 with him after dinner. Just brace up. I know what 
 I'm talking about and I know him." 
 
 When everything looks desperate any confidence is 
 reassuring. There was fire in June's words ; when she 
 took the tray and left the room she left a glimmer of 
 hope. 
 
 Dinner at Miss Borderlys' is served at six o'clock. 
 Ten tables are set and three items of the bill of fare are 
 always good: the roast beef, the coffee, and the ice-
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 cream. Moreover, they are served in abundance. Of 
 the ten tables eight are as to occupancy interchangeable. 
 Two tables in the south end of the dining-room, which 
 is made up of four basements thrown together, are ex- 
 clusive. They are the Annex tables, and they belong 
 to the aristocrats of the establishment, those that oc- 
 cupy the brown-stone house. At the Annex tables 
 custom at dinner tolerates full dress. It is not dis- 
 couraged by Miss Mary Borderly, for it gives tone to 
 the dining-room. Then, the eight tablefuls like to 
 affect contempt for the habit, while they themselves 
 dine on an equality with it. 
 
 Mrs. Eliot and Ruth had seats in the lesser light of 
 the north end, where the Annex set was known only by 
 reputation. June Borderly, not ordinarily visible at 
 dinner-time, appeared that night after the meats were 
 served and betrayed some air of responsibility. She 
 talked a few moments on the dais with Miss Mary and 
 talked at the sideboards, where the head- waitresses 
 marshaled the reserves of fruits and nuts, and all the 
 while watched the Annex tables, in especial the head 
 table, and when after dessert two young men rose she 
 wound through the aisles and intercepted them at the 
 south entrance. 
 
 " Doctor, where are you going so fast ? " she asked of 
 the taller of the two. 
 
 " I ? Nowhere. It's John C. that's going to-night," 
 replied the doctor, catching his companion by the arm. 
 " He has a date. Think of that, Miss June ; John C. 
 with a date." 
 
 " I want to see you." 
 
 " You may ; but it will cost you money." 
 
 20
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " I don't care. You can go, Mr. Allison." 
 
 " Thank you," said the doctor's companion, amiably. 
 Miss June walked upstairs with them. " Doctor," she 
 began when Allison left them at the reception-room, 
 " I want you to do something for me." 
 
 " What shall it be ? " asked the doctor, crossing his 
 legs as he sat down in front of her. " Is it quick ?" 
 
 " I don't know whether it is or not. I want you to 
 look at a little girl's eyes for me." 
 
 " That's easy. When and where ? " 
 
 " Now just hold on ; don't be so fast. This little 
 thing is the dearest child you ever saw in your life. 
 She is right here in the house, and you can look at her 
 eyes now if you will." 
 
 " I will." 
 
 " Haven't you honestly anything to do? " 
 
 "If you wait till I've nothing to do, my opinion on 
 anybody's eyes won't count. Bring her up to the 
 room. Is she at dinner ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Bring her up." 
 
 " Shall I bring her mother too? " 
 
 " As you like. I shan't eat her up." 
 
 " But, doctor" 
 
 "Well doctor what?" 
 
 " They haven't very much money." 
 
 " Miss June, is this a conspiracy ? " 
 
 " You won't be short with her, will you ? " 
 
 " I never have been short with any friends of yours, 
 have I ? " June struck her hands together with a look 
 of triumph. " We'll be up." 
 
 21
 
 DOCTOR BRYSON, with his friend John C. Alli- 
 son, had the front rooms on the second floor of 
 the Annex. They had in the two suites a large living- 
 room, their den, and besides the separate bedrooms 
 the doctor had an apartment over the hall 
 which he used as a sort of office. It was 
 at the door of this that Miss June, her 
 friends in convoy, knocked a few minutes later. The 
 little room was lighted by a student lamp, green- 
 shaded, that threw Bryson up, tall and slender, as he 
 opened the door. As he bowed, Mrs. Eliot got a look at 
 him it was the young surgeon of the water-cooler at 
 the college. His face was grave and his manner cor- 
 dial. After introduction to her mother he held out 
 both his hands to Ruth and took her in with him. The 
 office was simply provided. A table supported some 
 shelves of books. On the opposite wall hung an en- 
 graving of " The Doctor." The floor was laid in par- 
 quetry; two or three chairs and a pair of revolving 
 stools made up the equipment. When the visitors were 
 installed and the doctor sat easily on a stool, their heads 
 were brought close together; the room was small. 
 
 " You sit here, Ruth," suggested Doctor Bryson, 
 confidentially, placing her on the other stool. " Then, 
 while they are talking, we can talk. Now, which is the 
 sick eye ? This one ? " He drew Ruth's stool closer to 
 the lamp and laid one hand on her curls. His thumb 
 
 22
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 touched her right upper eyelid, and, moving the lamp 
 a little as he did so, he drew the eyelid far back. 
 
 " There has been some inflammation here," he ob- 
 served, without looking up. 
 
 " Yes, doctor," said Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 " Some external injury." 
 
 " She was struck in the eye last Fourth of July by a 
 ball from a Roman candle, doctor, and her eye became 
 terribly inflamed." 
 
 With a murmur of assent, still inspecting the cornea, 
 he asked other questions. Presently he drew Ruth 
 closer. " How was your roast beef at dinner to-night, 
 Ruth? Tough?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Real tough ? " 
 
 Mrs. Eliot looked startled. " You outrageous man ! " 
 protested June, vehemently. Doctor Bryson covered 
 Ruth's left eye with a blotter and held the fingers of 
 his right hand up and back. 
 
 " How many fingers can you count, Ruth ? " 
 
 " Three, sir." 
 
 " How many now ? " 
 
 " Two." 
 
 " Hold this before your left eye," he enjoined, giv- 
 ing her the pad as he rose and stepped back from her. 
 " How many now ? " 
 
 " One, sir." 
 
 " How many now ? " he asked, receding with each 
 question. 
 
 " Three ; no, four." 
 
 "Now?" 
 
 " One."
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 "Now?" 
 
 " Not any." He was holding up three, but he stopped 
 and said, " Very good, Ruth." June, while saying 
 nothing, thought it very bad. Sitting down, he pressed 
 lightly on the upper lid of the sick eye with the fore- 
 fingers of each hand, and began asking questions very 
 rapidly of her mother as to the severity and duration 
 of the first attack, the subsequent pain, the general con- 
 dition of the child's health many questions, which 
 June could not see bore on the issue at all. Then the 
 doctor resumed with Ruth. 
 
 " Did you have ice-cream for dinner? " he asked, in- 
 sinuatingly, holding her cheeks in his hands. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Do you see anything around the light, Ruth ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " I can see a rainbow." 
 
 " Did you have two dishes of ice-cream, Ruth ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " It's a shame the way they starve little girls here ; 
 you come to my table and sit next to me and you shall 
 have two. Does that hurt very much, Ruth ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir." 
 
 " That's all. You're a brave little chick. And you 
 have sweet eyes ; but one is very, very sick. The right 
 eye is in bad condition, Mrs. Eliot." 
 
 " What's the matter with it, doctor ? " demanded 
 June. 
 
 " Glaucoma." 
 
 "What's glaucoma?" 
 
 24
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 He looked wryly at her. " A very troublesome 
 thing." 
 
 " Can't you do anything for it ? " asked June, bluntly. 
 
 " Something may be done for it," he answered, slow- 
 ly. " We can't always say whether what is done will 
 do any good.'' 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you the whole story if you want to 
 hear it," broke in June, with her accustomed spirit. 
 The doctor's manner gave the impression that, while 
 not vitally interested, he was at least too courteous to 
 dissuade her, and June did not wait for encouragement. 
 " Mrs. Eliot has been taking Ruth to Doctor Kurd ; 
 she never heard of you " 
 
 Doctor Bryson looked quizzically at Mrs. Eliot. 
 " The embarrassment is only mine." 
 
 " I am beginning to think it is mine, doctor," she in- 
 terposed, with a little pathetic smile. 
 
 " Well, you know how I like Kurd," stormed June. 
 
 " How do you like him, Ruth ? " asked the doctor, in 
 his confidential way. 
 
 " I don't like him. We have to wait so long. I get 
 so hungry." 
 
 " And I told her mother it is because she isn't a big 
 bug riding around in a carriage that he's always so 
 busy, and I told her / had a friend " 
 
 "That was the smartest man in Chicago," inter- 
 rupted the doctor. 
 
 " and I wanted him to see the eye," continued 
 June, unabashed, " and say just what he thought of it. 
 And that if he would take the case he could do more 
 than all the other " Doctor Bryson groaned. " I 
 
 25
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 don't care," blurted June, " I said more than all the 
 other doctors in the United States." 
 
 " I hope you know her," observed the doctor to Mrs. 
 Eliot. 
 
 " I know her heart," returned Mrs. Eliot. " But, 
 doctor," and she spoke now with something that 
 pleaded for sincerity, " would you tell me what you 
 think just what you think of it ? " It was a hard tone 
 to escape from. He did not for a moment reply. " It 
 would be such a relief to have your judgment," she 
 added, watching his face. 
 
 " If I could be sure it would be a relief," he an- 
 swered. " I like to be frank. On the other hand," he 
 continued after a pause, " I am in a delicate position. 
 Kurd is on our staff. This is his case, and it is a grave 
 one. I may say, though, that I have seen the eye twice 
 before." 
 
 " You have ? " exclaimed the women together. 
 
 " Once before to-day," he added, " but that was in 
 my office. Ruth wouldn't remember." 
 
 " I remember, sir." 
 
 " You do do you remember ? " 
 
 "Why, you little skit, why didn't you say so?" 
 cried June. 
 
 " Ruth doesn't tell all she knows," interposed the 
 doctor, putting his hand on her head. She looked up 
 at him an instant, questioningly, twisted her fingers to- 
 gether, slid off her stool, and sidled childishly between 
 his long legs. If he was a bit startled he concealed it. 
 She got as close to him as she could and looked then 
 contentedly over at June and at her mother ; it was the 
 confidence of a child. Doctor Bryson put an arm 
 
 26
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 around Ruth and bent down to her. " Kurd," he said, 
 looking at Ruth and weighing his words, " asked my 
 opinion to-day." 
 
 " What did you say ? " asked June. 
 
 " He asked my opinion about an iridectomy. He has 
 been trying to pull the iris down with eserine " 
 
 "What's an iridectomy, doctor?" demanded June. 
 
 " Didn't Kurd explain ? " asked Bryson, looking at 
 Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 " He spoke of an operation, but he did not explain." 
 
 " Explain ! " said June, savagely. " Oh, he's too 
 busy. I explained it meant five hundred dollars before 
 she got through. Now you tell us all about what it is, 
 doctor." 
 
 " An iridectomy is a delicate and complicated opera- 
 tion to open up the drainage canal of the eye and re- 
 lieve the excessive interior pressure." 
 
 " Doctor," exclaimed June, impulsively, " you do it 
 will you ? " 
 
 Bryson squirmed. His demur was evident. " Kurd 
 is a perfectly competent and skilled operator " 
 
 " Operator granny. I wouldn't let him operate on 
 a cat." 
 
 " Nonsense, Miss June." 
 
 " I know it is your good heart," interposed Mrs. 
 Eliot, addressing June, " but we have no right to im- 
 pose on Doctor Bryson. I would not embarrass you in 
 any way, doctor. Only my own bewilderment has led 
 me to intrude on your kindness " 
 
 " I take the responsibility," said June, defiantly. " If 
 I'd known her eye was so bad before, I'd have brought 
 
 27
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 her over here before. You didn't tell me," she said, 
 turning to Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 " I haven't any right to lay all my troubles at your 
 door, June." 
 
 " I don't care," snapped June, tossing her head with 
 gathering spirit. " When it comes to saving an eye for 
 a little angel like that child this whole darned boarding 
 house ought to turn out and do something. My god- 
 f rey ! I'd just like to know how many times I've car- 
 ried meals up and down these stairs for women that 
 wasn't half as sick as I was all the time I was waiting 
 on them. I'd like to know how many times I've helped 
 men to their rooms when they couldn't tell a bell-boy 
 from a beer stein," she stormed, with rising indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 " Now, Miss June," begged Bryson, dryly, " don't 
 expose us in that way." 
 
 " Yes I have, and you know it better than anybody 
 else ! " 
 
 " Oh, heavens," cried the doctor, " are you going to 
 make me out a public drunkard ? " 
 
 " You know what I mean. You know how these 
 fellows carry on. You know what Huntington and 
 Bowles are you've helped straighten 'em out yourself 
 often enough, I guess." 
 
 " And you put mustard plasters on me one night till 
 I couldn't wear anything but vaseline for a week," re- 
 torted Bryson. " That is true, Mrs. Eliot. She did 
 save me one night and ever since I've barely had the 
 life of a dog." 
 
 " Now, I say when we're doing such things all the 
 28
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 time for a lot of good-for-nothings that everybody's 
 got to do all they can for this child/' 
 
 " Everybody, meaning me," murmured Bryson. 
 
 " Oh, Miss June," protested Mrs. Eliot in confusion. 
 
 June twisted her head. " Well, it wouldn't be the 
 first time I've meant you, doctor. Nor the first time 
 you've come up to scratch, either. Give the devil his 
 due." 
 
 " Thank you for the association of ideas." 
 
 " Now, doctor," June did not weaken for a moment, 
 " look at that child. She's cuddling up there to you out 
 of downright pure instinct. She knows you can save 
 her it's as plain as my face. Don't " she waved at 
 Mrs. Eliot, who strove to interrupt. " Doctor, you're 
 going to do it. You know you can do as you please 
 down there. You can fix it somehow to get rid of 
 Kurd and you do that iribotamy you said, yourself 
 now, will you ? '' 
 
 June had outdone her best; she paused silenced by 
 her own eloquence. Mrs. Eliot couldn't speak; the 
 doctor didn't seem to want to. Ruth looked into his 
 face; it was the appeal of silence. 
 
 " Do you hear what she said, Ruth? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " What do you say ? " She pressed closer to him. 
 " What do you say to all that? " 
 
 She looked into his face, and her almost sightless 
 eye, its blue stretched wide and helpless, struck him 
 hard. She hesitated, squirmed, looked away and looked 
 at him again. " I love you, doctor," she whispered. 
 
 " You do, you little darling ? " he cried, surprised. 
 " You do? Well, I'll never go back on a girl that loves 
 
 29
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 me. You're the first girl that ever told me that in my 
 life. Yes, you are " 
 
 " He never gave me a chance to express my feel- 
 ings," muttered June, with an April wink at Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 " Come in here and see my big bear, Ruth," ex- 
 claimed Bryson, taking her by the shoulder. " Show 
 her the bear, Miss June." 
 
 " Come on, Ruth," cried June, " this is a bigger bear 
 than he is. There's nothing like logic, is there, doc- 
 tor ? " she added, taking Ruth with a backward glance 
 of triumph. 
 
 " Nothing like your logic, certainly. It's the worst 
 I ever saw," replied Bryson. 
 
 " I am afraid," interposed Mrs. Eliot, guarding her 
 gratitude with low tones, " I can never justify myself 
 in coming to you in this way. It is all so unexpected 
 circumstances have seemed to run away with me " 
 
 " A little bit with all of us, I guess," Bryson cut in 
 good-naturedly. " No matter, we will make the best 
 of them now. I will do what I can, at least. But I 
 ought to say that in my opinion Kurd can do every- 
 thing I can the chances are not favorable for either of 
 us." She looked quickly at him. It was as if she had 
 words to say, but checked herself; he paused as if to 
 ask for them. 
 
 " If I may be quite frank, doctor, failure would be 
 easier to bear if you made the attempt than if Doctor 
 Kurd made it." 
 
 " Will you walk into the den ? " 
 
 " If I am not able to pay you all at once for your 
 services, doctor," she ventured, pausing in front of 
 
 30
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 septics, plain in the receiving-room, was strong in the 
 office. 
 
 The major operations in the morning eye clinic were 
 over; the assistants were making ready for the last. 
 They were preparing a woman, a very little, very old 
 woman, for the table. Her daughter, herself a gray- 
 haired woman, was with her and was helping. She 
 was quite docile, the old one, as they made her ready. 
 Once she put her hand on the arm of the nurse who 
 was pinning her hair into a linen towel. " Bitte et- 
 was Wasser," she murmured. But the head nurse 
 whispered to the daughter to bid her mother wait, and 
 the little old woman, quite patient, waited. 
 
 In the ante-room Bryson had slipped out of his coat 
 again and into his gown. A man and a woman sitting 
 in front of the table got up and walked in to where he 
 stood preparing for the operation. The man's right 
 eye was bandaged heavily and the left one closed ; the 
 woman led him. 
 
 " Doctor," began the man, irresolutely, " ain't it pos- 
 sible no way to save it, don't you think ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I talked yesterday with a doctor over at the In- 
 firmary he thought maybe there might be a show to 
 save it." 
 
 " You had better let him handle it then." 
 
 " I've been thinking," the man went on in a broken 
 way, " I'd better have it taken out the way you said 
 but the woman, doctor she can't hardly stand me 
 losing th' eye." 
 
 He was a laborer, his hands big and gnarled. He 
 wore a canvas coat, a cotton shirt, a pair of overalls. 
 
 33
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 His feet were in coarse shoes that bunched in wrinkles 
 over the insteps. The wife, skirted and hooded darkly, 
 clung in wretched silence to his arm. Bryson, button- 
 ing his gown snug, spoke rapidly to the woman. 
 
 " If you don't have his right eye taken out to-day he 
 will lose the other eye, too. Don't you understand ? I 
 can save the left eye if I operate to-day on the other 
 to-morrow, I told you, will be too late. There's a piece 
 of steel in there as big as my finger-nail. If you try to 
 save that eye you lose both. What good would it do 
 to save it? He could never see with it, anyway." 
 
 He spoke fast, and his words fell like strokes on an 
 anvil, relentless. It was the wife he struck at. She 
 shrunk, womanlike, from the pitiless decree, but, 
 womanlike, she would not yield her husband's eye. An 
 eye so good none better only week before last ! She 
 stood shrinking, fortified by that divine armor of in- 
 stinct which is woman's alone. Sometimes it goes 
 wrong, sometimes it costs eyesight, sometimes happi- 
 ness, sometimes life yet woman cannot discard it if 
 she would. She hesitated, writhed under the torture, 
 but the horror she put off. The man and woman 
 whispered together a minute. Then the man spoke, 
 his voice hoarse with his struggle. " Doctor." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " She thinks as she couldn't stand it to-day. It's a 
 hard thing to lose me eye." 
 
 " All right," replied Doctor Bryson, drawling omi- 
 nously the first word. 
 
 " We'll come back to-morrow." 
 
 " All right. But don't come back to me." 
 
 "Why not, doctor?" 
 
 34
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " I won't touch it after to-day." 
 
 " Doctor, I" 
 
 " Not after to-day. They're waiting for me at the 
 table. You'll have to excuse me." 
 
 Doctor Bryson walked into the lecture-room. The 
 man, led by his wife, followed him. Irresolution stayed 
 them, and they sat again on the front bench. The man 
 bent forward and covered his face with his hands ; the 
 woman, laying her hand on his shoulder, listened va- 
 cantly to the talk of Bryson, now taking up his instru- 
 ments for the operation on the very old woman, who 
 lay stretched on the table. 
 
 " You have seen this eye, gentlemen," he was saying. 
 " A case of senile cataract. The right eye went nine 
 years ago with glaucoma." Mrs. Eliot remembered 
 that dread word. " The left appears quite healthy, but 
 the sight has become completely obscured by a cataract 
 which is now, as you have observed, ripe. The patient 
 has seen eighty years more than are likely to bother 
 any of us, but I would operate if she were ninety. Her 
 health is good, nichtwahr, Mutter? Sie sind ganz 
 gesund, nichtwar ? " he asked, raising his voice to the 
 little woman under the knife. She lifted her head 
 slightly. " Ja, ja, Doctor. Ich bin gesund, bios meine 
 Augen " she replied in the shrunken tone of age. 
 
 " Exactly. Sei ganz ruhig jetzt, Mutter. Ganz 
 ruhig. Verstehen Sie? Sound and maybe with twenty 
 years of life and sight ahead of her. Cocaine, four per 
 cent., makes the operation simple, safe and compara- 
 tively pleasant," added the doctor, mechanically jovial. 
 " But be very sure your patient doesn't grow obstrep- 
 erous after you get your knife into the cornea. It is one 
 
 35
 
 of the most satisfactory operations you will have." He 
 stopped, for the delicate blade in his hand was already 
 slipping through the insensible cornea splitting it, 
 deftly, as a butcher splits a kidney. It went all with 
 care, yet steadily. Shimmering instruments, delicate 
 manipulation, eager sponges, weaving fingers, low 
 voices, and from her, under it all, quiet and silence 
 absolute. Eighty years had trained the little old 
 woman; she lay as she was bid very still. 
 
 Through the open door Mrs. Eliot and June saw it 
 all in a kind of trance, their eyes fixed on the central 
 figure the surgeon of the eye. They watched him a 
 long time bending close, passing and taking instru- 
 ments and sponges, and at last he handed something to 
 the head nurse on a bit of cotton and straightened up 
 like one whose back tires, wiped his fingers on a napkin, 
 threw it into the wire basket on the floor and watched 
 the assistants bandage the eye. While the final wrap- 
 pings were being made, Doctor Bryson was washing 
 his hands. Then slipping off his gown and taking his 
 handkerchief from his pocket he rounded up informally 
 and amiably his class talk, throwing into it nuggets of 
 advice smoothed with pleasantries and polished with 
 conciseness. 
 
 The men filed from the benches, some leaving the 
 room, more crowding forward to ask questions. The 
 little old woman was helped from the table. She put 
 out her hands ; her daughter took them and the mother 
 whispered to her. They turned to the head nurse. 
 " My mother says she thank you," said the younger 
 woman. The nurse, nodding, told the daughter her 
 mother was a good patient. They turned to Bryson. 
 
 36
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 He laughed as the thin hands of the old one, guided 
 by her daughter's, closed over one of his. Trying to 
 speak, she could not, but bending she kissed the hand 
 that had touched her eye that she might see. " Gott 
 sei Dank," she muttered, huskily. 
 
 " Ach, mein lieber Gott, Mutter," exclaimed Bryson, 
 laughing, " das ist nichts. Bitte, bitte. In zwei, 
 hochstens drei Wochen sehen Sie wieder gut." 
 
 " Ich werde fiir Sie beten, Doctor." 
 
 " Danke, danke, Mutter. Ich empfehle mich ! " 
 
 " What does she say ?" asked the head nurse, smil- 
 ing. 
 
 " She says she'll pray for me. How is that girl for 
 the grafting at two o'clock? Did you keep her from 
 eating ? " 
 
 Talking together they walked into the office ante- 
 room. The lecture hall was emptied of its people. All 
 had gone their ways except two the man with the 
 steel chip in his eye and his wife. He remained just 
 where he had bent when he sat down, with his face in 
 his hands, still trying to decide whether to have it out 
 his eye. And she sat with her hand on his shoulder, 
 the woman, mourning, comforting in silence. The doc- 
 tor closed the ante-room door and they were left alone 
 in the deserted hall. 
 
 " Now, Mistress Ruth," exclaimed Doctor Bryson, 
 taking her hands, " we'll see how you are this morning. 
 You didn't get mixed up in that quarrel with Jim and 
 Miss Martin, did you? You just left Miss June to 
 raise her row all alone." 
 
 June sat like one waking from a horrible dream. 
 She held her unlucky umbrella in a grip of fear. " Doc- 
 
 37
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 tor," she demanded, intently, " what was the matter 
 with that woman ? " 
 
 " The one I operated on ? Cataract. She'll be all 
 right in a few weeks." 
 
 " What was the matter with that man ? " 
 
 "Whatman?" 
 
 " That poor man you were so cross to and wanted 
 to take his eye out." 
 
 " That man is a railroad laborer," said the doctor, 
 placing Ruth in front of him. " He was working in 
 a yard-gang week before last. They were cutting rails 
 and a steel chip flew from the chisel he was holding 
 and struck him in the eye; cut through the lens 
 everything." 
 
 " Lord, you were cruel about it. I didn't know you 
 could be so cruel." 
 
 " Cruelty is only kindness, Miss June, when you 
 face a crisis. I could save his good eye by taking 
 the other out at once. By to-morrow inflammation 
 will have gone so far as to ruin the good eye. I 
 gave him his choice, didn't I? If I had hummed and 
 hawed they wouldn't have done anything till it was 
 too late. They may not in any case. If they don't 
 it will be because they lack confidence in my opinion, 
 won't it ? " June nodded. " Then they should keep 
 away from me. Unless you have confidence in a 
 doctor keep away from him. If they came back too 
 late and I tried to take out the bad eye and save the 
 good one I should fail, shouldn't I ? Then they would 
 blame me, wouldn't they? Take off your hat, Ruth, 
 so I can see your curls. Why, they're just like sunshine 
 
 38
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 and gold, aren't they? Now let's see how you count 
 fingers this morning." 
 
 After he had taken her vision he went with her to the 
 dark room and was gone a long time. June grew im- 
 patient and Mrs. Eliot anxious. When they returned 
 the doctor was chatting and Ruth smiling. " Now," 
 said he to June, " you take Ruth into the receiving- 
 room and show her those big pictures a moment while 
 I talk to her mother, will you ? " 
 
 " We were gone a good while," he remarked to Mrs. 
 Eliot as June closed the door behind her. He sat in his 
 chair and Mrs. Eliot, one of her hands resting on the 
 table between them, sat opposite. Her attitude was one 
 of anxious expectancy, and in talking he spoke with 
 deliberate care, neither solemnly nor yet lightly, play- 
 ing frequently, as his elbows also rested on the table, 
 with an ivory pocket-rule. 
 
 " You were making an examination, doctor." 
 
 " Your little girl interests me." 
 
 " Thank you, doctor." She waited for him to con- 
 tinue, but he studied the ivory rule. 
 
 " Is it is it" 
 
 " You wish to know whether it is serious," he said, 
 taking up the sentence she could not finish. " I under- 
 stand. On my part I want to be frank without causing 
 unnecessary anxiety. It is serious." 
 
 "But, doctor her eye can be saved?" she asked, 
 with undefinable fear. 
 
 He answered carefully and with some reluctance. 
 " It may be." 
 
 " Do you think it can ? " she echoed with less hope. 
 
 Her eyes were bent on htm ; he looked out of the 
 
 39
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 window. It was an instant before he answered, and 
 his features fixed in the uncertainty that he made no 
 effort to hide. " You ask a hard question. It might be 
 answered brutally or hopefully ; to answer it positive- 
 ly is hard. No one likes to go on record in a case like 
 this. My opinions are sometimes quoted; sometimes 
 misquoted." 
 
 " I know, doctor," she interposed, cutting him off, 
 '' it was the the shock," she said, helplessly. " Doctor 
 Kurd gave me less real hope. I should not have 
 asked" 
 
 " You have every right to ask Ruth is a delicate 
 child, is she not ? " 
 
 " She isn't sickly, doctor." 
 
 " But not vigorous robust. She is mild, delicate, 
 gentle." 
 
 " Mentally so." 
 
 " The physical traits precede the mental," he mused, 
 " and in the end it is the physical that tells the story. 
 In glaucoma secondary glaucoma, as this is " 
 
 " But what is glaucoma, doctor ? " 
 
 " Frankly, I don't know. If we knew " his eyes 
 changed " if we really knew. I can give you the 
 definition anybody can do that. The fluids that feed 
 the eye fail to discharge; tHe ball becomes tense from 
 inward pressure, just as you might fill a toy bladder to 
 bursting. The delicate coatings of the retina are torn 
 ancl detached by ever increasing pressure. The eye- 
 ball becomes hard stony hard; the optic nerve is 
 cupped into its canal the field of vision gradually nar- 
 rows sight flickers like a sinking candle dies. We 
 call it glaucoma. We have the theories as to its cause 
 
 40
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 theories. To look with an ophthalmoscope into a 
 good eye," he said, changing his tone, " is to look upon 
 life at the spring-time at the best red and warm. 
 The glaucomatous eye is like a landscape blasted bar- 
 ren, gray, dead. Ruth's eye is not that yet ; it is living, 
 but fearfully sick." 
 
 His eyes met hers. She could not support them, and 
 her own turned to the big window. " I will undertake 
 the attempt to save it," he added. " I will do what I 
 can, but this you must not forget: the chances are 
 against me." 
 
 She sat, aware of each shading of his tone, busy with 
 inference from each inflection, looking out of the win- 
 dow. He himself, quick, instant to every impression, 
 watched her narrowly and waited for her to look back. 
 " Feel at perfect liberty to ask for another opinion," he 
 continued. " I will call in one of our star men if you 
 wish. The opinion of another might be more favor- 
 able." 
 
 " But not more able or more honest, doctor," she re- 
 plied, looking into his face. His eyes dropped. 
 
 " I make mistakes," he said, simply. " Sometimes 
 grave ones." 
 
 " You can afford, I am sure, to admit them," she re- 
 turned. " Your reputation is not what it is without 
 reason, and your fame brings deserved rewards. But 
 your kind frankness, doctor, makes me say without re- 
 serve that my own resources are slight. I fear " His 
 hand lifted itself from the table in protest. " I shall 
 not tax your resources," he remarked, humorously. 
 " Miss June has been kind to me and I am glad to do 
 anything for a friend of hers." 
 
 41
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 Mrs. Eliot took his spirit. " And I mustn't lean too 
 much on Miss June's kindness." 
 
 " No matter," he laughed, " we are started. I will 
 undertake Ruth's eye, only I shall have to ask entire 
 confidence." 
 
 " That will not be hard to give, doctor." 
 
 " Don't be too sure of that," he said, dropping his 
 head wryly.
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE dining-room at Miss Borderlys' had distinct 
 sets. The affairs of the big basement were like 
 the affairs of a town. There was one table of widows, 
 women with small competences and men of the left- 
 over sort with sense enough to cling to what they had 
 picked up earlier in the struggle. But this effort to 
 keep their competency absorbed their mental activity 
 and nothing living remained of their intellects. These 
 people formed a set not so much of abilities in com- 
 mon as of limitations in common. There was a trav- 
 eling men's table where, except on Sundays and holi- 
 days, no man sat ; at all other times it was given over 
 to the wives of traveling men. There were tables 
 filled entirely by young business men and their wives 
 of men who run the business of the great down- 
 town houses men who were working so hard and 
 making money so fast that their very eyes wrinkled 
 with the suspicion that somebody might somehow 
 get some of it away from them. Alert men, these, 
 marvelously alert in ear and eye and reply and prodi- 
 gal of smiles, but of smiles haunted with the possi- 
 bility that they might at any time be called on for a 
 temporary advance. There were women's tables 
 taken wholly by women that earned their livings. 
 Women, if you will, of misfortune, if it really be a 
 
 43
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 misfortune to be independent and of industry and 
 brains and hearts. These women, it must be under- 
 stood, were not of the rank and file of workers, for 
 at Miss Borderlys' it costs to live. They were chief- 
 ly women that command large salaries. 
 
 It was not the fact that the Annex set so far led the 
 others at Miss Borderlys' that made it the most inter- 
 esting. There were, at the Annex tables, some clever 
 men and women, quite a number yet not, with a few 
 exceptions, more notable for what they had done than 
 those of the upper rooms. But the Annex set at Miss 
 Borderlys' was the set that had things and went to 
 places; not only had money, but spent money. In a 
 word, the Annex set made the noise, furnished the ex- 
 citement, the diversion, for the house. They were 
 people to look at, people to talk about. 
 
 The Annex tables were like good society; they 
 catered to people that had money. Some of the set had 
 it because they had earned it ; others, because they had 
 got it ; at all events they had it or they wouldn't have 
 been in the Annex. At the smaller and " sweller " 
 table sat John C. Allison, a lawyer, and a rising one 
 solicitor for the East Side Street Railway. Bowles had 
 place there because he was as sparkling as clear water. 
 Edward Mitchell, always " Ed.," was there because he 
 was a marine man interested in a big fleet of steel boats, 
 and his wife was the daughter of the president of the 
 line. Huntington, who was good-natured and drank 
 freely, was there because he had not yet been " fired," 
 as Miss June put it. Bryson was there because he was 
 a " top-notcher " and couldn't reasonably be placed 
 anywhere else. There were three women in this com- 
 
 44
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 pany. Miss Montague was a young woman and of 
 nothing less than brilliant attainments; it is fair that 
 she should be frankly described as such. She painted 
 miniatures. She had lived with the Miss Borderlys' be- 
 fore she had won fame, and she had the taste after- 
 wards to stay with them. At this table sat Mrs. God- 
 dard. Her seat was frankly at the disposal of anyone 
 that could win it from her, but it would have been a 
 brave woman who should attempt to displace her in 
 charm of talk and manner. She was immensely inter- 
 esting; that was her capital, and she kept her assets 
 intact by judicious husbanding. Of liabilities she had 
 none, unless her husband should be thrown to the bad 
 side. But Goddard, who had a shocking laugh and a 
 red patch of a birthmark on his temple, was away at 
 the mines most of the time and did not figure often on 
 the dining-room sheet. The men liked Mrs. Goddard, 
 and in a boarding house it is what the men like that 
 counts; women, in the best establishments, are, after 
 all, only tolerated. 
 
 Mrs. Ledgcott sat at this table, and she was a pleas- 
 ing mystery, for nobody could tell why she sat there. 
 It is something, however, in Chicago to " keep people 
 guessing " Mrs. Ledgcott kept people guessing. They 
 guessed at how much money she had, how old she was, 
 how long she would keep her looks and her figure, and 
 whether her diamonds were real, and whether her di- 
 vorce was justified, and whether a saint like Johnnie 
 Ledgcott could be the own child of a woman so strong 
 in the possibilities of the sinner. 
 
 For there was one more who sat at the swell Annex 
 table a child, Johnnie Ledgcott, a Chicago boy, a 
 
 45
 
 boarding-house boy, fair as ten years and careless art 
 could make him; unspoiled because watched over by 
 angels what else could have saved him in a boarding 
 house? Johnnie Ledgcott, a little soldier, a little 
 knight, a little gentleman Johnnie Ledgcott ; he made 
 up the table. 
 
 When Johnnie found out a new little girl had come 
 to Miss Borderlys' he was a very happy boy. He knew 
 nothing of sets ; he knew just that she was a little girl 
 and the loveliest he had ever seen, for each little girl 
 succeeding the last in Johnnie's world was sweeter than 
 she that had gone before. Ruth Eliot, indeed, would 
 have set a hard pace for any juvenile queen. Ruth had 
 bobbing curls, and gentleness spoke out of her. Her 
 blue eyes were so blue that Johnnie could never be 
 brought to believe they were really sick ; and in her 
 voice every one of his dreams came tumbling true. The 
 first time he ever saw Ruth he asked Miss June where 
 she lived, and after a hasty breakfast he picked up his 
 highest priced toys, all he could stagger under, and set 
 bravely through the dark halls across to the north end 
 where Ruth lived. There he laid the choicest speci- 
 mens at her feet. No proposals, no bargaining, no 
 stipulations; unconditional tribute that was Johnnie 
 Ledgcott, and everybody loved him except his mother, 
 who thought she idolized him. 
 
 Johnnie had the courtesies of the Annex den, as the 
 Allison-Bryson room was called, and that night, just 
 before dinner, Doctor Bryson, while dressing, was 
 telling Johnnie of the fairy girl that lived under the 
 very same roof without Johnnie's knowing it. It made 
 Johnnie blush violently even to hear her name men- 
 
 46
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 tioned, but he did not correct Doctor Bryson; he al- 
 lowed him to think that he was the first man that had 
 reached the North Pole. At dinner Bryson was telling 
 Allison about her. 
 
 " She is one of the little girls you read about," said 
 he. " I suppose she's suffered more than all of us at 
 this table put together in all our lives, and she hardly 
 makes a complaint. Examining her eye this morning 
 I asked her when it hurt the most. What do you think 
 she answered ? ' When her mother was worrying 
 about it.' " 
 
 " How sweet," murmured Mrs. Ledgcott. " Think 
 of that, Johnnie. How good you ought to be to your 
 mother, dear. Children don't often think of their poor 
 mothers like that." 
 
 " Sometimes, don't you think, it's perhaps the 
 mother's fault ? " suggested John Allison. 
 
 " Oh, doubtless," assented Mrs. Ledgcott, recogniz- 
 ing the justice of the suggestion with a fondly sad ex- 
 pression. " Some mothers, heaven knows, are selfish. 
 Who is Mrs. Eliot, doctor ? " she asked, prettily^ 
 
 " One of the newcomers, I believe." 
 
 " Is she in the Annex? " 
 
 " I think not ; she's in the north end." 
 
 " Oh." 
 
 " What's on to-night ? " asked John Allison. 
 
 "Joy," smiled Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " I know it's always joy in the Annex. But what 
 particular kind ? " 
 
 " Didn't you know ? We're going down to Central 
 Music Hall with Mr. Bowles," announced Mrs. Ledg- 
 
 47
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 cott. " You and Doctor Bryson and Miss Montague 
 and Mrs. Goddard and I " 
 
 " It's another of Bowles's free shows. We go to 
 fill the house," explained Bryson. " What is it to- 
 night, Bowles ? " 
 
 " A Pole." 
 
 "What sort of a pole?" 
 
 " A matchless Pole. I take you folks to see people 
 before anybody hears of them. A year from now this 
 fellow will be playing at the Auditorium and the town 
 will be raving about him. It's like letting you in on 
 the ground floor of a great scheme; but people never 
 appreciate these things." 
 
 "That's right," assented Bryson. "When other 
 folks begin to talk about a thing Bowles is done with 
 it. I've noticed that. Well, what does your man 
 play?" 
 
 " He begins at eight fifteen and, as I understand, 
 plays ball right from the start till ten o'clock." 
 
 " No but what does he do ? " asked Mrs. Mitchell. 
 
 " He manipulates the ivories." 
 
 " A billiard show ? " exclaimed Mrs. Ledgcott in 
 horror. 
 
 " Oh, no. It's a piano show," explained Mrs. God- 
 dard, " and everybody is to be ' up ' at seven forty-five, 
 aren't they, Mr. Bowles ? " 
 
 " On pain of paying their own car-fare." 
 
 Bryson left the table first. In the hall he met June. 
 She stopped him. 
 
 " How'd you fix it with Kurd ? " she asked with a 
 twinkle. 
 
 " How will you fix it with your Creator for getting 
 
 48
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 me into a scrape like that? Kurd had hydrophobia. 
 He was going to kill me. You needn't say anything 
 about that to Mrs. What's-her-name ; she seems to be 
 of the worrying kind, anyway." 
 
 " Mrs. Eliot ? She is. She's always worrying about 
 something or other. But she says you're just too good 
 for anything, doctor." 
 
 " Who is Mrs. Eliot, Miss June? " 
 
 " Oh, she's a kind of pet relation of mine. Not a 
 blood relation; just a pet relation, you know. Her 
 mother and my aunt, Mrs. Ward, were raised together, 
 and our folks all used to live near each other in Evans- 
 ton that was the way of it. Her fathe: was a big 
 lumber merchant and lost his money in the panic of '93. 
 They had a big place on the Ridge and I used to go 
 over and play with her in the sand-pile when she was a 
 little bit of a tot like Ruth." 
 
 " Where's her husband ? Dead ? " 
 
 " No. But he'd a good sight better be. He married 
 her because he thought he'd be getting a fortune. The 
 same year they got married her father lost all his 
 money and died. Next year Eliot left her to shift for 
 herself with that baby on her hands then her mother 
 died. Grief My godfrey, what does she want ? " 
 
 The last question was shot at a passing maid who 
 told her Miss Mary was looking for her. The doctor 
 passed on upstairs. He came down from his room a 
 little ahead of his party ready for the concert. Punc- 
 tuality had made him ; it now dominated him. Passing 
 the folding doors of the reception-room he heard music 
 and glanced through the portieres into the dimly- 
 lighted room. Near the piano sat Miss June listening 
 
 49
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 to a woman who was playing; he looked twice before 
 he recognized Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 " Good evening," he said, entering during a lull, 
 gloves and hat in hand. Mrs. Eliot wheeled and 
 nodded simply. " Come in ; nobody but us," said June. 
 " Go ahead ; play that queer piece I like. This is the 
 first time she has played for me in a month," com- 
 plained June to the doctor. Mrs. Eliot smiled at her. 
 " I haven't felt much like playing lately. You sug- 
 gested keeping Ruth as cheerful as possible," she ex- 
 plained to the doctor in an undertone. " This is for 
 her benefit." 
 
 " I should have suggested your keeping me cheerful 
 if I had known you could play like that," he remarked, 
 sitting down. " Please don't stop. Where is Ruth ? " 
 he added, looking around. She was in the front parlor 
 sitting very quietly with Johnnie Ledgcott. The doc- 
 tor started. 
 
 " Oh, ho, Johnnie Ledgcott," cried he, pointing his 
 finger. " You're a sly one. I was trying to tell him 
 before dinner about a new little girl in the house, and 
 I'll bet he knows more about her than I do. And he 
 never peeped a word. What have you to say now, 
 Johnnie?" 
 
 Johnnie looked conscious, but there appeared nothing 
 for him to say, so he said nothing. Something always 
 happens for people as sensible as that. Bryson, wait- 
 ing to hear more music, abandoned the inquiry. Mrs. 
 Eliot, reluctant to continue, seemed unwilling to ap- 
 pear ungracious. 
 
 Turning again to the keys, one of her hands rippled 
 haltingly through the treble, lingered a moment over 
 
 50
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 a seventh, then settling on the stool she brought up her 
 left hand and her fingers followed one another into a 
 rolling, uneven melody that grew into something like a 
 spell. The music absorbed her. She fell into the 
 rhythm herself and she ran from phrase to phrase till it 
 ran quite away from her fingers. She broke, shook her 
 head impatiently, bent in a pretty protest and her fin- 
 gers flew again into the troublesome passage. She as- 
 sailed it this time with a perfect burst of strength and 
 feeling, and rounded it with a sudden effectiveness that 
 brought Bryson's hair up standing. Then her hands 
 drew in the last runs, danced into the final chords, 
 stopped. With bent head, her eyes on the keys and her 
 hands folded, she sat silent. Bryson felt a pleased as- 
 tonishment, something full in his throat. Surprise, 
 admiration, gratification, crowded upon him. 
 
 " That's really great," he stammered. 
 
 " Isn't it? " echoed June, clapping her Hands. " It's 
 a burning shame you won't play oftener," she cried in- 
 dignantly. Mrs. Eliot swung on the stool while they 
 continued to exclaim. There was more light in her face 
 than usual. " Oh, play that over again," Doctor Bry- 
 son Hegged. She smiled at something June was saying 
 and looked over his head. " I think your party is in the 
 hall," she ventured. 
 
 " Never mind them ; keep right on/' he urged. While 
 she demurred Mrs. Goddard and Mrs. Ledgcott in their 
 wraps walked in, followed by Allison and Bowles. 
 There were introductions. Ruth was called forward. 
 Bryson told his story on Johnnie, and Mrs. Eliot told 
 how he had brought over his toys, and he had such 
 nice ones, she said. 
 
 51
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " He says you gave them to him, doctor," said Ruth, 
 softly; and all laughed at the doctor, at least all but 
 Mrs. Ledgcott. She urged the party to hasten on and 
 join Miss Montague, who, she reminded them, would 
 be waiting at the drug store. 
 
 At the concert Bryson sat next to Mrs. Ledgcott. 
 She watched eagerly for the appearance of the great 
 pianist. The audience was not large. Bryson, alone of 
 his party, did not grow enthusiastic as the playing pro- 
 ceeded ; the recalls began early, but the great Polish 
 artist fought shy of them. Near the close of the pro- 
 gramme he did respond, and when he reappeared 
 the house was on its feet. Hardly acknowledging the 
 ovation, he went straight to the piano, and after a con- 
 fident storm of chords broke into the very piece Mrs. 
 Eliot had played in the parlor. It lifted Bryson almost 
 out of his chair. 
 
 " What is that ? " he asked, abruptly, as the pianist's 
 head nodded queerly at the piano and the air about 
 them grew white with handkerchiefs. " What was that 
 piece he played, Mrs. Ledgcott ? " he shouted through 
 the din. 
 
 " Why, I don't know," cried Mrs. Ledgcott, her baby 
 face close to his. " Just look at the people. Did you 
 ever in your life see anything like it?" she panted. 
 Bowles certainly was vindicated ; but Bryson persisted 
 in his question. He kept asking till a gentleman in 
 front turned around. " You mean the last piece ? the 
 encore? That was ' The Flatterer ' by Chaminade." 
 
 " The Flutterer " 
 
 " Flatterer." 
 
 " Flatterer. Thank you, sir." Then he told every- 
 
 52
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 body in his pa r ty what it was and asked if they ever 
 heard anything like it in their lives. But it was only 
 to Miss June next morning that he insisted Mrs. Eliot 
 had played it a good deal better than the man the papers 
 were talking about. 
 
 He went down-town that morning thinking about 
 Mrs. Eliot's playing. When he reached his office he 
 looked first at the chair where she had sat the day be- 
 fore. When he took off his coat he was asking himself 
 when he should see her again to tell her how well she 
 played and to talk about " The Flatterer." The thought 
 suggested Ruth and her eye. He realized now that the 
 first time he had looked at it Kurd had brought her in 
 once and asked for his opinion he had concluded she 
 would go blind. Glaucoma is a frightful thing and he 
 could not, of a sudden, understand how he came to ex- 
 press a different opinion; how he came to agree even 
 to attempt to save the eye. She probably would, he 
 felt, go blind. First, after the iridectomy, the right 
 eye; then the left; they sometimes went that way. 
 How many years, how many months ? he mused vacant- 
 ly to himself. 
 
 Brushing his hair, he saw his face in the mirror and 
 looked at his features critically and with a new curios- 
 ity. He walked to the washstand and began washing 
 his hands. She was married, and, of course, nothing 
 to him but who was her husband, he wondered, that 
 couldn't or wouldn't provide for a woman like her and 
 a child like Ruth. He himself, he reflected, was mak- 
 ing from a thousand to two thousand dollars a month ; 
 one month, that was the biggest he had ever had, forty- 
 two hundred dollars. That was the month he had 
 
 53
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 operated on the eye of a Montana copper man. The 
 check was a surprise, for his fee was one thousand dol- 
 lars and the check had come for twenty-five hundred. 
 He had asked more that morning of June about Mrs. 
 Eliot. Was she divorced? No, June had said, not 
 divorced. And thinking, Bryson kept washing, wash- 
 ing, washing, his hands. It was such a resolute pleas- 
 ure, hand washing. While the water ran warm and 
 free his thoughts ran in a stream. He washed his 
 hands a hundred times a day, for sometimes he cast up 
 matters as often as that with himself and there was 
 the constant danger of infection. But her eyes; such 
 eyes that woman had. He knew something about 
 eyes ought to, he thought they were finer than 
 Ruth's even, though Ruth had her mother's eyes. 
 Could that child's eye be saved? he asked himself, 
 wiping his hands. He rubbed his fingers till they 
 were white and hard. Then looking at the clock he 
 went over his finger-nails very fast with his file. His 
 lips set as he put it away presently, shut the toilet 
 cabinet and opened the door of the lecture-room. The 
 morning was fine, the class large. He bowed and 
 looked at the nurses and assistants seated, waiting, 
 asked for a patient and turned to scan the instrument 
 trays, when suddenly he thought of the toe of Mrs. 
 Eliot's boot as she had sat at the piano stool with her 
 hands folded in her lap. It was the toe of one boot. 
 He had never seen the other, but there may be a dan- 
 gerous symmetry even in the toe of one boot of an 
 American woman. A wall-eyed boy was brought for- 
 ward. The doctor took him in hand, and beginning 
 with his usual talk on divergent strabismus, the sym- 
 
 54
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 metry of Mrs. Eliot's boot recurred to him. It ran in 
 his head right along with his dissertation and persisted 
 until he was ready to operate. Then it had to give way 
 to the intense concentration that he summoned to the 
 use of his instruments. 
 
 He worked hard and fast till eleven o'clock. The 
 next hour went to his private practice ; twelve until one 
 to another lecture. At one-thirty he lunched with John 
 Allison at the Athletic Club and learned the particulars 
 of the new five million stock issue of the East Side 
 Street Railway Company, which was to be divided as 
 a bonus at par among stockholders pro rata. John 
 pronounced it a good thing and Bryson, when they left 
 the dining-room, was going to tell his broker to buy 
 fifty shares of the stock in the morning, but John asked 
 him not to telephone : to walk around to La Salle Street 
 and give the order verbally so there wouldn't be even 
 a danger of publicity. It was a small matter, true, but 
 there were unnumbered tailers listening for tips, and 
 John Allison was known to be high in the company 
 policy. 
 
 From La Salle Street, where Bryson left John, he 
 walked to his office and went to the library. He read 
 till six o'clock and went in to dinner at Miss Borderlys' 
 late. Dining, he was uncommunicative and he denied 
 himself the card party in Mrs. Ledgcott's room that 
 evening, going instead straight upstairs to the den. He 
 fixed himself in a Morris chair before the fire with a 
 book. His capacity for research was enormous, for at 
 half-past eleven, when John came up, he was reading. 
 John, after a cigar, went to bed and to sleep ; he woke 
 and Bryson was reading. It was one o'clock. John 
 
 55
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 got up for a glass of water, but neither spoke. He 
 slept and woke again. The student lamp was burning. 
 Bryson's books lay in a heap on the floor and he sat 
 with his legs crossed before the dying fire, his head 
 supported wearily on his hand. Six hours of reading 
 one hour to con it all. Not new stuff ; he had gone over 
 it many times before. Little, so little, new ; much, so 
 much, old, so unsatisfactory; so little fact, so much 
 theory ; so little absolute, so much relative. Grim, mys- 
 terious, deadly disease. It was not of the mother he 
 was thinking in the midnight except to think of her 
 asleep over in the brick house, asleep while he pon- 
 dered. It was not of her eyes, strangely awe inspiring ; 
 not of her hand in her lap ; of her hair vaguely curling 
 about her ears, that he was thinking, but of the spectre 
 that brooded over the eyes of her child the spectre of 
 glaucoma.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 AT half-past seven next morning Bryson walked in 
 to breakfast as fresh as sunshine. Of the women 
 of their table Mrs. Ledgcott alone was down. Unde- 
 moralized by boarding-house ease, Mrs. Ledgcott 
 breakfasted early with the men. After a late outing she 
 was particularly betimes, and usually a soft-tinted neg- 
 ligee supported her delicate, regular face as a vase 
 offers a flower that is rare. From such a setting she 
 toyed with her coffee, a mute and lovely reproach for 
 the dissipations of the night. 
 
 On this occasion Doctor Bryson didn't rise to the 
 small talk. Mrs. Ledgcott, always amiable, chatted 
 with John. Once only Bryson broke from his fruit and 
 reflections; that was to ask June to bring Mrs. Eliot 
 right after breakfast to the reception-room. When he 
 went up to wait for her he found her in her hat and 
 street suit already there. From the edge of the chair 
 on which she sat she rose with the promptness that is 
 m itself a compliment. " Miss June told me you wished 
 to speak with me, doctor." 
 
 " Good morning. How do you do ? I wanted to talk 
 about Ruth ; and I wanted June to be here." 
 
 " She came, but she was called away. Will you not 
 let me see if I can't find her quickly ? : ' Mrs. Eliot hur- 
 ried downstairs, and with what was evidently a forced 
 levy brought June back. 
 
 57
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " I am clear in my mind this morning as to what 1 
 shall recommend in Ruth's case," began Bryson, ad- 
 dressing Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 " Yes, doctor." 
 
 " If anything is to be done, it should be done at once, 
 you understand, do you not ? " 
 
 " Yes, doctor. You would have an operation ? " 
 
 " I should." 
 
 " Will you do it yourself, doctor ? " asked June with 
 honeyed pleading. 
 
 " I have said I would if Mrs. Eliot wishes it." 
 
 " Oh, doctor, I do wish it, if you only will." 
 
 Her readiness seemed to arouse some apprehension 
 on his part. " Stop a bit," he interrupted, raising his 
 eyes. " What I propose differs radically from what 
 Kurd and the men you tell me have seen her propose." 
 
 " They said there was but one thing to do ; an iridec- 
 tomy." 
 
 " Iridectomy is the usual operation in such cases." 
 
 " What do you propose, doctor ? " 
 
 " Jonnesco's operation." 
 
 " It is serious," he continued, after a pause. " The 
 operation does not touch the eye itself. It consists in 
 removing the nerve that controls the secretions of the 
 eye. To get it I should have to go into her neck below 
 and behind the ear and dissect it out do you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 Her lips formed the words, " Yes, doctor," but she 
 was so frightened her voice could not utter them. Her 
 eyes devoured his thought and expression, and she put 
 her hand to her belt for her handkerchief and wiped 
 her dry lips. 
 
 58
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 "It is an exceedingly delicate point to operate at 
 turn around, Miss June," he said, continuing. He 
 lifted June's hair away with one hand and with his 
 thumb indicated an incision on the side of her neck. 
 " Here is where the nerve ganglion I should remove 
 lies. It is sheathed close to the pneumogastric nerve 
 and the carotid artery; of course, it's somewhat deli- 
 cate business getting in just there." 
 
 " Is the operation performed often, doctor ? " Mrs. 
 Eliot asked, haltingly. 
 
 " No, it is a Continental experiment. It has been 
 done a few times in this country ; not many. In Chica- 
 go, once." 
 
 " But you have confidence in it, haven't you, doc- 
 tor ? " interposed June. 
 
 " Naturally." 
 
 "' You say it has been done here once, doctor ? " fal- 
 tered Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Who performed it ? " asked June. 
 
 " It was done at the College." 
 
 " Successfully ? " 
 
 " So far as we could tell. Improvement was evident ; 
 unfortunately, the patient he was a stationary engi- 
 neer lost his life a month afterward in a boiler ex- 
 plosion and left only an interrogation point on the 
 records." 
 
 " Now, doctor, if you could get the man who did 
 that operation to help you in this one," suggested June, 
 craftily. 
 
 " I should be compelled," returned Bryson, dryly, 
 " to rely on him to some extent." 
 
 59
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 " One of our staff surgeons." 
 
 Mrs. Eliot spoke. " If it is your belief that this will 
 save her sight " 
 
 His eyes fell and he put up his hand. " It is only a 
 hope. There are many chances against us, Mrs. Eliot." 
 
 " Then I prefer to commit Ruth entirely into your 
 hands." Something of agony in her eyes could not en- 
 tirely be hidden. " You will do what is best," she 
 faltered. 
 
 " What to me seems best," he carefully substituted. 
 " Just so you understand we are taking a hard chance. 
 Let her eat lightly to-day, give her a good dinner to- 
 night, nothing afterwards, and have her at the Col- 
 lege," he looked at his watch as he rose to go, " at 
 seven o'clock to-morrow morning, fasting." 
 
 fie had hardly gone before June began to cry. Mrs. 
 Eliot made her usual preparations to go down-town to 
 teach ; operations, she knew, cost money. But for June 
 there was no work. She " cut " everything that day ; 
 took Ruth over on the avenue and filled her with 
 enough candy and soda-water to set Bryson crazy 
 had he known. " But how is he to know ? " meditated 
 June slyly. " Poor little thing," she murmured to her- 
 self ; " she doesn't know what's ahead of her. Have an- 
 other soda, dear." 
 
 If Mrs. Eliot failed that day to give value received 
 to her pupils it was not because she did not faithfully 
 strive to; and at all events her pupils loved her. If 
 they did not, why should they take lessons of her when 
 the town was full of music teachers that gloried in the 
 most unpronounceable sorts of names? Coming home 
 
 60
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 that night, she tried conscientiously to give Ruth a good 
 dinner, and did not quite understand why the child's 
 appetite had failed. She tucked the little thing in bed, 
 and after sitting by her a long, long time she slipped 
 in beside her. She did not see Doctor Bryson that 
 night; he was out with an Annex party at the theatre 
 and when they came in it was late. Mrs. Eliot knew it 
 must be some of the Annex people, for they were noisy 
 and jolly, and none but the Annexers dared make a 
 noise in the house after midnight. Then the street 
 grew quiet. There was only the rumble of an occa- 
 sional carriage, and darkness, swimming with thought ; 
 the church clock chiming two o'clock; three o'clock; 
 four o'clock ; then in a doze five o'clock, and it was time 
 to get up and make ready. 
 
 She was on hand at the receiving-room with June 
 and Ruth promptly at seven. Jim, the colored boy, 
 took them into the office. The operation was to take 
 place in a private room off it. A number of surgeons, 
 some of them sleepy-eyed, were washing their hands 
 and putting on their gowns, while two nurses prepared 
 the instrument stand. 
 
 Presently Bryson walked in, slipped off his driving 
 gloves as he bade all good morning, and shook hands 
 with Ruth. A young surgeon, passing, he stopped to 
 introduce to Mrs. Eliot and June. " Doctor Hoxie," 
 said Bryson, informally, " my very particular re- 
 liance," at which the two women who could not 
 do otherwise smiled, and Doctor Hoxie protested. 
 " Who is he ? " asked June, peering after Doctor Hoxie 
 as he walked away. 
 
 " My assistant this morning," explained Bryson, 
 
 61
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 briefly. " A coming man, too. If you ever go wrong, 
 June, send for Doctor Hoxie. Ruth hasn't had any- 
 thing to eat, has she ? " 
 
 " No, doctor," answered Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 Leaving them, he spoke to the nurses and went to 
 the wash-room. Though she had seen an operating- 
 room but once before, everything going forward had 
 a strangely familiar look to Mrs. Eliot. Her per- 
 ceptions, keyed painfully high, were awake to every- 
 thing: the methodical dispatch of the nurses, the 
 lightness of their numberless steps, the neatness of their 
 caps and gowns, the deliberations of the doctors, the 
 give-and-take air of their smiling talk as they mani- 
 cured their finger-nails, dusted specks off their waist- 
 coats and shook their trousers into better form over 
 their shoes. It was hard to realize that this agony to 
 her meant something of a treat to them a star opera- 
 tion by a star man to which the favored few of both 
 staffs were glad to be bidden an unusual experiment 
 in which the chief surgeon of the eye believed. 
 
 Already the nurses were preparing Ruth. Mrs. 
 Eliot, like one who could not give up her own, watched 
 anxiously, helped with failing sight to bind up the 
 child's pretty hair, waited while they scrupulously 
 cleansed her neck, and, like one who mourns, clasped 
 her hands in silence as they laid her on the operating 
 table. The nurses waited a moment while Ruth's arms, 
 as her mother bent hungrily, stole around her neck and 
 the two, in a look and a whisper, kissed. A strange 
 assistant, with a smile, brought the Esmarch mask over 
 Ruth's face, and as the mother stepped trembling back 
 the sweetness of the chloroform, dripping, began to 
 
 62
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 steal the child's senses. Doctor Bryson did not notice 
 any of this. He was washing his hands ; they could see 
 him where they sat. He washed at his hands till June 
 went nearly mad. When at last he finished, the head 
 nurse helped him into his gown. He sat down, and she 
 began rapidly to bind his head in aseptic gauze. She 
 wound it about his head, around his ears, over his fore- 
 head, went quite around his head again with the roll 
 and brought a wide band across his mouth. Doctor 
 Hoxie handed him a pair of thin rubber gloves with 
 gauntlets, and he drew them deliberately over his hands. 
 
 Mrs. Eliot and June, where they sat in the office, 
 could see the surgeon that was giving the chloroform 
 lift the mask from Ruth's nose and retract an eyelid 
 with his thumb. They saw him lift the child's hand 
 from its side and let it drop, study its pulse, observe 
 its respiration a moment and nod toward Doctor Bry- 
 son, who was coming forward. Mrs. Eliot, watching 
 narrowly, saw Bryson bend over the operating table 
 and look intently at Ruth, while the surgeon giving the 
 anaesthetic told him of her pulse. He made no com- 
 ment, but silent and intent motioned the nurse to turn 
 Ruth's head, looked a moment at her neck, felt of it 
 thoughtfully and paused. Mrs. Eliot, straining, caught 
 even his first words " A knife, please." 
 
 The white-gowned figures and the big plate window 
 wavered and swayed in her eyes. She bit her lip. She 
 could not see the delicate neck bared and stretched now 
 under the gloved fingers, and after one instant of de- 
 liberation the bright blade dividing the pink flesh, the 
 blood welling behind the steel and the thirsty sponge 
 following through the incision like an eraser. '" Tissue 
 
 63
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 forceps, please," she heard in the low, even tones. 
 " Tissue forceps," again, and after a time, " The re- 
 tractors; not those the small ones." 
 
 She could not look. Deadly fear cramped her senses 
 and there came a time of craning of heads close over 
 her child, the vision of nurses rapidly passing instru- 
 ments; passing sponges sometimes dry, sometimes 
 hurriedly wrung in water and sometimes she was con- 
 scious of imperatively quick words in the same steady 
 voice, " Hotter, hotter, nurse ; hotter. Now, gentle- 
 men," she heard, after a maddening silence, " tell me 
 what nerve we have here. Don't all speak at once." 
 The tone was so easy that life seemed to come with it 
 back to her heart. She looked. Doctor Bryson stood 
 on the opposite side of the table, and between the as- 
 sistants she caught sight of his eyes and nose framed 
 in the queer bandages, and a new sensation swept over 
 her: an impulse to go to him and beg for mercy on 
 Ruth. " She is my child," she would have said, " have 
 mercy on her if you love me." The insane thought 
 startled her as it flashed through her mind, and she 
 wondered how it could have come. But there was 
 some fascination about his eyes, and she felt that if she 
 asked of him mercy he would not refuse it. Fear gave 
 way ; it was only the waiting now that oppressed her ; 
 she knew Ruth would not die. 
 
 Shaking off the trance, Mrs. Eliot looked around for 
 June; June had left her; she was alone. The dissec- 
 tion went torturously slow. The surgeon was work- 
 ing now as one treads tiptoe at a sleeper's ear. It was 
 not now the blade of his knife that parted the welling 
 tissue; oftener the knife handle or his gloved finger 
 
 64
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 itself opened a step along the blind path that hid the 
 ganglion of the cervical sympathetic. He was working 
 where the functions of human organism begin ; where 
 a prick meant instant death to the child under his 
 blade. In another moment the mysterious wandering 
 nerve, giant of its kind, the pneumogastric nerve, 
 source of every vital function in this perfect living 
 structure whose existence was in his hand, hung limp 
 upon his tiny hook, and the great carotid artery, stream- 
 ing up the unconscious neck, throbbed slowly under his 
 thoughtful finger. He delved at the seat of life itself. 
 
 About the table there was absolute silence. Strain- 
 ing eyes, motionless watching. Advancement, diffi- 
 culty, deliberation on the operator's part and then, of 
 a sudden, from the little patient, violent and unex- 
 pected retching that made the watchers look grave. 
 June's kindness of the day before was bearing fruit. 
 Bryson, unwilling, stood forced to suspend his work at 
 its critical stage. He showed his first uneasiness stand- 
 ing back while they tried to quiet his patient. The 
 pulse fluttered ; hemorrhages welling anew defied con- 
 trol. Sponges, scalding hot, were thrown into the gap 
 like tiny sandbags into a crevasse; artery forceps 
 clicked till they hung thick as silver leeches along the 
 lips of the wound ; it was the anxious moment. Grad- 
 ually the troublesome stomach was brought under con- 
 trol, dissection went cautiously forward; the thread- 
 like nerve Doctor Bryson sought lay at last uncovered. 
 
 " There it is," he said to those about him, and with 
 it lying on his hook he told them why he knew it. 
 Seizing the superior ganglion, the one he wanted, on 
 
 65
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 his forceps, he divided the nerve at its exit from the 
 skull and drew the ganglion out. 
 
 When Mrs. Eliot could again think connectedly a 
 smiling nurse was fanning her. Ruth, bandaged, lay 
 with closed eyes on the office couch; Doctor Bryson 
 was washing his hands. Mrs. Eliot, turning to Ruth, 
 heard a surgeon congratulating him. 
 
 " I thought your first Jonnesco operation was good, 
 doctor," he was saying ; " I swear, I believe this one 
 was prettier." 
 
 66
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 * ' T T OW is that little girl you operated on last 
 JL 1 week, doctor ? " asked Miss Montague at 
 dinner one night. " Ruth Eliot, is that her name? " 
 
 " Ruth Eliot," supplied Mrs. Goddard from her 
 salad. It was deemed at the Annex table a bit of 
 etiquette to be up on Bryson's star cases. 
 
 " She's largely out of my keeping," answered Doctor 
 Bryson. 
 
 "Oh, how so?" 
 
 " Ruth's in the hands of my silent partner." 
 
 " Who's your silent partner ? " asked Mrs. Ledgcott, 
 somewhat impatiently. " I didn't know you had a 
 silent partner." 
 
 " He's riddling," observed Mrs. Goddard, sagely. 
 
 " I have a silent partner ; and that considerably the 
 more important member of the firm." 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 " Nature. I'm glad to say Ruth's doing well in Na- 
 ture's hands. I took her vision yesterday. She al- 
 ready reads within two lines of normal. Ruth deserves 
 it ; she's a model patient. Good patients should all have 
 harps; and if they keep them for good patients there 
 will be plenty to go around, too." 
 
 " I'm enthusiastic over her mother," exclaimed Mrs. 
 Goddard. " I think she deserves a harp for the care 
 she takes of that child. Mrs. Eliot is charming." 
 
 67
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Wrapped up in her little girl," commented Miss 
 Montague. " She is a fairylike thing." 
 
 " Talk about miniatures," exclaimed Bryson. 
 " There's a subject for you, Miss Montague." 
 
 " The world is full of subjects if one only could use 
 them all ! " 
 
 "If only they all had the money," laughed Mrs. 
 Ledgcott. 
 
 " If I could afford it 1 would paint a child like that 
 for nothing ! " returned Miss Montague, bridling ; " I 
 think I've done my share of that kind of thing. If I 
 didn't have bills to pay I would never paint anything 
 but children in the world." 
 
 " You must like children," purred Mrs. Ledgcott, 
 softly. 
 
 " I love them," exclaimed Mary Montague, coldly 
 reckless, looking straight at her tormentor. 
 
 " Good for you," interposed Bryson, bluntly. " So 
 do I." 
 
 " Just as if a man could really love a child as a wom- 
 an does," sighed Mrs. Ledgcott, reproachfully, and 
 she looked at Johnnie, for she was what stage car- 
 penters would call a quick shift. " Oh, doctor, doctor ! 
 Are you going to play cards to-night ? " she asked, 
 brightening with an effort. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " My rooms," announced Mrs. Goddard ; " every- 
 body at eight sharp and I've asked Mrs. Eliot up." 
 
 " Does Mrs. Eliot play poker? " asked John Allison. 
 
 "If she doesn't we'll teach her," promised Mrs. God- 
 dard. 
 
 " You ought to be ashamed of yourselves," declared 
 68
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 Bryson. " You women will corrupt everybody in the 
 house." 
 
 " We never corrupted you, doctor." 
 
 When Bryson called later to see Ruth, June was 
 with her mother. 
 
 " Go ? Of course you'll go," insisted June when 
 Bryson arrived. " She's asked up to Mrs. Goddard's 
 rooms this evening and she doesn't want to go. Doc- 
 tor, you make her go. She's hung around this room 
 with Ruth till you can see the bones in her fingers with- 
 out any rays. She never goes anywhere but down to 
 her music room and from dinner up here to bed. She's 
 never visited anybody in the whole house. You'll be 
 sick that's what you'll be," stormed June as the doc- 
 tor laughed and went into the bedroom to talk to Ruth. 
 
 " You will have to break away from your room occa- 
 sionally," put in Bryson, returning after a while. " You 
 make a capital nurse, Mrs. Eliot, but you'll be down 
 yourself if you don't get a change once in a while." 
 
 June, reenforced, bore down harder. Ruth added a 
 pretty word. " I don't need you, mamma, to put me 
 to sleep. I'll think about that poor little girl Doctor 
 Bryson told me about that walked sideways all the 
 time, and after he put glasses on her she walked just 
 as straight as anything." 
 
 Mrs. Eliot gave way. It was nearly nine o'clock 
 when she knocked lightly at Mrs. Goddard's door. The 
 card party was in blast. Bowles, Bryson, Mrs. Ledg- 
 cott and Mrs. Goddard before the fire in the grate were 
 playing poker, and Miss Montague, whose apartments 
 adjoined, sat near John Allison. John was poring over 
 some miniatures she had brought in. 
 
 69
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Late, but you are forgiven if you've brought an 
 excuse,'' said Mrs. Goddard, cordially, to the new ar- 
 rival. 
 
 Mrs. Eliot stood disconcerted on the threshold. The 
 rooms were highly lighted, the faces at the table 
 flushed, and there was sally and retort and the laugh- 
 ing that makes an outsider ill at ease. The men rose 
 instantly. " Come right in and right over here you 
 know almost everybody oh, yes; Miss Montague, 
 shake hands with Mrs. Eliot, as Mr. Bowles says, and 
 Mr. Bowles, if you will behave, you may shake hands 
 with Mrs. Eliot yourself. And the others I am sure 
 you know; and the game is poker and the limit a 
 quarter, except for a jack-pot, when Mr. Bowles and 
 Mrs. Ledgcott stay. Then the roof goes." 
 
 " I am sorry to be stupid, but I don't understand 
 poker, Mrs. Goddard. Let me join Miss Montague." 
 
 " Oh, no ; we're going to teach you poker. It won't 
 take but a minute " 
 
 Allison groaned. " Poor Robinson Crusoe," he 
 sighed, looking sympathetically at the victim. 
 
 " Let her come over here with me," cried Mary Mon- 
 tague, impulsively ; but Mrs. Goddard had said. " Doc- 
 tor Bryson is banker," she explained. " Sit here, Mrs. 
 Eliot. Oh, ife*s easy as pie- give her some chips, doc- 
 tor. Never buy over twenty-five cents' worth at a 
 time, Mrs. Eliot, then you know where you are." 
 
 " Or where you ought to be," hinted Bowles, darkly. 
 
 The beginnings of anything are tiresome, but poker 
 is peculiarly a game for gamesters. Mrs. Eliot strug- 
 gled. The men helped because they liked the subject, 
 and Mrs. Goddard helped because she was a philanthro- 
 
 70
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 pist. Mrs. Ledgcott primarily wanted poker and not 
 a primary class. Having already scented a strange 
 kitten under her stove, she smiled prettily, and with her 
 patient little smile she gradually broke up the game. 
 It was bad enough to have somebody coming in to en- 
 tertain her gentlemen friends, without teaching the 
 stranger how to do it. Yet in spite of some calculations 
 on Mrs. Ledgcott's part, quitting the table proved a 
 mistake. She saw this the minute music was called 
 for and John Allison sat down at the piano and sang 
 a funny German song that made everybody hungry for 
 more. Mrs. Goddard followed with a second song; 
 then Bryson asked Mrs. Eliot to play " The Flatterer." 
 
 Perhaps it was not very easy in a black dress to sit 
 comfortably at the piano with the three alert men and 
 three handsomely gowned young women, one of them 
 covertly unfriendly, listening. At any rate, Mrs. Eliot, 
 ignoring the doctor's choice of a piece, attempted a 
 ballade and it came off badly. Resisting all efforts at 
 an encore, she left the piano embarrassed and took 
 refuge on the couch near Mrs. Ledgcott. 
 
 " Do play something more," sighed the baby lady, 
 earnestly ; she was willing now that Mrs. Eliot should 
 play everything she knew. 
 
 " Oh, no." 
 
 Mrs. Ledgcott feathered a tiny dart. " Doctor Bry- 
 son has spoken so highly of your touch," said she, look- 
 ing with sweetness at the doctor, who crossed his legs 
 discomposedly under the shaft. It was the taunt of a 
 pretty face a round, well-dressed, sweet-odored face 
 from a woman and to a woman who hate each other 
 by the operation of a law very nearly divine. The pink 
 
 71
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 of resentment rose above the plain high collar of Mrs. 
 Eliot's dress and crept almost to her ears. Mrs. Ledg- 
 cott had made a tactical mistake. 
 
 " Oh, don't stop, Mrs. Eliot," urged Bryson, help- 
 lessly, " do play ' The Flatterer.' '" Anger supplied the 
 needed steadiness and animation. She retraced her 
 steps to the bench, a queen in her black gown, and 
 seated herself with a totally different air seated her- 
 self to conquer and to charm. The piano itself was an 
 inspiration a " condensed grand," with a lingering 
 tone and the music teacher bent over the keys and in 
 a crescendo of chords coaxed them to help her. Up 
 she woke them, octave after octave, till the ivory 
 danced, and with every key bobbing she broke more 
 deftly yet back among the black-hooded fellows, soft- 
 est and sweetest into Chaminade's bewildering mel- 
 ody. She held the phrases every one at her own 
 capricious will, whirling one upon another with entire 
 abandon, until, when her hands dropped from the key- 
 board, the silence for an instant was breathless. 
 
 " Mrs. Eliot, you are an artist," exclaimed John Al- 
 lison first. " Isn't she, Bowles ? " 
 
 " If you'll star, Mrs. Eliot, I'll write your paper my- 
 self," declared Bowles with superb conviction. " I 
 never heard Chaminade before." 
 
 Bryson pointed an accusing finger at him. " When 
 I came home from your concert, Bowles, and said Mrs. 
 Eliot played that thing better than your Pole remem- 
 ber?" 
 
 " I didn't know we had a pianist right here in the 
 house," admitted Bowles. Mrs. Eliot walked more 
 
 72
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 easily over to the couch, and Mrs. Ledgcott, cowed, 
 scratched no more. 
 
 Next morning Mrs. Eliot called at the College and 
 asked for Doctor Bryson. It was the first time she 
 had been down since the operation. There was no de- 
 lay now in seeing whom she wanted, no more anxious 
 waiting about the receiving-room. A word from Bry- 
 son had changed all that. She felt like one with money 
 in purse, sure of attention and greeting. He entered 
 his office after she had been seated in it by Jim. He 
 extended his hand and she gave hers ; it alone was an 
 intoxication. 
 
 " Very glad to see you. How are you this morning 
 and how is Ruth ? " he asked, heartily. 
 
 " Thank you, I am always well ; and Ruth is doing 
 so well. I can hardly tell you what a load it is off my 
 heart." 
 
 " It is early yet, of course, to rejoice ; but certainly 
 we couldn't have asked for better results so far." 
 
 " I have come to pay you some money, doctor, on ac- 
 count," said Mrs. Eliot, putting some bills toward him 
 on the table, " and I will have some more immediately 
 after the first of the month," she added, hurriedly, ris- 
 ing to go. 
 
 Bryson looked doubtfully at the money. " Just a 
 minute, Mrs. Eliot. How much have you here ? " 
 
 " A hundred dollars, doctor." 
 
 " But you don't owe me that much " 
 
 " The operation " 
 
 " The operation is fifty dollars." 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 " Fifty dollars." 
 
 73
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 "Oh, Doctor Bryson. How could it be only fifty 
 dollars?" 
 
 " Because that is what I booked it at." 
 
 " Miss June told me something of what you are paid 
 for such work. Twenty-five hundred dollars once." 
 
 " Miss June is excitable, you know. She frequently 
 gets things mixed," he added, calmly counting out fifty 
 dollars and pushing the rest of the money back to her. 
 " This balances our account, and I am obliged to you 
 for your confidence and good will. Now, really, I 
 don't want to cause you embarrassment," he added, 
 mildly. Her face looked shamed and her eyes turned 
 like hares to escape his. " You must admit I am the 
 one to name my fee. Provided it is reasonable, there 
 should be no occasion for sensitiveness, Mrs. Eliot." 
 
 " I am sorry to show any," she stammered, " but 
 I fear, doctor, you are making a nominal charge for a 
 very great and skillful service. It is something I have 
 no right to ask." 
 
 " You haven't asked it." 
 
 " I must somehow have asked it, or why should you 
 give your services to me for nothing ? " 
 
 " Frankly, I felt great interest in my little patient, 
 Mrs. Eliot." 
 
 " But you are entitled to something like your usual 
 compensation. You must let me pay you what I can 
 what is right." 
 
 " I have said what I honestly believe to be right. 
 Here it is. I am satisfied. I have charged more for 
 similar operations I have done them for less." 
 
 " I know I should pay much more than fifty dollars, 
 doctor." He disagreed with a smile. " Do take this 
 
 74
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 money and I will be most grateful." He shook his 
 head. 
 
 " You will embarrass me, Mrs. Eliot, if you insist. 
 You will make me remember the time when a hundred 
 dollars looked as big to me as a hundred thousand 
 when I should have fallen on a man's neck and wept 
 if he had ever offered me so much money at once." 
 
 " Won't you take at least what I have brought, doc- 
 tor?" 
 
 He laughed. " I wouldn't take this much if you 
 weren't so set on it. Let me give you a receipt " 
 
 " Oh, that is not at all necessary." 
 
 " Oh, yes it is, if you please. If you have your way 
 and make me take the money I shall have mine and 
 make you take a receipt." 
 
 " But I haven't had my way," she protested, through 
 a rainbow of mist. " It is you who have had your way, 
 is it not? I think I should have mine about the re- 
 ceipt." 
 
 " All right, you shall. Let it go." 
 
 " It would make me uncomfortable to take a receipt. 
 Without one I can still feel, whether you admit it or 
 not, that I owe you a great deal of money." 
 
 " Are you in a hurry? " 
 
 " Not especially." 
 
 He hesitated. " Will you let me ask your judgment 
 about a present I am trying to make ? " 
 
 *' A present ? " 
 
 " A wedding present to a friend of my youthful 
 days," he said, playfully. " I've been putting it off un- 
 til the last day has come, and I'm in a cold perspiration 
 over it." 
 
 75
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Oh, a wedding present ought not to be so difficult." 
 " By Jove, I find it so. What could you suggest ? " 
 " Something in silver or books or how would an 
 engraving do? Much depends on the taste of the one 
 you give to. You could choose a dozen nice things in 
 an hour. Nice china, or even table linen is always ac- 
 ceptable. Is it a relative? I presume you give to the 
 bride." 
 
 " Exactly. If it were to the groom I could manage 
 it. No, she's not a relation, but she might as well be. 
 I think a great deal of her father and of her, too. Her 
 mother and my mother died at almost the same time 
 when we were children up in a little Wisconsin town. 
 Her father was the big man of the town in those days 
 and she was the belle. My mother was poor and I 
 used to have to go barefoot most of the time," said 
 Bryson, candidly reminiscent. " One day there were a 
 lot of boys and girls playing pull-away over in her big 
 yard, and I was hanging along outside the fence just 
 hungry to be asked in to play, and, by George, she 
 asked me in. I suppose I looked pretty shabby; any- 
 way, one of the boys refused to stay if I played, and 
 said something about my clothes. I was so crushed I 
 couldn't even fight then though among boys I took 
 care of such matters tolerably well. But to get hit in 
 that way among girls was too much for me. I stood 
 there like a ninny, ready to cry, but she turned on 
 the brute like a little hurricane and came over and 
 stood by me, and, would you believe it, ordered the 
 other fellow out of the yard. Wasn't that brave? 
 That's the kind of girl she was. I couldn't forget 
 that." He talked so rapidly and with so quiet a frank- 
 
 76
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 ness that he engaged interest and sympathy. " Now 
 I'm trying to select a wedding present," he concluded, 
 '" for that girl ; and it's got to be done to-day." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 " There's nothing too good for girls like her, and 
 you'd hardly believe it with all the money her father 
 had he has lost every cent." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I can believe it." 
 
 " Every cent in '93 and if it hadn't been for a 
 bright young lawyer up there that took hold when all 
 the men her father had made rich had deserted htm, 
 by Jove, they'd have sold the roof over his head. That's 
 the man she's going to marry the lawyer and he's 
 a fine fellow." 
 
 " I think that is lovely." 
 
 " But the change in their circumstances seems, some- 
 how, to have broken a good deal of her spirit. She was 
 a quick, courageous girl when I knew her full of im- 
 pulse and confidence. Her husband has a good country 
 legal practice, but that isn't a fortune, you know, and 
 he supports his parents, too. So I want to give her 
 something worth while, that's the fact of it. Do you 
 know anything about diamonds ? " 
 
 " A little." 
 
 " Well, I don't know a thing," he declared, opening 
 a drawer, " except that when I wanted a diamond I 
 never had money enough to buy one, and now for my- 
 self I've lost my wild desire about them. But I thought 
 earrings would be nice for her. What do you think 
 of those? " He handed her a jewel case containing a 
 pair of solitaire stones. She took them, not able entire- 
 ly to suppress a little exclamation. " I got them at 
 
 77
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 Mattson's," he went on, watching her expression. 
 " They said they weren't wearing diamonds as much 
 as they used to, but they said these were right of their 
 kind." 
 
 " Right ! " echoed Mrs. Eliot, catching her breath. 
 " Indeed, I should think they were quite right. They 
 are superb," she continued, slowly ; " lustre, color, 
 size." 
 
 " I don't care much about whether they're in fashion. 
 I want to give her something permanent. What do you 
 think of them for the purpose ? " 
 
 " They would be a splendid gift for anyone." 
 
 " I mean do you think I could improve on them in 
 some other way as a gift ? I don't know a thing about 
 wedding presents." 
 
 Mrs. Eliot sat with her gloved finger crooked upon 
 her lip. He was so simple in his questions that her 
 manner was of amused interest. 
 
 " Are they the most practical thing you could send 
 her under the circumstances ? " she suggested, reflect- 
 ively. 
 
 " I don't know. That's what I wanted to ask you. 
 What do you think?" 
 
 " Under the circumstances you have mentioned 
 while these are queenly perhaps you could give your 
 friend something more useful to her, don't you think ? " 
 
 " They are not the most useful thing in the world, 
 but they are staple. They tell me that diamonds are 
 just as convertible as government bonds." 
 
 " But, doctor, she wouldn't sell diamonds that you 
 gave her." 
 
 78
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Why no, I suppose not unless, of course, she 
 needed the money very much " 
 
 " Oh, never in the world. There are some things in 
 life even necessity can't compel. She would not sell 
 those ever." 
 
 " After all, there may not be much of a point in the 
 convertibility, though it sounded plausible when they 
 talked of it. Well, if I don't give her these, I've 
 got to find something else to-day," he added, with 
 alarm ; " what is it going to be ? " 
 
 " Why, send the earrings, doctor. Don't let me un- 
 settle your mind. I ought not even to have made a 
 suggestion after all your trouble in picking them out." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you ought ; I wanted a woman's judgment 
 or I shouldn't have asked. But now I've got to find 
 something else, and I'll be hanged if I know what it 
 shall be." He looked perplexedly at Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 " What are her tastes ? " she inquired, doubtfully. 
 
 " I suppose I ought to know but I don't. She has 
 changed so. I wrote her the other day to ask her what 
 I should send " 
 
 "You did?" 
 
 "Yes. Wasn't that right?" 
 
 "Of course it was right ; but odd. What did she 
 say?" 
 
 " Here is her letter," he replied, taking an envelope 
 from his pocket. "What can you make out of it. 
 She seems all broken up about the trouble they've had." 
 Mrs. Eliot opened the letter. 
 
 " My dear Harry," she read, " I did not mean to 
 write you of my marriage at all. But since father has 
 told you and you have written me so good and so kind a 
 
 79
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 letter, what can I do but thank you again and again for 
 your wishes for my happiness. 
 
 " It is like you, who remember so well, to speak as 
 you do of father's little kindnesses to you at school. 
 How long ago it seems, yet you are only twenty-eight 
 and I only twenty-six. It seems as if I cannot grow 
 old. Sometimes I pray that I might in the night go 
 to sleep young and wake old with the hard things all 
 done, or that I might sleep on till that other morning. 
 But out of all the wreck, all that you know and more 
 than you know one thing remains duty. And my 
 duty it is that I try now to do and that I pray for 
 strength to do when I pray nightly for you and for 
 your happiness. Surely you, if anyone, deserve happi- 
 ness. 
 
 " You ask what you can send me that I would best 
 like on my wedding day. Send me just word that you 
 are happy and it will help me to be. You will like my 
 husband when you meet him, as you must sometime. 
 He is honest and strong and true, and because he has 
 asked it now so long, knowing as he knows all my 
 heart, and because father, who is very feeble, asks it, 
 I am going to try to make him happy God helping 
 me. Good-by ! JESSIE M. B. LAWSON." 
 
 " Oh, Doctor Bryson ! " 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " This is a sad letter. I shouldn't have seen this " 
 
 "Pray, why not?" 
 
 " It is a strange letter." 
 
 " I know it what am I to do? There isn't much to 
 guide me, is there ? You can see how depressed she is 
 about their trouble and how mixed up I am. But I 
 
 80
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 am beginning to see these are not the thing," he said, 
 reluctantly, contemplating the diamonds. 
 
 " She isn't musical, is she ? I always think of that 
 first," suggested Mrs. Eliot, apologetically. 
 
 " She is, intensely ; of course she is " 
 
 " Has she a piano ? " 
 
 " By Jove, they sold their piano " 
 
 " If you are going to send as large a sum as these 
 mean why not a piano?" she asked, doubtfully. 
 
 He struck the table lightly. " I never thought of.it. 
 How stupid. A piano is the very thing. I'll send 
 her a piano. It's what she would like above all things," 
 he declared, putting the letter in his pocket. 
 
 " Will they take back the earrings ? " 
 
 " Oh, I think so," he said, throwing them into a 
 drawer and locking it. " I can manage that afterward. 
 The manager up there is a patient of mine, and if he 
 doesn't do what's right I'll make him suffer. A piano. 
 Now what kind? An upright or one of those three- 
 cornered affairs like Mrs. Goddard's would be about 
 right, wouldn't it? I don't know anything about a 
 piano either. Would you help me select one, Mrs. 
 Eliot ? But you wouldn't have time, would you ? " 
 
 It was impossible to resist his impulsiveness im- 
 pulsiveness of a kind that whirled things, with a good- 
 humored begging, to a conclusion. " I think I have 
 time," she assented, " if you would dare take my judg- 
 ment." 
 
 " Dare? " he echoed, starting to his feet. " Glad to 
 get it. Can you go now? Good. Yes, Jessie loves 
 music but she can't play like you," he added, bluntly, 
 throwing things into drawers and touching a button 
 
 81
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 as he made ready to leave. Jim opened the door. 
 " Cab, Jim." 
 
 " Oh, don't take a cab ; we can walk, doctor," said 
 Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 He considered quickly. " No ? Shall we ? As you 
 say. No matter, Jim," said he, slipping into the top 
 coat Jim held for him. " If you are ready," he added, 
 bowing to Mrs. Eliot as she rose, " we will go right 
 along. Miss Martin," he said, passing her desk in 
 the receiving-room as he followed Mrs. Eliot, " I won't 
 be back till two o'clock." 
 
 82
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 T F you'll behave yourself now, Ruth," said Bryson 
 J- one evening, " you'll be all right ; but keep 
 away from boys with Roman candles and firecrackers. 
 She read normal to-day twenty-twentieths." June 
 and he were sitting with Mrs. Eliot in her room. Ruth 
 stood between his knees. 
 
 " My ! " exclaimed June, looking at Ruth, " listen 
 to that, child ! You ought to be mighty good to him, 
 I tell you. Let's see how your eye looks." 
 
 " There's quite a scar on her neck," said the doctor, 
 regretfully. " Couldn't help that ; it won't show when 
 she's older. I think now with ordinary care she is 
 going to get along." 
 
 " How is she ever to show her gratitude for it all, 
 Doctor Bryson ? " asked Mrs. Eliot, with the repres- 
 sion that carries intense sincerity. He laughed, slight- 
 ingly, " By taking good care of her eyes." 
 
 " Doctor," called June, blinking mischievously at 
 him as he rose to leave, " I'm almost inclined to let you 
 try to fix my eye, I declare." 
 
 Ruth followed the doctor, as she always did, out into 
 the hall, clinging to his arm and skipping at his side. 
 In a minute she came running back. 
 
 " See, mamma," she cried, holding up her arm ; " see 
 what Doctor Bryson gave me ! Because I was such 
 a good patient, he said." 
 
 83
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 "What did he give you?" exclaimed June, tem- 
 pestuously. " Not that bracelet ? " 
 
 "Yes; just now." 
 
 " Why, Ruth," cried her mother. 
 
 " Land sakes," exclaimed June. " Gold ! Well, he 
 wouldn't be likely to give her anything else, would 
 he?" 
 
 " Oh, I wish he hadn't done this," said Mrs. Eliot, 
 looking in distress at the pretty band. " He ought not 
 to have done it." 
 
 " Why not ? " bridled June. " He's got plenty of 
 money. He's giving somebody something all the time ; 
 why not her ? " 
 
 " But he gives her such an expensive thing," pro- 
 tested Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 " That's nothing for him. Why, he gave Johnnie 
 Ledgcott a watch last Christmas that must have cost 
 twenty-five dollars. He doesn't think anything of that. 
 His folks are all dead and he just loves children ; my 
 gracious, you can see that with half an eye. He thinks 
 more this minute of Johnnie Ledgcott than his mother 
 does," declared June as Ruth danced the bangle up and 
 down her wrist and capered around her mother. 
 
 " Did you thank him, Ruth ? " asked her mother. 
 
 " I told him I loved him, mamma, and he kissed me," 
 blushed Ruth. " Can I go show it to Johnnie, mam- 
 ma?" 
 
 " Not to-night, dear ; it's time to go to bed now ; " 
 and June gossiped until it was time for Ruth to say 
 her prayers; she always got out when prayers began. 
 Either an evil spirit moved, or a good spirit pricked, 
 within her she got away. When she made her escape 
 
 84
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 Ruth was kneeling straight up in bed, pink from throat 
 to foot, pink where the blood lighted her cheeks and 
 tinged her ears, white where the " nighty " fell away 
 from her neck, and brown where the curls tumbled over 
 her eyes. She knelt and tried hard to say, " Now I 
 lay me," without thinking at every word of the heavy 
 hoop on her wrist, and trying to shut her eyes so that 
 even peeping under the long lashes she could not see 
 the dazzling yellow of it in the gas light. 
 
 " Do you realize, Doctor Bryson," said Mrs. Eliot 
 in the hall next morning, " that you are tyranically 
 generous." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " You know very well. When Ruth came in with 
 her bracelet last night I was absolutely overcome. After 
 your care and trouble and taking only a nominal fee for 
 it all and then" 
 
 " You are thinking about that fee all the time. In 
 buying something for Ruth I gratified myself. And 
 it's like that piano last summer," he laughed, " I can't 
 help it. I don't buy much, but when I do buy I like to 
 get the best. They told me at Mattson's that bracelet 
 was all right ; is it ? Did you look at it ? " 
 
 " I am ashamed to tell you how exquisite I think it." 
 
 " I'm glad I struck it once. To tell you the truth, 
 I have the worst taste in the world, and I have nobody 
 to educate me in these things." 
 
 " I am sure your taste is excellent." 
 
 " But, with the very best you can say undeveloped." 
 
 " No matter ; compliments do not spoil you, do 
 they?" 
 
 " I never get any." 
 
 85 

 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " You have in your disposition the foundation of all 
 taste unselfishness." He bowed quite happy. " But 
 in your manifestations of it such as the last be mer- 
 ciful, not overpowering." Her eyes opened an instant 
 to ask forgiveness for the ventured appeal, then closed 
 to their usual half light. But it was not the half light 
 he carried away with him ; it was the passing burst that 
 left its image on his heart, as the retina at evening is 
 stamped by a fire of sun from a twilight of clouds. 
 
 Entering her room a few minutes afterward, Mrs. 
 Eliot had just closed the door when she heard a tap. 
 She turned. It was Mrs. Ledgcott. 
 
 " Why, how do you do? Come in." 
 
 "Oh, thank you, Mrs. Eliot how do you do? I 
 wanted to see you for just a minute. Isn't it a per- 
 fectly lovely morning? Ruth, dear, how are you?" 
 
 " Sit down, Mrs. Ledgcott," requested Mrs. Eliot, 
 amiably easy. Ruth rather stared, for Mrs. Ledgcott 
 had never before in all the months of the acquaintance 
 learned just where Mrs. Eliot roomed. 
 
 " I am going away for a couple of days, Mrs. Eliot ; 
 up into Wisconsin on a little coaching trip, don't you 
 know. I wanted to ask if Johnnie may not spend part 
 of his time with Ruth while I am gone. Just till Mon- 
 day, you know. The dear little fellow is quite out of 
 sorts, and if I hadn't promised I shouldn't go; but I 
 hate to break up a party, don't you know? Will he 
 bother you, Mrs. Eliot? " 
 
 As Johnnie spent all available time which meant 
 every minute his mother couldn't keep him away from 
 her with Ruth, anyway, there was hardly more than 
 the form to go through. 
 
 86
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Certainly not. We are always glad to have John- 
 nie. It is you, I fear, who have cause for impatience 
 because he is here so much," smiled Mrs. Eliot. She 
 could not resist a gentle thrust. 
 
 " Only on your account, dear Mrs. Eliot. I'm sure 
 he burdens you too much, but the dear little fellow is so 
 fond of Ruth it seems hopeless to try to keep him away. 
 I hope he won't tire you to-morrow. You must not 
 let him. Just send him over to the Annex the minute 
 he becomes a nuisance, won't you, please ? So I shan't 
 worry about his annoying you. I shall leave strict in- 
 junctions with him about that, and he can dress him- 
 self for Sabbath-school. He always goes to the Apos- 
 tles' Memorial, you know ; he is in Miss Ague's class. 
 Perhaps if he comes down you'll just see his tie is 
 straight, don't you know; but he does very well. I 
 have tried to make him self-reliant and independent. 
 Doctor Bryson believes children should be taught to do 
 for themselves and others ; it makes them unselfish, he 
 says. I have a genuine horror of a selfish child." 
 
 " And a selfish mother," assented Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 "Yes, indeed. That's worse still. Well," added 
 Mrs. Ledgcott, with the reflecting air of one who tries 
 to remember all her errand, " I think that's all. I 
 wanted so much to take him along the dear boy nearly 
 cried his heart out because he couldn't go with me ; he 
 is so devoted. But, unfortunately, I am only a guest, 
 you know, and gentlemen are so impatient of children. 
 W T hy do you never come over to see me, Mrs. Eliot ? " 
 
 " I have few spare hours, Mrs. Ledgcott." 
 
 " You teach, do you not ? " 
 
 " All the time" 
 
 87
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " I have thought so often lately I ought to take up 
 my own music. But I, too, have so little time. Well, 
 good-by Ruth ; good-by ! " 
 
 " Good-by," said Mrs. Eliot. " I hope you'll have 
 a pleasant time " 
 
 " Oh, I hope so. How d' you do, Miss June ? I 
 think we shall. Good-by ! " 
 
 June entering the room passed the baby lady with a 
 lowering eye. 
 
 " What's she up to now ? " she asked, sitting down 
 on the bed. 
 
 " She is going away over Sunday and asked if John- 
 nie might spend the day with Ruth." 
 
 " Humph ! Just as if he wouldn't anyway." 
 
 " She wants me to keep an eye on Johnnie while she 
 is gone, I suppose." 
 
 " She's a good one. She takes care he never inter- 
 feres with her fun." 
 
 The Annex dinner table was gay that Friday night, 
 because Mrs. Ledgcott's announcement had been made 
 and Bowles rose to the occasion and was witty. Next 
 morning she set off for Waukesha, where her party 
 was to coach to Madison. It was autumn and Wis- 
 consin wore brown and red and gold under her blue 
 skies, and her lakes slept. But autumn in Wisconsin 
 and Chicago may be very different. Mrs. Ledgcott 
 was whirled on the cars into sunshine, but the clouds 
 behind thickened into mist and rain. 
 
 Sunday morning it was still raining in Chicago. 
 Wisconsin was bright, the coaching party gay on grav- 
 eled roads and russet hills; Chicago, raining miser- 
 ably. Bryson had a medical society banquet for Satur- 
 
 88
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 day night at the Athletic Club and did not come home 
 till Sunday afternoon. At the boarding house every- 
 body read all day. There was really nothing for it 
 but the Sunday papers and books. About four o'clock 
 Bryson left John Allison before the fire and started for 
 Mrs. Eliot's room with a book. Ruth and Johnnie 
 Ledgcott were on the floor playing authors. June was 
 pouring a tale of a rebellious boarder into Mrs. Eliot's 
 sympathetic ear. 
 
 " A patient gave it to me yesterday ; everybody's 
 reading it," said Bryson, throwing himself into an 
 offered chair as Mrs. Eliot looked at his book. " I 
 don't really know what it is, but everybody's reading 
 it. There's a horse trade in it that's alone worth the 
 price of admission. You read and tell me about it, will 
 you ? " he asked of Mrs. Eliot. " That will save me 
 wrestling with it. I've got to be able to answer ques- 
 tions on it, for the man that gave it to me is as sharp 
 as tacks a big wholesale grocer. Next time I meet 
 him at the club he'll cross-examine me, sure. Why " 
 he exclaimed, turning suddenly towards Johnnie. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " asked June. Bryson sat 
 looking steadfastly at Johnnie Ledgcott. " What 
 makes you breathe that way, Johnnie ? " he demanded, 
 fixing his keen eyes on the boy. 
 
 Johnnie, struggling with a breath, tried to laugh 
 apologetically. " I have a cold, doctor. Mamma said 
 it would be all right in a day or two." 
 
 " Come here," commanded the doctor, brusquely. 
 He stood Johnnie before him and watched his breath- 
 ing. The little fellow smiled a frightened smile back 
 
 89
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 at Ruth, for Johnnie was alive to moods and felt the 
 earnestness in the doctor's voice and eye. 
 
 It wasn't often Doctor Bryson looked like that. 
 When he did, older folks than Johnnie kept silence. 
 He brushed aside Johnnie's fine Sabbath-school tie and 
 pressed his ear to the lad's throat and chest; turned 
 him around ; listened between his shoulder blades ; took 
 him to the window, arid taking a spatula from his vest 
 pocket looked a long time into his throat; not a word 
 all the time from him, and certainly no word from any- 
 one else. He brought Johnnie back with his hand on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " Where is his mother ? " 
 
 It was such a queer question. 
 
 " Where is his mother? " more sharply. 
 
 " Why, you know ; she's gone on the coaching party 
 up to Waukesha," explained June. " She won't be 
 back till to-morrow." 
 
 Bryson looked at the frail, handsome boy as he stood 
 almost clinging to the only friend he had in the world 
 the long-legged, fierce-eyed Bryson. 
 
 " To-morrow ! " he echoed, savagely. The women 
 heard a suppressed exclamation from the doctor, still 
 looking at the child. They couldn't for their lives see 
 anything extraordinary in Johnnie's condition. His 
 breath came quick, his cheeks were pinkishly bright 
 and his eyes flashed like sea water ; that was all. 
 
 " June," said Bryson, his words cutting like knives, 
 " put Johnnie to bed quick. Is there a fire in their 
 rooms ? Have one built in the grate right away a big 
 one. Get hot water bottles and plenty of blankets 
 ready. My room is hot it's a little cool here. I'll take 
 
 90
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 him up there. Come, Johnnie, till they get the fire 
 going good and strong. Lively, June; don't lose a 
 minute." 
 
 " Why, doctor ! What's the matter ? " demanded 
 June in amazement. Mrs. Eliot only looking the ques- 
 tion listened anxiously at his elbow. 
 
 " Croup. Johnnie, did you breathe hard Friday 
 night?" 
 
 " Pretty hard. Mamma gave me some cough syrup. 
 She thought it would go away." 
 
 " Were you outdoors yesterday ? Did you get wet ? " 
 
 " I was outdoors, but I didn't get wet, doctor." 
 
 " Look here, Johnnie. Go straight up to my room, 
 will you? Hold on, don't run. June, where's that 
 telephone in the lower hall? Has Mrs. Ledgcott a 
 physician ? " he asked, descending the stairs, followed 
 by June and Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 " She's got him with her." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " She has Doctor Kurd. He took her on that coach- 
 ing trip." 
 
 " Everybody gone. Hurry the fire, June." June 
 started for the back of the basement. Bryson rang 
 sharp at the telephone, called Jim up at the College and 
 began giving orders; called up Jevons on the North 
 Side the head of the throat department at the College ; 
 called up his head nurse on the West Side, and could 
 get no connection and grew angry. The head nurse 
 could not be found; she was out. Bryson hung up 
 the receiver impatiently. 
 
 " Couldn't I be nurse, doctor ? " said a voice at his
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 elbow. Mrs. Eliot was standing near him in the gloom. 
 
 "You?" 
 
 " I'll do just what you tell me." 
 
 " You would have to be up all night." 
 
 " I don't mind that" 
 
 " Yes, but I mean every minute you can't close 
 your eyes." 
 
 " I won't." 
 
 He hesitated. " Well, let's go upstairs. He must 
 have some medicine right away. I'll try Miss Gridley 
 later. She's out with her beau, I suppose, like all the 
 rest of them." 
 
 " Is he so very sick, doctor ? " she asked, taking a 
 rapid pace with him up the stairs and through the halls. 
 
 " I am afraid it is malignant. I saw him through one 
 attack when they first came here three years ago. 
 Johnnie was getting away from them and it was just 
 an accident I got him through." 
 
 " Tell me how." 
 
 " They were giving him ipecac among other things. 
 A few people have an idiosyncrasy for ipecac. Johnnie 
 has; I discovered it through having such an idiosyn- 
 crasy myself, that is all. Instead of relaxing his 
 larynx, ipecac actually contracts it. It is uncertain. He 
 is a sick boy. He will keep us all guessing before 
 morning, I'm afraid. I'm glad his mother will be back 
 by that time." 
 
 92
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 FOR half an hour there was hurrying up and down 
 the Annex stairs. The grate in Mrs. Ledgcott's 
 apartments was in her sitting-room. In twenty minutes 
 June had a hot fire blazing in it, but it did not temper 
 the bedroom air to suit Bryson. He wanted a tempera- 
 ture of eighty or close to it, and after one minute's de- 
 liberation all hands, which included June, John Alli- 
 son, Mrs. Eliot and the doctor, went at the bed, took it 
 down and set it up where he wanted it in the sitting- 
 room. The door leading to the hall was straightway 
 locked, and entrance had through the hall door of the 
 bedroom. June was posted before the grate to warm 
 blankets. Mrs. Eliot, at her side, undressed Johnnie, 
 and, in heavy flannels, he was bundled between hot 
 blankets into bed. At four o'clock Jim arrived from 
 the College with a huge package of apparatus and 
 medicines. It was not a failing of Bryson's to lose time 
 in a fight or to go into it with ordinary measures. He 
 brought in his best regiments at the beginning. In a 
 critical case he was a whirlwind, and in the sick-room 
 a despot. Before Jevons had arrived and the doctors 
 had begun their consultation, two great vaporizers were 
 blazing, and Johnnie, who had recovered his spirits 
 and was inclined to look on the excitement as a great 
 lark, peered happy as a boy prince out of the pillows. 
 The two doctors looked, felt, auscultated, looked again, 
 
 93
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 and talked together at Johnnie's side, then in the halls, 
 then in Bryson's room. After they had finished their 
 confab Bryson went upstairs. Jevons lighted a cigar 
 with John Allison. The latter was too medically bred 
 to ask questions, and Jevons talked little. They smoked 
 in silence, and at six o'clock, after another half an hour 
 in the sick-room, he left. John, downstairs, helped 
 him on with his coat and asked him if he would be back 
 that night. 
 
 " Bryson is doing everything that can be done. The 
 child's larynx is small the inflammation is way ahead 
 of us; it is membranous. Good night." 
 
 Upstairs the gas jet was shaded, the medicines dis- 
 posed upon the tables, the nurse's record opened. John- 
 nie lay asleep, breathing heavily. Mrs. Eliot sat in a 
 rocking-chair at his side. A thermometer hung from 
 the fixture over the table and another was tied, at the 
 child's head, to the brass spindle of the bed. These 
 were Jim's charge. " Keep them at seventy-eight de- 
 grees," the doctor had ordered, and Jim knew if they 
 fell below seventy-six his master would supply all 
 needed warmth in his reproof. He stole at intervals 
 noiselessly in and out from the hall, where old Patrick 
 had established relays of wood and coal. The vapor- 
 izers poured the incenselike odor of compound tincture 
 of benzoin into the warm air ; Mrs. Eliot rocked ; Jim 
 tiptoed in the shaded light, and outside the rain drove 
 against the windows, the street lamps burned in a 
 foggy drip of haze, cabs rumbled rhythmically over 
 the cross-town car tracks, and evening wore into night. 
 
 June came in with Doctor Bryson to see about the 
 watching. 
 
 94
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Let Mrs. Eliot call me at twelve and I'll sit up till 
 morning," she proposed. But June had a trick of 
 dozing. 
 
 " You come up about ten arid stay till one o'clock," 
 suggested Bryson, with her weakness in mind. " That 
 will give you a little sleep," he said to Mrs. Eliot, " and 
 you can go to bed then, Miss June, and sleep till morn- 
 ing. You have plenty of work in the kitchen after five 
 o'clock." 
 
 "What will you do?" 
 
 " Nap here on the couch." 
 
 " Aren't you going to bed ? " 
 
 " Not to-night." 
 
 As they spoke Johnnie twisted restlessly and opened 
 his eyes, heavy with fever. His face as he raised on 
 his elbow showed about the mouth the uneasy greenish 
 pallor of nausea. His breathing had scarcely changed 
 since afternoon ; but the night was ahead, the night of 
 midnight and the night of morning. He took his medi- 
 cine, threw himself into the pillows and went to sleep. 
 At one o'clock Bryson, a sleeper trained to wake at will 
 on the hour, rose from the couch, stretched himself be- 
 fore the grate, bent over Johnnie a minute, whispered 
 to June that she might go to bed, peered at the ther- 
 mometers, shivered a little, slipped on his coat, sat 
 down and folded his arms before the fire. It was a 
 deep, steady anthracite fire that burned red and gold 
 from below, and turned at the crest into licking little 
 bluish-greenish flame-tongues a glowing, useful, 
 faithful fire like Jim. Above its hardly perceptible 
 little explosions there was no sound except the child's 
 labored breathing, which fell steadily above the whir 
 
 95
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 of the rain on the doctor's ear. Once he got up, went 
 to the bed and bent low over Johnnie. He watched the 
 labored expansion of the chest, the heavy struggle of 
 the lungs to pull in and to push out the air the blood 
 hungered for. He took from the table a candle, and, 
 holding it close, noted the color about the lips and 
 nostrils, and was mentally deciding the child was get- 
 ting enough air to oxidate his system, when he felt a 
 presence at his side and his heart jumped. Mrs. Eliot 
 leaned forward beside him, and he turned, candle in 
 hand. 
 
 "How is he, doctor?" she breathed. Her very 
 presence made his heart beat in his throat. 
 
 " About the same/' he answered, as they stepped 
 back and he replaced the candle on the table. 
 
 " Why did you get up ? " he asked, drawing a stool 
 beside the chair in front of the grate, and motioning 
 her to the chair as he sat down on the stool. 
 
 Her hair was coiled. If there was about it a trace of 
 looseness it was only the little that sharpens the wish 
 for more. She was dressed as for the day, and, sinking 
 into the chair, she turned toward him with her hands 
 clasped over the arm. 
 
 " Because I want to be of what help I can." 
 
 " I can manage alone." 
 
 " But you said " A struggling breath from the 
 bed arrested her. Bryson rose like a mild mannered 
 jumping- jack and hastened to the bed. 
 
 " He is tightening," said the doctor, after a second 
 breath and a third. " We must prepare." 
 
 Straining for breath, Johnnie, with suddenly open- 
 96
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 ing eyes, rose straight up in bed. He looked all about 
 the room. 
 
 " Mamma ! " he cried, staring in suffocation and 
 fright. 
 
 " Yes, Johnnie ; yes, dear," said the voices on either 
 side of the bed. " It's I, Johnnie. Doctor Bryson and 
 Mrs. Eliot. You remember us, don't you ? " 
 
 " Mamma ! " he cried, panting, gasping. 
 
 " Call Jim, please, Mrs. Eliot," said the doctor, im- 
 peratively. 
 
 " Mamma ! " 
 
 " Ask him to give you the hot water cloths." 
 
 "Mamma!" 
 
 " Wring them out hot hot." 
 
 "I'm choking!" 
 
 " No, Johnnie. Don't scald your hands. Be quick. 
 Don't be frightened, Johnnie. I'll take care of you." 
 
 The little fellow broke into a hoarse, quavering cry. 
 Mrs. Eliot had run to Jim, asleep in the window seat of 
 the bedroom on a pile of Mrs. Ledgcott's lovely sofa 
 pillows. She had only to call his name and give the 
 message when he was on his feet. Close at hand he 
 had a pan of water hot on a gas stove. He snatched a 
 small towel from a stand, and, holding each end, swung 
 it through the pan, wrung it and passed it hot to Mrs. 
 Eliot, who hurried to the doctor. 
 
 " Now, Johnnie," said Doctor Bryson, " here's some- 
 thing that will help you. Never mind the hot." 
 
 " I want mamma. Mamma ! ! Oh, oh ! " 
 
 " It won't burn you," urged the doctor, wrapping 
 the cloth like a snake around his neck. " It will help 
 you to breathe better, Johnnie. Try to keep still ; do 
 
 97
 
 . 
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 try. It is harder for you to breathe when you struggle 
 so. Quick, Mrs. Eliot; another towel hotter." 
 
 Again and again it seemed to Mrs. Eliot as they 
 worked that each breath of the frantic boy would be 
 his last. Bryson silent, active and ignoring the des- 
 perate conditions wrung the steaming cloths about 
 Johnnie's neck unceasingly. When it seemed as if suf- 
 focation must become absolute, as if the very end had 
 come, the vocal chords somewhat relaxed, and, bundled 
 tight in woolen wrappings, Johnnie, cruelly exhausted, 
 was let down, breathing easier. He lay, as the doctor 
 commanded, quiet as a mouse, taking his medicine 
 meekly, thanking Mrs. Eliot when she gave him a 
 drink, just as he used to when he played little soldier 
 with Ruth: then looked at each of them pathetically 
 with his big bright eyes as they sat near. Once, when 
 Ruth's mother wiped the sweat from his forehead and 
 his face contracted in the nausea of the deadly tartar 
 emetic, he asked if she would not please ask his mamma 
 to hurry back early in the morning not knowing day 
 was already breaking. 
 
 They watched beside him through the last of the 
 early hours, breakfasted in turn, and Bryson, perfectly 
 fresh, laid the plans for the day precisely, warning 
 everybody that no relaxation of care was possible. 
 Only one thing occurred to disarrange them. Miss 
 Gridley, the nurse, came at eight o'clock ; but no morn- 
 ing train brought Mrs. Ledgcott. The strain and the 
 disappointment irritated everybody. When noon came 
 without Mrs. Ledgcott June broke out in rebellion. 
 She and Mrs. Eliot came up together from luncheon, 
 
 98
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 and June expressed, without reserve, her opinion of the 
 absentee. 
 
 " If she wasn't such a scheming, selfish piece all the 
 time all the time, mind you," exclaimed June, angrily, 
 " I wouldn't say anything about her staying away like 
 this. She's up there trying to catch that Kurd that's 
 what she's doing. I know it just as well as if I was 
 there myself. She schemed two years to catch Doctor 
 Bryson. She always gets down to breakfast early so 
 she can eat with the men says she can't sleep. When 
 they go down town she goes upstairs to bed and sleeps 
 the whole morning; then she thinks I ain't onto her." 
 
 Jevons was in the sick-room when they reached it. 
 He and Bryson were talking at the fireplace. The 
 nurse sat near the window. Johnnie wheezing pain- 
 fully lay pale among the pillows. He looked appealing- 
 ly at Mrs. Eliot and tried to call. 
 
 " Yes, dear," she said, hurrying over. " What is 
 it?" 
 
 " I am going to die," he whispered. 
 
 " Oh, Johnnie, Johnnie, no you're not. No, no, you 
 are going to get better. Doctor Bryson's going to have 
 you well in just a day or two." He looked at her 
 earnestly. " Can I say good-by to Ruth ? " 
 
 " You may say just what you like to Ruth, dear, only 
 you are not going to die. It would make her feel too 
 bad, Johnnie, if you talked of that." 
 
 He looked far away. " Can she just come see me 
 then? And I won't say a word about that." Each 
 word cost a fearful effort. 
 
 " Yes, dear, she shall come now the nurse wants 
 
 99
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 to give you some medicine let me lift your head 
 there." 
 
 When she had laid him back she followed the doctor 
 out through the bedroom down the hall. They were 
 talking at the head of the stairs. Jevons took his cigar 
 from his mouth as he raised his hat, said good-by, and 
 walked downstairs. 
 
 " Could Ruth come up and see Johnnie, doctor ? " 
 asked Mrs. Eliot, as she walked with Bryson slowly 
 back. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Poor little fellow. He asked if she might," she 
 faltered. " It isn't diphtheria, is it? " 
 
 " No," he said, abstractedly ; " but it is malignant." 
 
 " Oh, and I foolishly promised she could come. What 
 can I say ? " 
 
 " Say anything. Lie." 
 
 " I might say she may come up to-morrow if he's 
 better he'll be over the worst of it to-morrow, won't 
 he?" 
 
 They were at the bedroom door before he answered. 
 " Yes. He'll be over the worst of it." 
 
 " Oh, I hope so." 
 
 June coming out met them. She took both their arms 
 and pushed them back with her. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked Bryson. 
 
 " I can't stand it." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " His breathing." 
 
 " Go downstairs then." 
 
 Tears started in her eyes. " Don't be cross, doctor, 
 100
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 I can't help it." They moved down the hall. " He's 
 awful sick, ain't he, doctor?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Is he going to get well ? " 
 
 " I can't tell." 
 
 "What do you think?" 
 
 " The inflammation is severe. It couldn't be worse. 
 His heart is acting badly. I am trying to force it. You 
 can teU, June, almost as well as I can, whether it will 
 hold up for twenty-four hours. That's all on earth 
 there is to it. He's getting enough oxygen yet, but it 
 costs the heart a frightful price. Cheer up, old girl; 
 I'm doing all in God's world I can " 
 
 " I can't help it," she sobbed, hiding her face in her 
 handkerchief as she went downstairs. 
 
 " I'm glad you're not that way, Mrs. Eliot," said 
 Bryson. They walked up the hall again together. 
 " It's been half the battle to see you around so cheer- 
 ful" 
 
 " Aren't you going down town to-day? " 
 
 " And so helpful. No. I arranged for my lectures. 
 There won't be any patients looking for me in this 
 blizzard." 
 
 The rain had changed at daybreak into snow. A 
 storm was driving from the northeast. " Everything 
 is against me," he said, looking moodily out. " This 
 infernal weather I got hold of the poor boy twenty- 
 four hours too late a flabby heart." 
 
 " No matter you will pull him through. I feel sure 
 of it." 
 
 " The credit will be half yours if I do. Jevons said 
 yesterday he would be dead this morning." 
 
 101
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 "Doctor!" 
 
 " That is what he said yesterday." 
 
 "Oh, what did he say this morning?" 
 
 " ' You've certainly stuck him up, doctor. You've 
 fooled me,' he said," Bryson quoted quietly. " ' But 
 I doubt if you can hold him to it.' " 
 
 " What did you answer ? " 
 
 " I told him I could fool him again, perhaps. Possi- 
 bly." He looked abstractedly toward the bedroom 
 door. "Possibly." 
 
 She realized when she went back into the sick-room 
 how slender Johnnie's chances were, and hoped that the 
 afternoon trains would bring his mother. All the long 
 afternoon the white storm fell, and at last, night; but 
 Mrs. Ledgcott did not come. Unknown to everyone 
 at the house, the telephone and telegraph wires were 
 ringing with messages from Bryson urging her to re- 
 turn. They could not find her, and the storm blew 
 harder, and Bryson impassive, untiring directed 
 and watched and sat and napped in the sick-room. 
 For hours he kept Johnnie breathing by sheer sugges- 
 tion, for when the doctor left his side the struggling 
 boy ceased his herculean effort and lapsed into asphyxi- 
 ation. With the deepening of the night Bryson held the 
 candle oftener to his face, drawn now like the face of 
 an old man. Thirty-six hours had aged it twice as 
 many years, and it was bluish about the lips and nos- 
 trils with venous blood. 
 
 After a long vigil at the bedside and at the end of 
 ten minutes' sleep for him on the couch, Miss Gridley, 
 reluctant, touched Bryson's shoulder. She did not 
 speak. Between those who know so few words are 
 
 1 02
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 necessary. He listened an instant instinctively for the 
 hoarse rasping breath, clock of the sick-room, and he 
 rose and went to the bed. The sick boy was no longer 
 breathing. He was panting horribly. Bryson took up 
 his pulse looked mechanically at his watch. It was 
 hard on midnight. While he looked the bells of the 
 Apostles' Memorial Church began chiming the last 
 quarter of the day. At the same moment the portieres 
 were pushed aside. June and Mrs. Eliot, sleepless, 
 restless and miserable, stole together into the room. 
 
 " We will try an intubation, Miss Gridley, at once. 
 Get the set ready," directed Bryson, taking off his 
 coat. 
 
 " What's he going to do? " whispered June as Bry- 
 son stepped to the bedroom to wash his hands. 
 
 " He's going to slip a gold tube into the larynx to 
 keep it open. It's a fearfully hard thing to do. He's 
 choking to death." 
 
 As if he heard though he could not Johnnie Ledg- 
 cott sat up, struggling. His face set in an agony of 
 fear, and looking appealingly from one to another 
 about him, he strove to cry out; but crying out was 
 past. 
 
 " Johnnie," said the doctor, hurrying back, " I'm go- 
 ing to help you breathe better I want to slip this tube 
 into your throat; try to keep quiet. It may hurt a 
 little, but you must have air " The child controlled 
 himself for a minute bravely. The surgeon and the 
 nurse began almost at once the delicate and difficult 
 operation. With their efforts, weakness, fright, suffo- 
 cation mastered the child. He resisted convulsively, 
 and became unmanageable. The struggle between the 
 
 103
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 three grew sickening. Bryson coaxed and pleaded and 
 attempted again and again to make the insertion. June 
 and Mrs. Eliot fled to the bedroom and waited trem- 
 blingly for the outcome. After a time the strangula- 
 tion bore less upon their ears the terrifying sounds 
 ceased. The nurse came out to wet a towel. They 
 seized her arms. 
 
 " It's all right," she whispered, excitedly. " It is in. 
 The doctor had an awful time. He's breathing." She 
 had hardly spoken when Bryson stalked to her side at 
 the washstand, turned up the gas and began furiously 
 washing his hands. His hair was tumbled, his shirt 
 flecked with blood, his forehead pale and dripping 
 sweat. Heedless of those about him, an oath burst 
 from his lips. 
 
 " A woman that will neglect a child like that," he 
 exclaimed, in rage, " ought to be quartered and hung 
 to the four winds. Gridley, watch his pulse now like a 
 cat. Give him all the brandy you can." 
 
 " Doctor," trembled Mrs. Eliot, shocked and fright- 
 ened as the nurse hurried back to the bed, " you suc- 
 ceeded ? " He turned coolly, nodded, wiped his hands 
 and mopped his face with the dry towel. She looked a 
 hundred questions. 
 
 " It's up to the heart now," was all he said. 
 
 When they entered the sick-room the dreadful 
 breathing was no longer heard. It was such a relief to 
 June and her companion that they cheered up. With 
 all four sitting thus about the room and Jim at intervals 
 pawkily feeding the fire, the night wore into the dead 
 and into the early morning. Miss Gridley, speaking to 
 the doctor, went down with June to get a cup of coffee. 
 
 104
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 Mrs. Eliot sat at the bedside. Doctor Bryson, throw- 
 ing off the blanket he had been napping under, stood 
 with folded arms and disordered hair at the foot of the 
 bed looking at the pinched, sunken face under the 
 shaded lamp. Mrs. Eliot tried, too, to read some- 
 thing from the faint, short respiration, for even she 
 perceived it had changed. Once Johnnie rested, she 
 thought. Between breaths he dropped one, seeming 
 easier and quieter. The doctor stepped silently to the 
 table, and, taking up a delicate instrument, went to the 
 boy, bared his arm, raised its flesh between the fingers 
 of the left hand, pricked the needle into the white skin 
 and pressed brandy again into the delicate tissue. He 
 withdrew the syringe and knelt on one knee beside the 
 bed, holding the pulse in his hand. He bent his head 
 and put his ear for an answer to the heart. It was still 
 in the room, for the snow beat softly on the window 
 panes and muffled the clank of the cab-wheels over the 
 car-tracks. Rising, the doctor walked to the foot of 
 the bed and stood again, his head down, watching. 
 Mrs. Eliot tiptoed to his side. 
 
 " The dear little fellow is easier, isn't he?" 
 
 He looked kindly at her. " Did you ever see any- 
 body die ? " he asked, in his blunt way. 
 
 " No, doctor." 
 
 " Never do if you can help it. Keep away from 
 deathbeds as long as you can. A child's death isn't 
 pleasant ; a woman's is worse ; a man's, horrible." 
 
 She wondered why he spoke in that way, and re- 
 peated her question. " But Johnnie is easier, isn't he, 
 doctor ? " 
 
 105
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 He smiled bitterly sad. " Yes : easier. Don't you 
 know? He is dying." 
 
 She caught at the bed. " No ! No ! Not dying ? " 
 
 "Dying; deserted in a boarding house," he said, 
 hoarsely deliberate. " No home ; no father ; no mother ; 
 no prayer. Just like a poor little friendless puppy; 
 dying." 
 
 She burst into tears. 
 
 " I couldn't save him. I never had a show for a 
 single hour to save him. I've played my last card 
 and lost. Listen; do you notice that? He drops a 
 breath every little while ; he's dying. Don't stay here," 
 he urged, as she sobbed harder ; " don't see him die. 
 That is for me to do ; it is my reward. Go. Go, Mrs. 
 Eliot." He took her arm, but she would not go away. 
 She tottered forward; he supported her to Johnnie's 
 side. She fell on her knees, threw her arms across the 
 coverlet and buried her face, sobbing. June, running 
 in, saw all, fell beside Mrs. Eliot, and, throwing an 
 arm around the child, shrieked as if to brave the mes- 
 senger that hovered over him. But Johnnie was easier ; 
 and the nurse wiped the thin froth from his white lips ; 
 he was dead. 
 
 In the gloom of the late morning there came a sharp 
 ring at the Annex basement. June, from the dining- 
 room, opened the door; Mrs. Ledgcott stood there. 
 
 " Oh, June, how are you all ? Dear, I'm glad to get 
 back," she cried, happily, shaking the snow from her 
 wraps and stamping her little feet. " Isn't this a horri- 
 ble storm ? It was so dreadful at Milwaukee yesterday, 
 Doctor Kurd said I just shouldn't start. He said it 
 
 106
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 would be dangerous to expose myself. Well, how are 
 you all ? How's Johnnie ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Eliot wants to see you about Johnnie." 
 
 " What ? Now, June ! has he been misbehaving ? " 
 
 "No. He's dead/' 
 
 It had not been so planned. The telling had been as- 
 signed to Mrs. Eliot, but June blurted everything out 
 before they could stop her. Mrs. Ledgcott sunk shiver- 
 ing to the basement floor. She choked hysterically as 
 she fell and screamed. June, with a cloudy eye, looked 
 coldly on. Then, relenting, she tried to pick her up. 
 But Mrs. Ledgcott, at that, screamed appallingly and 
 wriggled out of June's arms. 
 
 " All right," muttered June, fiercely. " Lie there. 
 Kick and fling till you're tired of it." 
 
 The women rushed in from the breakfast table. Mrs. 
 Goddard and Mrs. Eliot got Mrs. Ledgcott upstairs. 
 She so frightened everybody with her grief that they 
 sent hurriedly down to Bryson, quietly breakfasting. 
 
 " Doctor, what shall we do ? " asked Mrs. Goddard, 
 fearfully. 
 
 Bryson looked up, a bit haggard, from his coffee. 
 "What's she doing?" 
 
 "Mercy, can't you hear her? Screaming madly 
 and choking. What shall we do?" 
 
 " Throw a bucket of ice-water on her." 
 
 " Oh, doctor. Just as she is ? " cried Mrs. Goddard, 
 horror stricken. 
 
 " Just exactly as she is. If that doesn't feaze her put 
 her into a bathtub and rub ice up and down her spine. 
 What she needs is something worse than she's got. 
 Come, John," said he to Allison, getting up from the 
 table. " Going down town ? " 
 
 107
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A SECOND sensation, and even more bewildering, 
 followed Johnnie Ledgcott's funeral at Miss 
 Borderly's. Miss Mary, on the very day following, an- 
 nounced the close of the house of Borderly. There was 
 consternation among a hundred people. There was 
 wrath, grief, protest; but to Miss Mary's mind it was 
 a simple business proposition. The landlord had an- 
 nounced a rise in the rent; the location was too far 
 down town. People were going further out. The 
 plumbing was out of dale; the row of houses was not 
 worth the rent; the big copartnership must be dis- 
 solved. A few professed to be glad, but many for 
 years had known no home but Miss Borderly's. Even 
 a boarding house counterfeits in some respects the 
 sacredness of a home, and the breaking up of any 
 home, real or professed, is a dire event. Miss Mary, 
 however, was as impervious to sentiment as a mackin- 
 tosh to moisture. She frankly confessed she was not 
 doing business for her health. 
 
 June naturally caught most of the reproaches. At 
 the Bryson-Goddard table there was the worst kind of 
 rebellion the rebellion of the very prosperous and it 
 took such insidious shape that June herself went over 
 to the enemy and denounced Miss Mary. In truth, 
 June was easily seduced into the opposition ranks, for 
 her set in the Annex was as much to her as the house 
 
 108
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 was to them. June being a creature of sentiment ill- 
 brooked the breaking up, and asked herself what was 
 to become of her after the deluge. Stay in a five-room 
 flat and wait on sister Mary and sister Anna? No 
 people, no profanity, no poker? No cosey evenings in 
 the den, with a prosperous fire and the doctor telling a 
 story and John pulling quietly at a brier ; or a twilight 
 hour with Mrs. Eliot and Ruth; or the very latest 
 South Side stirring social event in subdued, dramatic 
 tones from Mrs. Goddard ? 
 
 The minute the men saw her unsettled they knew the 
 business was done. The next thing was merely the 
 proper scheme and what Chicago man, with an emer- 
 gency to be met, is without an adequate scheme? It 
 was devised in the den. First Bryson and John Alli- 
 son, over a grate fire and a pipe. Then June, brought 
 in and discreetly sounded and cautiously urged ; Mrs. 
 Goddard and Miss Montague, in marvelous soft-flow- 
 ing gowns, added to the firelight; two or three other 
 favored ones let in. Mrs. Eliot whispered to by June 
 privately; objections on various hands raised; objec- 
 tions met. Difficulties encountered, difficulties over- 
 come. Secrecy asked and secrecy pledged, and Miss 
 June, one fine morning, in jacket and bonnet alone in 
 the cable cars, on free transportation furnished by John 
 Allison, headed south, house hunting. 
 
 Then the Annex set grew suddenly calm looked 
 patronizing while others looked perplexed. A lease 
 was brought by Miss June into the den ; signed by her 
 and guaranteed jointly and severally by John C. Allison 
 and Henry Elwood Bryson. Furniture was selected 
 by various parties in interest, to be delivered on order 
 
 109
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 at a modern fourteen-room residence on one of the 
 lower avenues; Julie MacGeveny, the crack Borderly 
 cook, engaged ; Nannie, the demurest of the maids, se- 
 cured. What more would you have but the announce- 
 ment that stirred envy from end to end of the dining- 
 room, that Miss June had taken a house and would 
 open it with a strictly limited and select company of 
 ten boarders, six from the Annex. And there was 
 envious comment when the news went round the 
 dining-room with the postscript that her rooms were 
 all taken. Miss Mary was cold over June's venture, 
 but that chilled nobody's ardor. John Allison and Bry- 
 son gave her carte blanche, and June had a new home 
 and a den ready for them on New Year's day. 
 
 A farewell dinner given in the Annex on Christmas 
 surpassed every banquet ever held under the roof ; and 
 one single procession of vans removed everybody con- 
 cerned, as well as the big music box of Bowles, down to 
 the new quarters. The dining-room was formally 
 christened on New Year's with light heart and holiday 
 wine, and those who sat together were a goodly com- 
 pany, young and happy and wise and flushed with 
 prosperity and the good of life. Miss June glowed a 
 the head of the table and served many, many good 
 things that New Year's night; and Bryson, tall and 
 dignified, presided at the foot and tried to fill John 
 Allison's glass oftener than anybody else's, and tried 
 without success to fill Mrs. Eliot's at least once. 
 
 The routine at Miss June's settled into much the 
 same lines that prevailed at Miss Borderly's. She was 
 flooded with applications for board, but none were 
 passed on except in open meeting, as Bowles called the 
 
 no
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 dinner table, and if objections were raised the appli- 
 cants were turned down. The great object was not to 
 keep the house full, said Bryson, but to keep it empty. 
 In the evening if they went out they went in sets. If 
 they stayed at home they had music, with John Allison 
 singing or Mrs. Eliot at the piano, Bowles and Miss 
 Montague two-stepping around the new furniture. 
 They played cards, especially when Goddard was ai 
 home, for he was a Colorado man and a " stayer," and 
 in a jack-pot his long red scar would turn muddy white 
 for fear of revealing something in his face. Mrs. Eliot, 
 in spite of urging, remained an outsider at cards. 
 She never played save under coercion, and one night 
 confessed very frankly that she thought cards stupid, 
 no necessary part of a woman's education, and declined 
 to blunder longer to please anybody. And Miss Mon- 
 tague, who played only because the others played, ap- 
 plauded her. If Mrs. Goddard did not applaud, being, 
 as her husband classed her, a " dead game sport," she 
 remembered Mrs. Eliot's unerring judgment on hats 
 and gowns and effects feminine of every description 
 a weak point in her own philosophy and smiled at the 
 heretic. Even the men discovered her gift in these 
 things and referred new clothes and new hats to Mrs. 
 Eliot's judgment. So without being precisely of them 
 she was, as she had been in the Annex, in a way with 
 them, and welcome. She worked hard ; at least she 
 came home at night very tired sometimes and glad to 
 go to her rooms, which were on the second floor in the 
 rear. When there was a down-town party she would 
 sometimes go with the crowd, for June rather courted 
 taking care of Ruth that is, sitting in the den reading 
 
 III
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 the doctor's magazines with the hall doors open so that 
 she could hear if Ruth called out. 
 
 The weather was never too bad for Mrs. Eliot to go 
 to her studio, which was in the Fine Arts Building on 
 Michigan Avenue, and at Miss June's she would have 
 been considered still more conscientious at her teach- 
 ing had it been known that sometimes for hours to- 
 gether she sat there patiently waiting for pupils to avail 
 themselves of her services. She was first down town in 
 the morning, and very often Bryson and John, who 
 went together, rode down with her, she getting off at 
 Van Buren Street. John always saw that she had 
 passes on the street cars. " They cost me nothing," he 
 would say when she demurred at accepting them. 
 " You might as well have them as the thousand-odd 
 other people that do." And she would reluctantly ac- 
 cept them at times and say she felt quite sure, some- 
 how, she ought not to. But everybody at Miss June's 
 rode on John's tickets, and it seemed awkward to re- 
 fuse the courtesy. 
 
 Sometimes other things along the same line seemed 
 to cause embarrassment to Mrs. Eliot. Toward spring 
 she complained about headaches, and Bryson, who, 
 without appearing to observe anything, observed every- 
 thing, suggested they might come from her eyes. " If 
 you will come in some morning when you are down 
 town I will look at them ; you may need glasses." Mrs. 
 Eliot thanked him. 
 
 " Yes," said he one morning some weeks later, when 
 he had again quietly suggested examining her eyes to 
 correct the trouble, and she had again thanked him, 
 " you thank me, but you don't come ; and you are strain- 
 
 112
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 ing your eyes, I suspect, unnecessarily." They were 
 riding down in the street car and he was talking as he 
 often talked about her health and her work. 
 
 ''Do you find it profitable teaching?" he asked 
 once. She hesitated a moment. 
 
 " Fairly. Not so profitable as I try to make myself 
 think, I'm afraid." 
 
 " Well, I don't know how you teach, but I know I 
 never in my life heard anybody get the music out of a 
 piano that you do. It has the strangest effect on me 
 when you play " 
 
 " You are so fond of music you ought to be a mu- 
 sician." 
 
 " 1 shall have to take lessons of you some time." 
 
 " Very well ; you shall have them free." 
 
 "' Don't be rash, for I may take you up unexpectedly. 
 How are the headaches ? " 
 
 " Not much better, I'm afraid." 
 
 " Yet you read the newspaper on the street car." 
 
 "Shouldn't I?" 
 
 " You never see me do it, do you ? My eyes are per- 
 fect, but I need perfect eyes. It is habits such as read- 
 ing on the cars that makes business for us. When are 
 you coming up to have your eyes examined ? " 
 
 There was no getting away from his calm persistence. 
 One day when her headache was unendurable he gave 
 her a bottle of atropine and an eye-dropper, with the 
 necessary instructions, and told her he thought he could 
 cure her headache. On the third day after using it he 
 bade her come down to the office. " Unless," he added, 
 " it is too cold." 
 
 It was, in fact, a bitterly cold day. But Mrs. Eliot
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 was nervous under the queer condition of her sight, 
 due to the atropine, and preferred to take the examin- 
 ation at once. 
 
 " At what time shall I come, doctor ? " 
 
 " Any time you like. You know I have a clinic from 
 ten to eleven. When you come bring this." He took 
 from his pocket a small card and across it wrote a word 
 " Immediate." 
 
 Somewhat dazed with her dilated pupils, Mrs. Eliot 
 presented the tiny credential to Miss Martin that after- 
 noon, and it wreathed the able secretary's face in smiles. 
 Mrs. Eliot had hardly time to reflect on its magic when 
 Jim ushered her into Doctor Bryson's office, where he 
 was just disposing of a patient. 
 
 " A most interesting case of hysterical amblyopia," 
 he explained, as the patient, a dark-eyed, florid girl of 
 twelve years, passed out. 
 
 "Pray what is that?" 
 
 " Just wait a moment and I'll show you," said he, 
 ringing for Jim. " Ask that girl to step back here a 
 minute. I'll show you just what it is," he resumed to 
 Mrs. Eliot. " After you see you will know as much 
 about it as I do. Only observe ; in my demonstration I 
 shall put this glass on her eyes to read with this ar- 
 rangement," he explained, holding up a complicated 
 lens arrangement on a trial frame. " I shall have two 
 cylinders, one over the other, one plus fifty and one 
 minus fifty. One neutralizes the other, and the effect 
 is the same as looking through a simple pane of glass. 
 In other words, these glasses that I shall place on her 
 eyes to read the letters on that chart with will have no 
 physical effect whatever on her sight. Yet with them 
 
 114
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 she can read all the type over there, and without them 
 she cannot read letters two inches high." 
 
 While Mrs. Eliot strove to comprehend, Doctor Bry- 
 son rigged a pair of powerful lenses in a frame to en- 
 able her to see things herself. Jim came back presently 
 with the large brunette girl, who was richly dressed 
 and accompanied by her older brother. 
 
 " Sara," said the doctor, " this is Mrs. Eliot, who has 
 a little girl like you. I want to show her how well you 
 read with your glasses. First read without them. 
 Now." 
 
 Sara read at the type chart, but badly. At the third 
 line she quite lost the big letters. Bryson put the plain 
 glasses on her, and she read again, this time without 
 difficulty, to the small type on the chart. " Twenty- 
 twentieths," announced the doctor, amiably. " Thank 
 you, Sara. Come again to-morrow. You couldn't be- 
 lieve it unless you saw it, could you ? " he asked, turn- 
 ing to Mrs. Eliot as the door closed. " Somewhere be- 
 tween the optic nerve and the brain in that child's head 
 there is a hitch in the connection of impression. There 
 is not the slightest physical difference made in her 
 sight by adding these glasses. Yet when I tell her she 
 can see with them, she sees, as you have witnessed. 
 Queer, isn't it?" 
 
 " How did you treat her to accomplish this? " 
 
 " By something just as inexplicably strange sug- 
 gestion." 
 
 "Suggestion?" 
 
 " Hypnotism is a bigger word for it. I bid her see and 
 she sees ; that's what it amounts to." 
 
 " Are you a hypnotist, doctor ? " 
 
 "5
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 He shook his head impatiently. " I'm not. I dis- 
 avow the name. Yet to an extent all medical men are 
 hypnotists. I show you this case because it is absolute 
 a perfect type of something we know nothing what- 
 ever about." 
 
 " What nationality is she? " 
 
 " Jewish.. The Jews are neurotic, subject, by the 
 way, to glaucoma; a most interesting people. Now 
 let's go through the primer lesson together, if you 
 please." He adjusted the trial-frame bows deftly over 
 her ears. " Read with your left eye." 
 
 Mrs. Eliot read; so well that they both laughed. 
 " No headache there," commented Bryson, grimly. 
 " Now try the right eye. From the looks of it I think 
 it will give us the headache," he said, shifting the blind. 
 The right eye did tell the story. " It is astigmatism, 
 and we will measure it. Perhaps you'd better take off 
 your hat." She removed her hat ; he took it to lay it on 
 the table. 
 
 " Is this one of those things Miss June is always talk- 
 ing about that you make yourself ? " he asked, holding 
 it up. 
 
 She smiled and nodded. " Yes. That is one of those 
 things." 
 
 " Oh, I meant nothing but admiration for it, only I 
 don't know the name. What is it ? " 
 
 " It's a toque," she answered. " What is next, doc- 
 tor?" 
 
 He put the hat down with much care. " The oph- 
 thalmometer ; sit there, please. Now," he added, after 
 no end of focusing and adjusting and the putting down 
 of some figures, " I'll look at the retina and refract you 
 
 116
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 with the retinoscope. That will take us to the dark- 
 room for a moment." 
 
 Holding her gloves and jacket, she followed Doctor 
 Bryson into the receiving-room, not without some 
 slight satisfaction in her erect carriage, for every eye 
 turned where Bryson went, and his patients were of 
 themselves distinguished. He paused just at his office 
 door. 
 
 " Pardon me," he suggested, " leave your wraps here 
 in the office. 
 
 " Thank you," she murmured as he took them. She 
 poised herself then with especial dignity to pass Miss 
 Martin's desk or to encounter Doctor Kurd, whose 
 pitiless bill still lingered in her memory. Sure enough, 
 they did meet him. He advanced his stubby neck and 
 shoulders briskly toward them with his hateful smile, 
 and she bowed. Bryson saw the bow. He went into 
 the dark-room in great humor. 
 
 " Artistically done," he laughed. She assumed some 
 surprise. " Now, please don't freeze me," he pleaded. 
 " I couldn't help seeing it, could I ? 1 only say it was 
 the best I ever saw ; served him right, too. If you will 
 sit here, please. So, as the Germans say." 
 
 He adjusted the gas bracket and shade behind her 
 ear and took out the ophthalmoscope. Focusing the 
 rays upon her eye, always singularly calm, Doctor Bry- 
 son slowly examined each retina in turn. It was rather 
 tedious, a little trying, but she sat immovable even 
 when, in his scrutiny, he drew so close that his eye was 
 glued to her own. 
 
 "Three things that I have studied in my life," he 
 said at last, putting away the ophthalmoscope, " have 
 
 117
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 held me in awe : the circulation of the blood, the X-ray, 
 the retina of the eye." 
 
 " Are they so wonderful ? " 
 
 " Passing understanding. There is nothing more 
 exquisitely beautiful than the retina. With care you 
 should have good sight as long as you live. You 
 have exceptional eyes wonderful, really. It is split- 
 ting hairs now, but I want to refract you with the 
 retinoscope to confirm my other tests." At the con- 
 clusion he seemed satisfied. They returned to the office. 
 " I will bring your glasses down to-morrow night," he 
 continued, finishing his memorandum while she put on 
 her hat. 
 
 " Are you going home ? " 
 
 " Yes, doctor." 
 
 "Can you wait two minutes? I'll go down with 
 you" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " We will drive if you say so. I can have the horses 
 here in five minutes." 
 
 " Oh, no, thank you. Let us take the car." His 
 hand was on the button for Jim to order the team. 
 
 " It's queer," said he, stopping, " I never can get you 
 behind my horses." 
 
 " Really, I am mortally afraid of horses, doctor." 
 
 " It's a fearfully cold day to ride in the cars. Do 
 you know it was eight below zero at noon ? " 
 
 " I was run away with once." 
 
 " I'll wrap you up in robes till you are warm as toast. 
 You'll never run away with me, I promise you." 
 
 " I'm sure I shan't. I know my fear is absurd, but 
 I can't overcome it." 
 
 118
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " You let Ruth ride with me." She showed no trace 
 of confusion. 
 
 " True, but she is not afraid, and I should trust her 
 anywhere with you. I will ride in the phaeton if it will 
 very much please you." 
 
 He laughed to throw off the slight strain that both 
 were suddenly conscious of. " Oh, no. I only want 
 to give you comfort, and you prefer the cable, so we 
 will take the cable." He avoided saying car because 
 cable seemed a term of reproach and he wanted the 
 shade of resentment the word gave him. 
 
 " Let's walk down Michigan Avenue a way, if you 
 don't object," he suggested when they reached the 
 street. " The air is good, if it is frosty." At Jackson 
 Street he halted before a florist's. " Step in just a 
 moment, will you? I want to get some flowers; then 
 we'll take the car." A smiling German girl came for- 
 ward; the doctor was a good customer. He bought 
 some tulips for the table and some violets for Ruth. 
 
 " Now what can I get for you ? " he asked, turning 
 to Mrs. Eliot, while the blond head of the German girl 
 was in the window. 
 
 " Oh, nothing for me, doctor. Thank you ever so 
 much. You see " 
 
 " You never will let me give a flower to you." 
 
 " I know itc indefensible ; but I grew up in the coun- 
 try, doctor," she said, brightening with interest at the 
 recollection. 
 
 " So did I," he interrupted. 
 
 " And I city flowers seem forced and not always 
 natural to me. They lack the peculiar excellence of the 
 genuine, as the advertisers say," she ran on playfully. 
 
 119
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 The blond German ears in the window were quite 
 open. The blond head came out of the green. " My 
 lady, here is something fresh from the country mi- 
 gnonette." 
 
 Mrs. Eliot could not resist the freshness and the fra- 
 grance. " Mignonette ? " she exclaimed. " From the 
 south?" 
 
 " Give me what you have there," said Bryson, in 
 mild haste. " Wrap it separately." 
 
 "All of it?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Why, doctor!" exclaimed Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 " Yes, for your room ; here, give me some, will 
 you ? " he asked of the German girl. He took a spray 
 from the bunch she held out. As she stepped back to 
 wrap the order, he inhaled the odor of the spray and 
 handed it to Mrs. Eliot. " Here's a flower like you : 
 country bred, city brought, like you." 
 
 " You keep it, doctor. Let me fasten it in your 
 lapel. You are a country flower, too, don't you know, 
 and city brought. It all applies to you." 
 
 " Don't call me a flower," he laughed, as she stood 
 close pinning the mignonette on his coat. 
 
 " Then don't call me one," she retorted, in kind. " It 
 is really very sweet, this mignonette. It contrasts per- 
 fectly with your tie." 
 
 " But you are a flower and I am none," he persisted, 
 ignoring her postscript. She changed the subject with 
 a sudden repressed exclamation. 
 
 "What's the matter?" he asked. 
 
 " I pricked my finger. I can hardly see anything, 
 anyway. Your coat is such thick goods," she went on, 
 
 120
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 hurriedly. " Come, shall we not go ? It is getting so 
 late." 
 
 " But I must pay" 
 
 " Oh, no, doctor, it is not necessitous," interposed 
 the blond girl, catching the last word as she came for- 
 ward. " I shall charge it." 
 
 " No you won't," said Bryson, handing her a bill. 
 " Give me the change, quick, please." 
 
 When they reached the car at Wabash Avenue there 
 were no seats. It looked like standing all the way 
 home, and Doctor Bryson's face, took on a weary ex- 
 pression as he crowded forward. A messenger boy 
 was sitting between two ladies in the front end of the 
 car, and with him Doctor Bryson negotiated for a seat 
 in which he placed Mrs. Eliot. " You are resourceful, 
 doctor," she said, speaking low as he bent to hear, " but 
 very extravagant, I'm afraid." She had seen some- 
 thing slip from his hand to that of the boy as the latter 
 got up. 
 
 " You are moderately blessed with resources your- 
 self," he added, in the same tone, " especially when it 
 comes to dodging things." She smiled peculiarly 
 something of reproach, possibly gratitude, in her eyes. 
 Whatever the light was as she looked up her eyes for 
 an instant in his she put a little handkerchief to her 
 lips, and, with the composed air of a woman protected, 
 cared for, let fall her gloved hand, glanced down at her 
 lap full of flowers, and looked upon the people about 
 her. It made him exultant and happy ; so happy that 
 he failed to see a changed expression on her face. But 
 when he looked down at her again with that comfort- 
 able sense of companionship, as one looks over all and 
 
 121
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 lets his eyes rest again on what he best loves, he felt a 
 shock. Her nostrils were drawn like leaves of a sensi- 
 tive plant. 
 
 " You are faint," he exclaimed, bending low from 
 the strap that steadied him. 
 
 " No," she protested, closing her lips firmly. 
 
 " The air is close let us leave the car," he suggested. 
 
 She started as if to assent, then refused. " I shall 
 be all right in a moment. Please do not notice me," 
 she half whispered. But her face was pale and it dis- 
 turbed him. He pulled a newspaper from his pocket 
 and pretended to read. His field of vision was in itself 
 remarkable, and looking at the paper he was like a man 
 with atropine in his eyes who sees everything but that 
 at which he looks. He saw the faces of those on either 
 side of her. He observed narrowly the men standing 
 about him. He shifted to look at the passengers across 
 the aisle; but in none of the faces that he scrutinized 
 could he see anything like an answer to his question. 
 All were busy with their own concerns, and the strange 
 look on her face startled and worried him. Distress, 
 under the resolute mask she had set on her features, 
 was evident, and when after many moments their cor- 
 ner was reached and she started to leave the car, she 
 dropped her flowers twice before she reached the step. 
 
 " What is the matter, Mrs. Eliot ? " he asked. She 
 stumbled even in stepping upon the curb. He quickly 
 took her arm. " Was it the air made you faint? Those 
 cars are abominable, really ; they are not fit to ride in," 
 he declared, supporting her as they walked. In spite 
 of her distraction she was conscious of his strength 
 
 122
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 and confidence ; he kept her close at his side. As they 
 took the cross-street the wind cut them like ice. 
 
 " It wasn't the air," she shivered. 
 
 " Then it's a chill," he exclaimed, hugging her arm 
 closer. 
 
 " No. It is not a chill such as you mean," she man- 
 aged to say. Her face was deadly white. 
 
 " You can't tell. Let us hurry ; lean more on my 
 arm. Do, now ; I'll trot you home in a jiffy." 
 
 " Don't let us go home quite yet," she said, nervous- 
 ly. " This way " 
 
 " Any way," he exclaimed, turning into Thirty-fifth 
 Street. " Tell me, will you always keep a veil between 
 us? Or is it my fault that you do not know I want 
 your troubles to be my troubles. Let me know every 
 one and help you bear them." 
 
 " No, you cannot. I bear them alone." She paused, 
 and it was only after they had walked some distance 
 that she added, " I saw my husband in the car." 
 
 He took it with perfect steadiness. " What of it ? 
 Surely, he is nothing to you ? " 
 
 "Nothing! Oh, yes." 
 
 " What do you mean ? Do you " 
 
 " No, no, no." 
 
 " Has he any claim on you ? " 
 
 " No, but a chain. I wear it," she looked fearlessly 
 up to him, " wherever I go." 
 
 He had never seen her face so. Flushed now, and 
 her cheeks and her eyes burning; her lips flying into 
 words and shutting into lines he had never seen about 
 her mouth before. He felt as if he were leaving the 
 earth. 
 
 123
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Tell me what you mean." 
 
 " I mean you surely know why I am forced to re- 
 fuse so much kindness that you offer me. I am bound 
 to him. I never have had the courage to tell you in 
 words that I appreciate all you try to do for me." 
 
 " Never mind that." 
 
 " That I do love all the things that you try to give 
 me; all the kindnesses you mean for me; but that I 
 have no right to them. I am bound. And I tell you 
 now because I know that I must. I have never seen 
 him since I told him, when Ruth was three months old, 
 I would support myself and my child. I was justified." 
 
 " You need not explain. I believe you." 
 
 " But he is Ruth's father. Whatever he is, he is her 
 father." 
 
 " Not if he has forfeited the right" 
 
 " In every way a man can forfeit he has forfeited 
 everything. Yet he is my husband." 
 
 " But you are divorced from him ? " 
 
 " No, no." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " The disgrace." 
 
 "Disgrace?" 
 
 " Now I have told you why sometimes I act so queer- 
 ly. You are vexed that I do not accept your kindness. 
 I have no right to it. What street is this Thirty- 
 ninth? Have we walked so far? We must go back. 
 Come, let us hurry." 
 
 The wind stung their faces as they turned north. 
 It was bitter, and he kept her sternly close while she, 
 with shrinking face, bent silently to the wind. He 
 tried to talk. She spoke in monosyllables and reso- 
 
 124
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 lutely refused to say more. Arriving at the house, he 
 opened the door with his pass key. " Good-by," she 
 said, starting up the stairs. 
 
 The pain in her face maddened him. " I wish to 
 heaven I had made you ride home in the phaeton," he 
 muttered, " then it wouldn't have happened." 
 
 " It would have happened sometime." 
 
 " That's what you get for being proper," he ventured, 
 raising his brows. She returned his expression in a 
 slight degree, and, smiling, turned again to ascend. 
 " Hold on, here's the mignonette," he exclaimed. 
 
 " No, no," she pleaded. " Take it to the den." 
 
 " Stop ! " he persisted, as she caught up her dress. 
 " This at least." He tore the spray from his lapel, and, 
 stepping hurriedly to the banister, caught her hand, 
 and, thrusting the blossoms into it, bent with his other 
 hand her fingers tightly over them. She ran to her 
 room. 
 
 " Those were mighty fine flowers you brought home 
 to-night," said June at dinner to the doctor. " But 
 every one of them was froze solid," she added, cloudily 
 apprehensive. " Did you know, mister, that's terrible 
 bad luck?" 
 
 125
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 NEXT evening he brought the eyeglasses to her 
 room. " How very dainty they are," she cried 
 with enthusiasm. " What a pretty case." 
 
 " Let me try them on you," he said. She sat quietly 
 while he adjusted them upon her nose. 
 
 " How do they look? Dreadful? " she asked doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 " What do you say, Ruth ? " asked Bryson, drawing 
 her to his side as he sat down and her mother awaited 
 inspection. 
 
 " Mamma, I think they are beautiful," declared Ruth 
 gravely, and her elders laughed. They always took 
 the little chances to laugh perhaps because they were 
 afraid big ones might never come. Mrs. Eliot picked 
 up a book. " These are merely for reading music or 
 print," said he. " You don't need them for distance." 
 
 " I really think these will help me. I can see ever 
 so much better, doctor," she declared, running over the 
 leaves of the book. 
 
 "That is the intention." 
 
 " I will pay for them now," she added, turning to 
 the dresser for her purse. 
 
 " No." He was sitting with Ruth on his arm. 
 
 " Oh, but yes." 
 
 " No, these I present to you with my compliments." 
 
 " Indeed, doctor, you must not embarrass me," she 
 126
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 said, coming to his side and taking money from her 
 purse. " I insist on paying for these." 
 
 " And I ask leave to present them to you as a little 
 compliment. It gives me some pleasure, I confess it, 
 to provide these for your personal comfort. I am in- 
 debted to you for numberless hints that have con- 
 tributed to mine." 
 
 " All the same, I shall pay you, doctor," she con- 
 tended, putting money into his hand. 
 
 He raised his hand and looked at the crumpled bill 
 she had given him. 
 
 " This is your money." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Money you earned." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You worked for it." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " May my hand wither and my cunning desert me 
 when I take a dollar of it for anything I can do for you 
 or for Ruth." The dinner bell rang. He rose. " Don't 
 look that way," he said sheepishly. " If I kept your 
 money I should only have it framed and hung up in 
 my room. Then people would ask questions about it." 
 
 He opened her purse in her hands and stuffed the 
 bill back into it, trying lightly to dispel her gravity. 
 
 " You ought not to put me under obligations I can 
 never repay,'' she protested seriously. 
 
 " Nonsense. You've sent me two patients within 
 a month." 
 
 " That isn't the same thing." 
 
 " No, it's more a good deal more. Talk about 
 obligations ; there are none equal to referred business ; 
 
 127
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 and what about those handkerchiefs you embroidered 
 at Christmas " 
 
 " That you never use." 
 
 " They are too fine to use. They cost your eyes 
 and fingers too much. You ought to have been asleep 
 when you were doing them ; and whenever I dropped 
 in and asked questions you put them away. Demure, 
 weren't you ? And told stories about " 
 
 " It's time for dinner," she exclaimed. " Come, 
 Ruth, where's your hair ribbon, child? Hurry down, 
 doctor, do. Miss June will be angry." 
 
 " Well, she's not afraid of me, is she ? You've heard 
 her say that. Now I'm not afraid of her and I'm not 
 done yet." 
 
 " Please, won't you go down now ? " 
 
 " And yet you say you never have your way," he 
 argued as he started out. " Even Ruth pushes me 
 from the door," he added, for Ruth in her infantile, 
 persistent way, was urging him along. " Ruth, you're 
 mean to me." 
 
 " Oh, no, I'm hungry, doctor, that's all." 
 
 " Put on your glasses, at least," he insisted, turning 
 to Mrs. Eliot, as the three walked downstairs; and 
 she entered the dining-room wearing the glasses. And 
 Mrs. Goddard, who knew her business perfectly, said 
 they were very becoming. 
 
 One evening afterward they were in the parlor with 
 June. Mrs. Eliot was at the piano. She rose for a 
 music book. 
 
 " Do you remember once you offered to give me a 
 lesson ? " said he, rising from his chair and straddling 
 the piano stool. She laughed. 
 
 128
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " When will you be ready to begin ? " 
 
 " I'm ready now. Go ahead." The idea amused 
 her. 
 
 " Very well," she replied, standing at his shoulder. 
 " Can you read notes ? " 
 
 " I can't do anything." 
 
 " Never mind, we'll begin at the beginning. Now 
 this is the staff. These we call lines and these spaces. 
 You will never have the patience, doctor, to go through 
 all this." 
 
 " Is it all necessary in order to learn music ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then go ahead until you are tired." 
 
 They worked, half serious, half playful, for an hour. 
 " Really, I'm amazed," declared Mrs. Eliot, " not that 
 you learn so fast, but that you persist so well." 
 
 " You play now," said he, rising. 
 
 "What shall I play?" 
 
 " Chopin." 
 
 She chose the Opus 37 Nocturne in the major, and 
 as it rippled from her hands gave it the atmosphere 
 of evening. The technic was as nothing; she was 
 mistress of every dripping chord and phrase to the 
 very last. He bent forward when she had finished,, 
 " Your fingers," he mused, " are like fairies. Did 
 they fly so when they embroidered those handkerchiefs 
 for me?" 
 
 " They have to fly when I'm at work." 
 
 " Have you ever studied the anatomy of the hand ? " 
 he asked, taking hers with a startling and scientific 
 hardihood. " Yours is peculiar in this, the length 
 of the" 
 
 129
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 ' Oh, I don't know anything about anatomy," she 
 exclaimed, slipping her fingers from between his. 
 " Tell me about that poor little boy whose eye you 
 took out last week. Has he been back ? I told Ruth 
 about him last night ; she cried herself to sleep over it." 
 
 The next night they were all down town at a music 
 recital. Bryson, who came home late, did not go. 
 After he had eaten dinner June found him in the 
 parlor, alone, practising finger exercises. With some 
 joking from the evil-disposed, as he called those that 
 made fun of him, he practised every evening for a 
 week. Yet there was not too much of levity, for no 
 one considered Bryson a subject for unlimited joking. 
 Even Mrs. Eliot couldn't believe he was actually in 
 earnest. He would strum at his exercises, wander up 
 and down the parlor for a while, sit down again and 
 work harder than ever. On Sunday after dinner he 
 looked in on Mrs. Eliot. She was reading to Ruth. 
 
 " I'm ready for another lesson," he said, leaning 
 against the door jamb. She laughed quizzically from 
 behind her eyeglasses. " You're joking." 
 
 " Not a bit of it. I'm learning music for a purpose." 
 
 "Pray what?" 
 
 " I am constantly consulted on ear and throat 
 troubles, and the treatment of them is greatly helped 
 by an acquaintance with music and musical sounds. 
 That's why I want it ; simple, isn't it ? " 
 
 Mrs. Eliot closed her book and sprang up. " Is 
 there really something I can do for you? Thank 
 heaven ! I shall work you to death at the scales. Come 
 right along." 
 
 After the lessons he would ask her to play, and 
 130
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 she, at her best elate, careful and as near happy as 
 she ever allowed herself to get played laughingly, 
 dramatically, martially or dreamily; whatever the 
 hour, the impression of the day on her heart, the mood 
 of her listener. 
 
 'You are tired to-night," he said one evening when 
 she suggested going down to the parlor for a lesson, 
 " let it go." 
 
 " I'm not tired." 
 
 " Oh, yes," he repeated, quietly conclusive, " you 
 are." 
 
 " Not too tired ; never too tired for a lesson," she 
 smiled, weariness sweet in her eyes. 
 
 " As I am never too tired for a patient." 
 
 They went down to the piano. John and Bowles 
 were playing cards upstairs with Mrs. Goddard and 
 Miss Montague. The lesson went stupidly ; they gave 
 over presently and fell to talking. 
 
 " I am beginning to worry about you. You are 
 working too hard," he said, clasping his hands over 
 his knee as he sat on the piano stool, " that's what's 
 the matter. Or else " he added, studying her unre- 
 servedly, " you are worrying about something." 
 
 " I shall have to go into Christian Science," said 
 she, leaning forward and taking her glasses on her 
 finger. 
 
 " It is one of the two," he persisted. " Which? " 
 
 "Oh, neither. I'm just tired to-night, that's all. 
 By the way, did June tell you Mrs. Ledgcott has taken 
 up Christian Science? She has; she's studying to be 
 a healer,"
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " I'm not going to let you kill yourself," said he 
 steadily. 
 
 " I decided some years ago I couldn't do that," she 
 replied, without an inflection to bring out the double 
 sense. " Come, let us go up to Mrs. Goddard's. You 
 promised to join them." 
 
 " Sit down. Why won't you talk about your health 
 a moment ? " 
 
 " I haven't any to talk about." 
 
 " By Jove, I'm afraid that will be so if you keep 
 on in this way. Did you note what I said? I don't 
 intend to let you kill yourself." 
 
 " I heard. Let us go and play cards." 
 
 " Marvellously elusive, but let me tell you " She 
 was standing near; putting out one hand, he took 
 her wrist, and his fingers, slipping over her own, held 
 them firmly. " Don't run away. Why?" 
 
 " I must." 
 
 " I was only going to say, you are wonderfully shy, 
 but you will not prevent me one day with all your 
 pretty shyness from telling you " She pulled away 
 from him. " Not yet from telling you you are too 
 dear, too lovely a woman to wear yourself out in this 
 way." She struggled to get loose. He clung to her 
 hand, held it fast in both his. Her face was turned, her 
 eyes shut, but she could not shut her ears. " If you 
 never give me a chance I shall make a chance some- 
 time to tell you I worship you from the soles of your 
 feet to your brown hair." 
 
 " Don't, don't." 
 
 "Helen!" 
 
 "Don't!" 
 
 132
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " I will. I love you." 
 
 " Doctor," will you spare me? " she begged, retreat- 
 ing. 
 
 " Haven't I spared you months and months? " 
 
 " You must not, must not, talk like this," she whis- 
 pered in fright, turning suddenly from him. Her 
 efforts to escape only made the situation worse. When, 
 hopeless, she looked into his face, his eyes terrified her, 
 but she knew she must look to be master, and desper- 
 ately firm, she struggled in his arms. There was a 
 crash behind her as if the house were falling. It came 
 like an earthquake, and while she panted at him he 
 stood disarmed. In a few steps and fewer seconds 
 they had got from the rear of the parlor to the front, 
 toppled over the gilt tabouret in the window, and June's 
 one bit of " virtue," a World's Fair dancing girl, had 
 gone smash through the plate glass window. 
 
 " Confound the bric-a-brac," muttered Bryson, sup- 
 pressing a nervous laugh. " I've roused the house." 
 While they stared at the disaster June screamed from 
 the foot of the basement stairs. " What's that ? " 
 
 " Will you forgive me ? " he asked, collecting his 
 dignity and bending courtier-like. 
 
 " It's only the dancing girl," cried Mrs. Eliot with 
 a wabbly note in her voice. 
 
 " Which one ? " bawled Bowles from above stairs. 
 They heard hurried steps in the upper hall. At the 
 same moment the door bell rang violently. June, 
 hurrying forward in the hall, halted appalled by the 
 confusion. " You haven't said you would forgive 
 me," she heard in low tones from the parlor. " Oh, 
 yes, yes. Go say something to them." Even this 
 
 133
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 suppressed dialogue did not reassure June. Again the 
 door bell rang impudently. 
 
 " Why don't you go to the door, June? " asked Bry- 
 son, appearing unruffled at the portieres. 
 
 "Why, lordy, I'm afraid to. What's happened? 
 You go yourself." 
 
 With an impatient " Nonsense," Bryson, stepping 
 forward, opened the hall and the vestibule doors. A 
 policeman, confronting him, touched his hat. The 
 patrolmen all knew Bryson. 
 
 " Anythin' wrong in your parlor, doctor ? I hap- 
 pened to be passin'." 
 
 " Nothing whatever. I happened to knock over the 
 dancing girl in the window " 
 
 " I like that," called Bowles, leaning forward from 
 the head of the stairs. " What did she ever do to you ? 
 Run him in anyway, Steve. A man that'll strike a 
 defenceless woman " 
 
 " She's out there in the snow," continued the doctor, 
 evenly ; " if you can find her bring her in " 
 
 " And receive the reward," interposed Bowles. 
 
 Everybody in the house was in the parlor by that 
 time. Bryson in the middle of the circle stood perfect- 
 ly collected. The policeman found the unlucky marble 
 in the snow, but it had lost an arm, " to the glass," as 
 Bowles put it, and June looked doleful. " You brought 
 me that from the World's Fair, doctor," she said re- 
 gretfully. 
 
 " Never mind, I'll bring you two to-morrow. Gen- 
 tlemen, resume your game." 
 
 The policeman promised a glazier early. They rolled 
 the piano up against the shivered pane and went back 
 
 134
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 to the cards. When the party broke up the doctor 
 managed a word with Mrs. Eliot at her door. " You 
 bore the thing bravely well; thank you. I was 
 paralyzed when I saw the policeman. I was afraid 
 then you would ask for the fire department. Do you 
 forgive me?" 
 
 " I ha^e nothing to forgive." 
 
 Next morning everybody remembered, about the 
 same time, that no explanation of the accident had 
 been asked or offered; but it seemed late to start an 
 inquiry. 
 
 135
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 T WILL not let you kill yourself working, that's 
 
 -L all. I'll try not to smash any more windows ; 
 but you know now, perhaps you knew before " he 
 was saying. She sat in the window seat looking out on 
 the lake. He was close by on a stool. 
 
 " I know, only you have no right to say what I have 
 no right to hear. I did not sleep last night " 
 
 " Nor did I" 
 
 " Then you must have said to yourself what I said 
 to myself that I must go away from here." 
 
 " Well, no, I didn't, to tell the truth. It wouldn't 
 better matters any to go away. If you go away I 
 must follow." 
 
 " Don't threaten me." 
 
 " I don't. I only tell you what must be. I don't 
 know what would happen to me if I couldn't see you 
 any more. Yes, it has come to that ; I can't help it, 
 Helen. You might as well talk to the waves out there 
 I have told myself all you have told me this week. I 
 have considered your position and mine ; I love you. 
 While you are here I can stand it. I couldn't stand it 
 if you were somewhere else, overworking, neglecting 
 your health ; distressed ; sick. Ask anything but that. 
 Why should you be so afraid of me that you want to 
 leave?" 
 
 " I am not afraid of you. How much, how much 
 do I not owe to your generous kindness ; but can that
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 blind me to what is right and inexorable? I have 
 made this trouble for myself. I must abide it." 
 
 " I cannot understand why you feel so and talk so 
 about divorce. You ought to be divorced from that 
 man if you never married again in the world. You 
 say you care nothing for him. You say you have put 
 him as far as you are able out of your life. He's dead, 
 that's the word you used. If he's dead, damn it, why 
 not bury him ? " 
 
 She put a light hand on his arm. " Please don't 
 swear." 
 
 " It's a swearing job, as my father used to say when 
 my mother reproved him." 
 
 " Your father and mother are both dead, you told 
 me" 
 
 " Yes. I had a good father and a good mother." 
 
 " Did your mother believe in divorce ? " 
 
 " No I imagine she didn't." He tried to speak 
 further, but she would not let him. " I remember," 
 she interposed, " in our little town where I grew up 
 it's a big town now there was one divorced woman ; 
 they used to point her out " 
 
 " That's all very well, but we don't live in that way 
 now. If a man deserts a woman after he's lived upon 
 her and spent all her money she ought to get a divorce 
 and be done with it." 
 
 " I am done with it long ago. I am divorced as 
 much as I can be rightly. If I should get a divorce 
 what would it be for ? To marry again ; and while he 
 lives? I have no right to do that " 
 
 " The law says you have." 
 
 She shook her head. " Not God's law." 
 
 137
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " What's the use of binding yourself by a law no- 
 body pays any attention to ? After all, what is there to 
 it but what you refuse to tell me ? Whether you could 
 love me or not ? " 
 
 She sprang from her seat and wrung her hands. 
 " It's not right to ask." He turned his head in im- 
 patience. 
 
 " Ask me if I would care for you if you were sick," 
 she trembled suddenly. " If I would go cold to keep 
 you warm, hungry to feed you, blind for you to see. 
 I would. Yes, I would. You have saved Ruth's 
 sight. I tell you I would give my sight for you." 
 
 " Then you do answer me. You do love me." 
 
 " But I am a married woman I don't pretend to be 
 a good Christian woman. I don't go to church, as I 
 should ; I neglect things I should not neglect. But I 
 am married to that man, God help me. He is the 
 father of my poor little girl. While he lives he is my 
 husband ; I can't help it. I can't brand myself, or if 
 I could I can't brand this child with the disgrace of a 
 divorce. Leave that for the herd of women like Mrs. 
 Ledgcott for boarding-house women. I am not like 
 them." 
 
 "Don't I know it?" 
 
 " I can't be like them." 
 
 " That's why I love you," he cried, stretching out 
 his hands. 
 
 " If he were dead" 
 
 " I'd like to kill him." 
 
 She shuddered. " Don't say that, even in a joke. 
 You say you care for me " 
 
 138
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " I say I worship you. I'll fall to the ground before 
 you" 
 
 " No, no, stop. Let me speak. If I had a right 
 to hear what you say no prouder woman would 
 breathe." 
 
 "Helen!" 
 
 " Don't frighten me out of my wits, let me speak 
 now, once for ever. If you care for me remember 
 you place yourself on as high a pedestal as you place 
 me. I must see you always high, generous, noble, as 
 you have been in my sight ever since the moment you 
 turned your kind eyes on me and my child the day 
 that you gave us a cup of water." 
 
 He put out his hands appealingly. She waved him 
 away, and sinking into her chair, hid her eyes and 
 cried desperately. 
 
 'Sometimes she was remorseful. Something depended 
 on her physical condition, and when sick, weary with 
 care, she would accuse herself. " If I had run from 
 you when you finished with Ruth this would never 
 have happened." 
 
 " Say if you could have run. I do not think you 
 could. I should have followed you, I believe, to the 
 ends of the earth." 
 
 " But how could I even have attempted it ? I felt 
 afraid, oh, even then I felt afraid, knowing my posi- 
 tion. Can we crush gratitude in our hearts? And 
 without money to pay you at once and feeling that I 
 must pay along as I could, I worried, stayed, like a 
 wretch." 
 
 139
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " You are wild to speak so. You are an angel and I 
 love you." 
 
 " I am a wretch and I know it. If it had not been 
 for me you would have loved some one that had a 
 right to your love." 
 
 " Do you want me to love some one else ? " 
 
 " I want you to be happy. You deserve happiness. 
 Do you understand ? I want you to be happy and I 
 keep you from happiness " 
 
 " You won't forever " 
 
 " God forbid ! But even if I if you oh, I cannot 
 say, I can only suffer and make you suffer, for I am 
 bound. I cannot do what you ask, nor be what you 
 would have let us go out downstairs." 
 
 The situation was known to all the little company. 
 Neither from him nor from her by slightest act or in- 
 tention. Not even from a hint dropped or a word 
 breathed from one to another of the household, for 
 none was ventured. None spoke of the situation, all 
 accepted it. There was a change in both Bryson 
 was never a man, even in his freest boylike moods, 
 to suggest familiarity; but after she from her place 
 at the table looked at him no longer shyly or avoid- 
 ingly, but calmly and clearly, with confidence in gaze 
 and word, in appeal to his knowledge, his judgment, 
 his understanding; when she let it, by so much, 
 be known that she no longer eluded his look, but 
 bore it, she set him on a new plane in the little 
 world. For herself there was no more of shrinking 
 attitude, halting look or timid word. There came to 
 her a superbly dainty haughtiness, as of one who better 
 knows herself; who believes once more in herself be- 
 
 140
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 cause a man believes in her one, too, before whom 
 men lay tribute and who in turn by marked considera- 
 tion lays tribute before her. She was no longer a 
 woman in exile, she was a woman enthroned ; and her 
 sovereignty, pouring loveliness into a cup already full, 
 made of it a cup running over, and he drank of her 
 deeper and deeper. 
 
 In another way she changed. She no longer framed 
 excuses to avoid his invitations to drive and to go. 
 When he asked she went. She was only firm that the 
 forms be all observed that if he took her in the stan- 
 hope Ruth should be tucked in, or in the trap that 
 Mrs. Goddard be taken or Miss Montague. She no 
 longer sought to avoid being seen with him in public. 
 If he asked her to go to the play or to a concert, or 
 the opera, he provided tickets for a party and she 
 made one. Ruth he would not let go down town at 
 night on account of her eyes, for he never lost care of 
 them, and there were for him spectres of consequences 
 from the operation that no one else knew of. If no 
 others were going, and he and Helen Eliot wanted to 
 go, June was dragged along, and June sat loyally with 
 her bad eye on their near side, so there could be no 
 thought of offensive espionage, though all that was of 
 her own imagination. There was an espionage in the 
 dark eyes of Helen, a sensitiveness to all that was fit- 
 ting so exquisite that none greater and none other was 
 needed; nor could another where she reigned have 
 been exercised. 
 
 Still another change took place. She became ad- 
 viser to him, instead of the old way in which he had 
 made himself adviser to her. In business matters he 
 
 141
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 asked her judgment, told her his plans, and hopes and 
 disappointments and triumphs, and she softened his 
 bitterness and divided his plans and hopes and disap- 
 pointments, and doubled his satisfactions. These 
 greater, more vital changes paved the way for lesser 
 ones; at least for those which, if equally significant, 
 were slighter. Certain ties he had affected were laid 
 by; certain light suits for which he had a weakness 
 were discarded, and his gloves and hats fell into a tone 
 that was darker and quieter. He became marked for 
 a man of taste who, without apparent effort, stood well 
 dressed. Indeed, there was no effort beyond the effort 
 to read the eyes that smiled upward on a success, or 
 the brows that just rose into question at a note marring 
 the standard she set for him. 
 
 Naturally graceful and gracious in manner, he be- 
 came in the trifle of apparel precise. He learned 
 aptly from her those points that a man should learn 
 from a woman; for if he be born with such niceties 
 their manifestation will so encroach on the preroga- 
 tives of her sex that men may question his own. 
 
 Together with all this came a new prosperity and 
 graver responsibilities in his practice, and these, he 
 insisted, were due partly to her. In the morning, if 
 she would not go down with him, he presented him- 
 self to her to say good-by. If for that day a major 
 operation was on hand he would tell her and she would 
 ask, smiling, "How are your nerves ? " 
 
 Then he would take between the thumb and fore- 
 finger of either hand a needle, and extending his arms, 
 bring the points together and hold them dead against 
 each other until she said " Enough." Or he would 
 
 142
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 take the water bottle and a glass and pour until the 
 water, heaped upon the rim, shivered brimming. But 
 while he held it no drop spilt unless, perhaps, she put 
 out her own hand to take it to test her nerves. If 
 she did so, when her ringers touched his, the water 
 shook and broke over as tears well from full eyes. 
 Once when she did hold the full glass triumphantly 
 he cried " Boo ! " and the glass slipped from her fingers 
 and crashed to the floor. With a boy's laugh he caught 
 her hands in his, and stooping, lightning-like, kissed 
 her fingers. The offended hands flew behind her back. 
 
 " Oh you have abundance of nerve this morning, 
 sir," she exclaimed, flushing. 
 
 "What's the matter?" demanded June, peering 
 cloudily in from the hall upon her proteges. 
 
 " More of your cut glass," replied the doctor, stoop- 
 ing to help Mrs. Eliot pick up the pieces. " She will 
 break everything in your house." 
 
 " It was your fault," retorted Mrs. Eliot, pointedly. 
 
 " Well, the Lord knows where the money is coming 
 from to buy more ! " grumbled June, passing on. 
 
 " What does she mean ? " asked Bryson. 
 
 " There's something the matter," replied Mrs. Eliot 
 in a half whisper. " I don't know what. June has 
 been cross for a week. I'm afraid she's been running 
 behind in her money matters. Now will you please 
 go about your business ? " 
 
 When Bryson returned to his room June was in it 
 picking up. " What's the matter with you, June," he 
 demanded. " You're getting as cross as a bear." 
 
 " I guess you'd get cross," she answered, "if things 
 went with you the way they do with me. You can be 
 
 143
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 cross when you want to, so can Mr. Bowles, so can 
 everybody else. But if I give out everybody says I'm 
 a bear." 
 
 " Who said you were a bear? " 
 
 " You did."' 
 
 " Look here, what's the matter ? Come, out with it, 
 June." It took urging to make her speak, for June 
 was not what gamesters call a " squealer." Nothing 
 less than absolute insolvency forced from her the 
 reluctant admission that she was behind in her bills. 
 Doctor Bryson questioned her sharply for a few 
 minutes. June went all to pieces and couldn't then 
 remember head or tail of her liabilities. The doctor 
 finally took out a pencil, picked up a sheet of paper 
 and tried to make a schedule. 
 
 " Come," said he, " how much do you owe your 
 grocer ? " 
 
 " I get my meats and groceries all together." 
 
 "Well, how much?" 
 
 " I don't know ; it's a pile." 
 
 "A hundred dollars?" 
 
 " Law sakes, it's more than that." 
 
 "Two hundred?" 
 
 " I d' know." 
 
 "Five hundred?" 
 
 " My grief, no. Do you think I'm running the 
 Auditorium?" 
 
 " Say two hundred and fifty then." 
 
 " It ain't that much." The doctor put down two 
 hundred and fifty. 
 
 " How much for rent ? " 
 
 " A hundred and ninety dollars." 
 144
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Two months, all right. What else? " 
 
 " There's a coal bill" 
 
 " How much ? A hundred dollars ? " 
 
 " No-o-o," protested June, indignantly. 
 
 "Well, how much?" 
 
 " It's some'eres around ninety-five dollars." 
 
 "Humph. What else?" 
 
 " Ice cream." 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 " A hundred and ten dollars." 
 
 " One hundred and ten dollars ! For heaven's sake ! 
 How much a day does it cost you for ice cream? " 
 
 " I d'n' know." 
 
 " How long do you let your ice cream bills run " 
 
 " Just as long as I can ; it's a trust, you know." 
 
 " I should say it was a trust. Why, June, hang it, 
 you're 'busted.' What else is there?" June meditated 
 through her liquid eye. 
 
 " There's a bill of sixty-eight dollars for beer and 
 things." 
 
 "Beer? Sixty-eight dollars! Why, heavens and 
 earth, who has drunk sixty-eight dollars' worth of beer 
 here ? Is this a blind pig ? I never saw a dozen bottles 
 of beer in this house at once in my life." 
 
 " Well, it's charged to me." 
 
 " Charged to you ! " echoed the doctor, scornfully. 
 " Go get your bill." 
 
 She shuffled after it, Bryson stalking behind her, 
 down into the dining-room. June rummaged the gravy 
 boats and the soup tureens in the china closet, the 
 cracker jars on the sideboard, and at last from a dis- 
 mantled chafing dish produced several bills and in- 
 
 145
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 spected them closely. " There," said she, putting 
 one at him. 
 
 " This is only six dollars and eighty cents," remarked 
 Bryson. 
 
 " Go 'way ! " exclaimed June, looking at the figures 
 incredulously. Then she looked foolish and grinned. 
 The doctor eyed her coldly. " June, you're the biggest 
 idiot on earth." 
 
 "Is that all it is?" 
 
 " Yes, that's all it is." 
 
 " Well, I don't care, here's one that's big enough," 
 she snapped, putting another at him. 
 
 "What's this for?" 
 
 " I didn't speak about it upstairs because I was 
 afraid to. It came this morning and I couldn't eat a 
 bite of breakfast after I saw it." 
 
 " Why, this is for beer and every other old thing " 
 Bryson devoured the total at one fell glance. It was 
 a big bill from the same firm a hundred and twelve 
 dollars. There was beer, there was champagne, there 
 were liqueurs on it, cigars, cocktails in cases. The items 
 would stock a saloon. Bryson stared at the bill, stared 
 at his landlady, and at the bill again and started. 
 
 " Why, you see here, you goose, this isn't your bill 
 at all " 
 
 "It ain't?" 
 
 " If you wouldn't drive a man to drink ! This bill 
 is for James Battershaw, 814 Grant Avenue." June 
 screamed. " James may be a tank," continued the 
 doctor. " It looks as if he were, but that's no reason 
 why you should pay his bills." 
 
 146
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Well, what did they send it to me for? " demanded 
 June angrily. 
 
 " Oh," Bryson shook his head and ground his teeth, 
 " do you suppose you have to pay all the bills sent 
 you by mistake ? " 
 
 " Lord, heavens, don't take my head off ! I didn't 
 see who the old bill was billed to, did I ? " 
 
 " Come upstairs no sit right down here." Bryson 
 took from his pocket a small book. He had his pen 
 in his hand and drew a check for six hundred dollars, 
 payable to the order of the biggest fool in Chicago, as 
 June confidentially told Mrs. Eliot that night. 
 
 " Now use a little horse sense and keep even pay 
 cash for what you buy. Don't run bills. If you 
 haven't sense enough to know what bills belong to 
 you, don't run any, see ? 
 
 " He's the biggest hearted man in Chicago," mut- 
 tered June, telling Mrs. Eliot about it. Bryson was 
 down town at a club meeting that evening. He came 
 home late. June and Mrs. Eliot, sitting before her 
 grate, were just parting for the night; he came in, 
 drew a chair to the fire and sat down. 
 
 " June, make me a hot lemonade, will you ? " said 
 he. " I got chilled in the car." 
 
 "Did you have a pleasant meeting?" asked Mrs. 
 Eliot as June started for the kitchen. 
 
 " So, so. What sort of a looking man is Eliot ? I 
 believe I was introduced to him to-night." 
 
 She was not able to speak for a minute. " What 
 makes you think so? What did he want?" 
 
 " What sort of a looking man is he ? Have you a 
 photograph of him ? " 
 
 147
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " I have one picture of him," she answered after a 
 pause, " an ivorytype ; but over the face of it I have 
 cemented a piece of black silk, and I keep it for Ruth. 
 Some day she may want to see her father's face. 
 Don't ask me to try to describe him. For my part I 
 do not allow myself even to think of him." 
 
 " This man is baldish and slowish in his manner. 
 Cheekbones are high, and he has a plump face and 
 a lying kind of a laugh, and his name, well, there's 
 his card : Gregory B. Eliot." 
 
 She grew pale. " What can he want with you ? 
 What can he want? " 
 
 " I can't imagine. He doesn't know me from 
 Adam." 
 
 " Don't be sure. He has a petty cunning. He has 
 seen us somewhere together. What can he want?" 
 She was much disturbed. 
 
 " Never mind what it is, I don't care," said he. " He 
 said he wanted to call on me sometime to-morrow. 
 An insurance man, McKellor, introduced him in the 
 smoking-room at the Athletic Club. Dresses pretty 
 well." 
 
 " He always did," she said coldly. 
 
 " I told him to come at twelve o'clock or three. 
 That's all the talk we had. Possibly I was a little stiff 
 with him. June, you're an angel," he exclaimed, tak- 
 ing the pitcher and a cup from the tray. 
 
 " This morning I was the biggest fool on earth." 
 
 " You are yet, or you wouldn't be down in the 
 kitchen at twelve o'clock making me hot lemonade," 
 said Bryson conclusively, as he filled a cup for Mrs. 
 Eliot. 
 
 148
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " No, thank you." 
 
 "June?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Oh, come, I'm not going to drink all alone. You 
 must drink a little, Mrs. Eliot." 
 
 " Just a drop then." 
 
 "You'd both better drink with me to-night," he 
 laughed, " I may be past drinking this time to-morrow 
 night." 
 
 149
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 MRS. ELIOT was first in the dining-room next 
 morning, and she looked pleased when Doctor 
 Bryson came next. 
 
 " You've been worrying," said he, sprinkling sugar 
 on his berries. " What's the matter ? " 
 
 " I've worried all night about his asking to see you. 
 There's some mischief brewing or he would not be 
 calling on you. He is plausible perhaps dangerous. 
 I want to ask you some favors. I, who am always 
 beggar to you and give you nothing in return " 
 
 " You give me all that makes life worth living " 
 
 " Don't say that." 
 
 " Hope, friendship, confidence, and sometimes love. 
 Do you hear me ? Love." 
 
 " Doctor," she exclaimed, in desperation, " the whole 
 house will hear you." 
 
 " And I don't care a rap for this man or what he 
 may say about my acquaintance with you." 
 
 " But promise me something. I must talk quickly 
 before anybody comes. Promise me you won't have 
 any angry words ; no trouble of any kind " 
 
 " You don't want me to hurt him ? " 
 
 " Don't be perverse. You know what I want. But 
 there's something more, and I don't know this is what 
 I have been worrying about." 
 
 " Don't worry ; tell me."
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " You won't be angry, will you ? " 
 
 "With you?" 
 
 " Ah ! with me." She looked intently at him. "You 
 may be sometime. No matter, I am blue this morning. 
 He may say something about a divorce. He is capable 
 of baseness. I want you to say frankly you have be- 
 friended me as well as my child; and that you know 
 that I will neither institute nor ever consent to a di- 
 vorce. Not alone on my account, but on account of 
 Ruth, who would have the disgrace upon her. Tell 
 him I will support her, as I have done every day since 
 she was born " 
 
 He muttered an execration. 
 
 " But if he tries to drag me into divorce I will fight 
 him. I will tell my story to the court. I will leave 
 nothing undone to pillory him if he forces me to it. 
 Can you bring yourself to say that for me to him? " 
 
 " I thought you didn't want angry words." 
 
 " Don't lower yourself to his level, doctor," she an- 
 swered, with dignity. " That is what I meant. If I did 
 not know you would not I should have said nothing. 
 Remember, if you speak, you speak for me; and you 
 do it because I am friendless and you are generous," 
 she concluded, unsteadily, ringing for his breakfast. 
 
 "How can that be?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " That you are friendless and I am generous? " 
 
 She paid him with a look. " I shouldn't have said 
 so, should I? I am not friendless. And do you 
 know what I pray for every night," she asked, leaning 
 forward and speaking low, " I pray for your success
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 and happiness, and most of all that no evil may befall 
 you through me, doctor." 
 
 " I will take everything, whatever befalls me through 
 you, good or evil all." 
 
 " I don't want anything but good to befall you from 
 anybody. June said last night you were the best man 
 in the world," she added quizzically. 
 
 "What did you say?" 
 
 " Don't ask me what I said," her voice dropped to a 
 murmur, " ask me what I thought." 
 
 "Tell me!" 
 
 " Good-by." 
 
 " Why, you're going to eat your breakfast ? " 
 
 She shook her head. " After you come back to-night. 
 I can't eat now." 
 
 " See here, that won't do," he exclaimed, half rising 
 just as June came behind the maid from the kitchen. 
 " You must eat. Take a roll and coffee at least. June, 
 see to it," scowled the doctor. " No nonsense." 
 
 Mrs. Eliot wrung her hands at him. " Very well, 
 very well ! only don't get excited, please." 
 
 When Bryson had gone Mrs. Eliot went upstairs, put 
 on her hat, walked over to the drug store and by tele- 
 phone cancelled her lessons for the day. With the 
 income always so close to the outgo it was a heart- 
 breaking thing to do ; but to-day, with her head split- 
 ting, she knew she could not teach. Getting home, she 
 began sewing on a dress for Ruth. After breakfast 
 June went up to her room and would not be corriforted 
 till she was made partner in the dreadful anxiety. 
 When June started downstairs to prepare luncheon a 
 messenger rang the bell. He brought a note from Doc- 
 
 152
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 tor Bryson to June scratched pn a prescription blank. 
 " Go to the matinee this afternoon." The tickets were 
 inclosed. June ran upstairs, her eyes bulging with joy. 
 "Look here; matinee tickets for you and me and 
 Ruth." 
 
 Mrs. Eliot looked surprised and pleased, but her 
 anxious expression returned. " You take Ruth, June. 
 1 can't go," she pleaded, her fingers flying with a 
 needle. 
 
 " Can't ? Well, I guess you can. You've got to. 
 Put away that dress and get into your gown as quick 
 as the Lord will let you." 
 
 " June, I must finish this to-day." 
 
 " I'll help you finish it to-night. Stop objecting and 
 get dressed. He'll be mad as a hatter if I go and you 
 don't; and you can just come along. Here, Ruth; I'll 
 dress you." 
 
 Half an hour later, when Mrs. Eliot came down 
 ready to start, Mrs. Goddard and June and Ruth were 
 at luncheon. 
 
 " Wish I could make a picture of myself as quick as 
 that woman can," exclaimed June to Mrs. Goddard 
 as Mrs. Eliot took her seat. " Just look at her. Why, 
 she looks so fresh it's scandalous." The door bell rang. 
 " What on earth's that? " 
 
 It was another messenger; another note. This one 
 for Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 " Nobody here at twelve o'clock. It is one and I am 
 off for lunch. I forgot to send June a railway ticket. 
 Please hand her this. H. E. B." 
 
 On the way to the train Mrs. Eliot handed the com- 
 mutation ticket to June. " He sent it down," she said. 
 
 153
 
 " Was that what he sent ? " cried June. " Spends 
 fifty cents on a messenger to save us twenty-five cents 
 car fare and then calls me a financial idiot. Some men 
 have a wonderful opinion of themselves." 
 
 The play was " Secret Service," and the player 
 William Gillette, and the sweep of the action left no 
 interval for additional worry even between acts, for 
 the spell of the actor bridged over the wait. As they 
 crushed out of the narrow lobby after the performance 
 a colored boy elbowed his way to Mrs. Eliot and 
 touched his hat. It was Jim. 
 
 " Doctor Bryson is just around the corner on La 
 Salle Street, waiting in the coupe." 
 
 It was raining. Jim had umbrellas, and the doctor 
 himself stepped out of the carriage as they approached. 
 His face was bright. Mrs. Eliot looked narrowly at 
 him. 
 
 " Did he come, doctor ? " she asked as they rolled 
 through the gloom past the City Hall. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I told June about it." 
 
 " Oh, did you," said the doctor, unbuttoning his se- 
 cretiveness. " By Jove," he added, " he and I had a 
 lively time." 
 
 " How ? " asked Mrs. Eliot, feverishly. 
 
 " You told me not to have any angry words with 
 him." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, he struck me." 
 
 " Struck you ? " echoed both women together. 
 "What for?" demanded June, furiously. 
 
 " Two hundred and fifty." 
 
 154
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Two hundred and fifty. He wanted to borrow 
 two hundred and fifty dollars. That's true, on my 
 honor." June looked from one to the other of them, 
 twinkling. 
 
 "But was that all?" asked Mrs. Eliot, faintly. 
 
 " Who is it, mamma ? " asked Ruth. 
 
 " Somebody you don't know, dear." 
 
 " That was practically all." 
 
 "Of course you didn't let him have it?" 
 
 " No. But I'll be hanged if I didn't feel mean in 
 refusing him." 
 
 " I'm not surprised. He has a gift of talking money 
 out of people," she said, taking a deep breath. " I 
 can't think it's over." 
 
 " Neither can I," returned Bryson, still laughing. 
 " I didn't tell you how I was stewing over it all last 
 night : the thing was so loaded with possibilities. But 
 of all the proposals I expected to receive, the last 
 was an invitation to buy stock. It was a good story 
 a mining proposition strictly regular would sell 
 some shares. But I didn't want to buy. Then he 
 wanted to leave ten thousand shares with me to secure 
 a temporary advance. Oh, these people that are trying 
 to get something out of nothing. However, all's well 
 that ends well. I wouldn't lose any more sleep over 
 that personage. The question is what are we going 
 to have for dinner to-night ? " 
 
 It was no trick to enliven June, but Doctor Bryson 
 succeeded even in pulling Mrs. Eliot out of her de- 
 spondency by sheer force of his own humor. Before 
 they reached the boulevard he had tapped, for their 
 
 155
 
 diversion, a store of dramatic incidents from the Col- 
 lege grind, and by the time they reached home he had 
 Ruth wide-eyed on his lap, June breathless at his side, 
 and Mrs. Eliot in a state of diverted admiration. 
 
 John Allison happened to be in New York and Miss 
 Montague in London, but that evening they built a 
 roaring big fire in the den. Mrs. Goddard, Mrs. Eliot, 
 June and Ruth and the doctor with common cheer de- 
 fied the chill and the wet together. By a serious stretch 
 of the Eliot regulations Ruth was allowed to sit up till 
 nearly ten o'clock ; or rather, they were telling stories 
 so fast that nobody noticed her. When June walked 
 downstairs, Ruth went to undress, and in a few min- 
 utes ran back, all curly-haired and sleepy-eyed, in her 
 night gown, to kiss everybody by-bye. Then, like a 
 little pink Miss Netticoat, leaving a shine in every 
 heart behind, she shuffled after her mother to be tucked 
 into bed. 
 
 June returned with a chafing dish, a maid, a loaf of 
 bread, four bottles of beer, a jar of stuffed mangoes 
 and an alarming portion of cheese. The maid they 
 dismantled and dismissed. Mrs. Eliot, rigged in an 
 apron flowing with ruffles, and a cap no more than a 
 cobweb, took command. Bryson at the grate struggled 
 with the toast. Mrs. Goddard, to pay her way, sat 
 back and told stories. June opened the beer and Mrs. 
 Eliot sliced cheese into the chafing dish. The rarebit 
 was " on." 
 
 It was a good company. Three women, each of them 
 a marked type in the wonderful gallery of American 
 women, and one strong, successful, quick-witted Amer- 
 ican man. The supper over, June, with a house- 
 
 156
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 keeper's iconoclasm, gathered up the spoil. Mrs. God- 
 dard went upstairs for her beauty sleep, and Mrs. Eliot 
 left for her room. Bryson, buried in a chair, lingered 
 in front of the dying fire. 
 
 A light step coming back aroused him. 
 
 " I forgot to thank you for the entertainment this 
 afternoon " 
 
 " Oh, is it you ? " he exclaimed, attempting to rise. 
 Standing just at his side, she put a hand lightly on his 
 shoulder. " Sit still" 
 
 " But you sit, too." 
 
 " No. I am going right to bed. I enjoyed the play 
 so much. It is such a great play for action and in- 
 genuity " 
 
 " Tell me about it, do." 
 
 " I was thinking, just now, you do me so many 
 kindnesses that I am growing like a spoiled child who 
 accepts favors and forgets the thanks.'* 
 
 " Tell me about the play." The fingers of his right 
 hand crept stealthily over to his shoulder where hers, 
 timid as hares, rested. He sought neither to grasp nor 
 detain them. If he had, there would have been excuse 
 to draw them away. Instead, barely touching her fin- 
 gers at first, while she talked, he gradually slipped his 
 hand under her own. 
 
 " You are very, very quiet in your chair, doctor," she 
 said, after she had finished telling about " Secret 
 Service," " but your head is very, very busy, do you 
 know that ? " she asked, bending a little above him. 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " You knew I wouldn't let you take my hand, and 
 yet you have made me take yours or seem positively 
 
 157
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 mean. But do you know I didn't venture back here to 
 hold your hand. I could have done that all the evening 
 while the others were here." 
 
 " That would have been dangerous, wouldn't it ? " 
 
 " Not nearly so dangerous as this. I know I am on 
 thin ice; I do not deceive myself even if I appear to. 
 But knowing it is my safety, for it makes me have care. 
 And though you are a man, you are a brave and gener- 
 ous one. I dare even tell you of it." 
 
 " Sit down ; I want to talk to you." 
 
 " I will stand." 
 
 " You must sit a moment. Sit here on the arm of 
 the chair." 
 
 " This stool will do," she said, drawing one up be- 
 side him. " Go on. Just a minute, remember." 
 
 " I've been sitting here trying to think I've been 
 all day trying to think why you will remain tied to 
 that man. Why you won't get a divorce and be free 
 and be happy and make me happy." 
 
 " You include too much, doctor." She turned and 
 faced him. " Do you think I don't want to be happy ? 
 or don't want you to be ? You deserve to be ; I don't. 
 But no good ever can or ever will come on this earth 
 from doing wrong. To divorce myself from him more 
 than I am divorced, to divorce myself to marry again 
 while I have a husband living would be a sin : a shame 
 and disgrace to me and to the man I should marry. 
 But even if I could bear to do that for myself and for 
 him, and soothe my conscience to sleep under it how 
 could I bear to disgrace Ruth my little innocent girl ? 
 And if she grew up and went to the divorce court her- 
 self or worse what could I say? Do I not owe 
 
 158
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 more to this unfortunate child than to myself? It 
 isn't her wish that she is here. Her father is what he 
 is. But if she can say her mother was all she ought 
 to have been, can she not still hold up her head ? " 
 
 " You start by assuming divorce is wrong ; a sin, a 
 disgrace. If it is, why do our laws sanction it, our 
 churches sanction it " 
 
 " How can I answer for all the sins that hide behind 
 courts and churches ? Don't ask me to do that I have 
 no church. I have only one guide my conscience; 
 only one life to look to, only one word to listen to 
 Christ's. Don't you suppose I have cast this over a 
 thousand times since the man I married proved utterly 
 unworthy, and I found my baby in my arms and had 
 to get up with my head swimming with weakness to 
 earn money to feed her ? " 
 
 He started from his chair. " Don't speak of it. I 
 can't stand that I can't stand it." 
 
 " Never mind. I've taken care of her ever since. 
 You are the first that ever shared in doing it." 
 
 " I never have shared. You never would let me." 
 
 " You have, in a hundred ways. You are the first I 
 ever allowed to share " 
 
 " Helen, could you altogether help yourself ? " he 
 asked, bending over her. 
 
 She returned his look unflinchingly. " No. I don't 
 pretend to sanctity. I'm a woman; I kiss the hand 
 that's kind to me and mine. You saved me a greater 
 sorrow than my wretched marriage Ruth's blindness. 
 I wish she were a boy," she exclaimed ; " oh, how I 
 wish she were a boy ! God help her, poor little thing : 
 
 159
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 no father, no home. I think so often of what you said 
 over poor Johnnie Ledgcott that night." 
 
 He sat back and looked into the fire. " Did Eliot," 
 he asked, mildly, " ever complain of his heart ? " 
 
 "No; why?" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " But you have reason for asking?'* 
 
 " Nothing, only I was naturally studying him," he 
 shifted his long legs. " You wouldn't blame me for 
 that" 
 
 " No, no." 
 
 " He looked to me like a man with a poor heart ac- 
 tion." 
 
 "How can you tell?" 
 
 " His eyes are bright and prominent like those whose 
 hearts are fatty. Possibly I deceive myself." 
 
 " You will never quite understand how I could have 
 made such a horrible mistake," she said, abruptly. 
 " But if you knew his mother it would help you to. 
 Her husband was a great college professor; we put 
 halos around such men in our family when I was a girl. 
 His mother threw a wicked glamour over me because 
 my father was wealthy. She was a big, brawny woman, 
 great in public movements and such things. My 
 mother was dead, I was a poor little conceited innocent 
 of eighteen, and it's all past and done, and it is after 
 twelve o'clock and I am here, where I have no business 
 to be and know it " 
 
 " Don't fly away. Tell me I'm not a heathen, but 
 I don't pretend to be up on Bible things how can so 
 many people be wrong on this divorce question ? " 
 
 " Christ said, ' Whosoever shall marry her that is 
 160
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 divorced committeth adultery. If a woman shall put 
 away her husband and marry another, she committeth 
 adultery.' " 
 
 There was a distressing silence ; she broke it. " Not 
 once, but again and again, he says it of husbands and 
 wives and I am a wretched wife. I am bound." 
 
 " I don't understand it, Helen. I don't pretend to ; 
 but I see everybody getting divorces when they want 
 them, and going about their business just the same. It 
 looks to me pretty tough. We are not different from 
 anybody else, are we ? " 
 
 There was a pause; then a defiance of the sugges- 
 tion. 
 
 " Yes, we are. You are different from a good 
 many other men ; I am from a good many other women. 
 If we were not different we should not be here now 
 together as we are. If I had not clung like a sinking 
 wretch to what is right do you think I need be here to- 
 night without a home and without money ? " She 
 stood up, and her voice rang startlingly. 
 
 " I could have bought all that husband and money 
 and home in the court and in the church, all legally 
 and respectably, before ever I saw you, doctor. But 
 what would have bought it," she said, almost haugh- 
 tily, " was not for sale my conscience. When that 
 goes look out! Ah-h-h, I'd be a different woman 
 then ! Do you imagine I don't like fine things ? That 
 I am not flesh and blood ? " 
 
 "Helen!" 
 
 " And you are you common clay ? If you were not 
 ' different ' how could I have spoken this night to you 
 as I never spoke to man before? To man? No, not 
 
 161 

 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 even to him, I swear, did I ever speak as I have spoken 
 to you. I have never shown so much of my heart as 
 I have shown to-night to you. He chilled and repelled 
 me," she said, turning her head, " and, God forgive me, 
 I detested him the moment I really knew him. And 
 you you pitied me. You did not talk money. Money ! 
 That I could not raise with all the working and all the 
 saving ! Money ! that I could get only by selling my- 
 self. You pitied me when I was helpless; gave your 
 skill like water, like air, like sunshine, to save Ruth. 
 And after that, kindness, liberality ; presents by stealth ; 
 consideration as delicate as a woman's as a woman's, 
 do I say ? As a man's ! And finding at last my ideal 
 if I could have been wickeder I should never have 
 found him I find myself chained, gagged, helpless to 
 be what he wants me to be what I ought to be. And 
 people say there is no hell ! " 
 
 He found himself on his feet, and her words mad in 
 his ears ; but she was gone. 
 
 162
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 '"\7OIJ need not have run away from me last 
 I night." 
 
 " What most I should have said I did not say," she 
 replied. 
 
 It was Sunday morning; the sun was shining. 
 They were walking together in Michigan Avenue. 
 
 " I was thinking after I left you," she went on, " of 
 what worries me so often. I am like one of whom 
 you ask bread, and I give you a stone. Your position 
 in this is worse than mine. You have not forfeited 
 your right to be happy, as I have. If you persist in 
 this feeling you have for me I shall be only a curse to 
 you; that's what I worry over. I have been selfish 
 enough to speak of what I suffer; what of you and 
 your future ? " 
 
 " My future is yours." 
 
 " No, it must not be. You must give up the thought 
 of what may never be. You can then be happy. This 
 is right ; it is best ; and seeing you happy I speak 
 truly will be happiness for me." 
 
 " I'd rather share your unhappiness than be happy 
 with another. It is so. I love you. Would you be 
 happy to see me with another woman ? Would you ? " 
 
 " Would you wish to lay bare my heart after I have 
 prayed that happiness may be yours? Yet if you 
 would, you should find it ready for your inspection, 
 
 163
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 like a chamber set in order. I would be happy to see 
 you happy." 
 
 " I wanted only to know that much, Helen. Let me 
 call you that sometimes. It is your name, and as we 
 stand now we face realities. You have told me your 
 lips are sealed. Forgive me for trying to get behind 
 them. I love you, and to say I love you is only to say 
 you love me ; or it is only to ask the question, do you 
 love me? For if I say I love you and you answer I 
 hate you, what would my words amount to? They 
 would mean nothing. If I really love you it is because 
 we love each other." 
 
 " May we not talk of something else ? " 
 
 " Gladly. The more gladly because I know we 
 understand and that contents me. For the rest I 
 can wait." 
 
 " No, that is appalling," she exclaimed. " He may 
 outlive us both." 
 
 " Something will happen," he persisted. " Every- 
 thing comes to him who waits, don't you know that? " 
 
 " Yes, that and more." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Suppose there comes a day when your love will no 
 longed be denied." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 " I don't know what then. I wish I knew. Some- 
 times I see misery; sometimes disgrace; sometimes 
 death." 
 
 " Never. You are blue ; depressed. Cheer up." 
 
 " I know I am. I have been trying to fight it off. 
 Something always happens when I get in this way. I 
 was like this before I married." 
 
 164
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 He burst into a laugh. She did not seem altogether 
 in sympathy. " Don't be displeased ; it sounds so 
 odd," said he in apology. " The mistake you make 
 is in worrying; you're always worrying about some- 
 thing. Just now it seems to be me. I didn't come 
 into your life to make you worry. I came into it to 
 make your cares a little lighter, that's all. To save 
 steps for the feet I love and weariness for the hands I 
 love, and anxiety for the eyes I love, and to keep the 
 gray out of the hair I love; the brown hair; and to 
 keep the aches out of the heart I love the heart that 
 pumps so hard and so fast when I look close into its 
 windows." 
 
 " Dear heaven ! Please remember, Doctor Bryson, 
 we are on the street. Don't bend over me quite so 
 dreadfully." 
 
 " But you protest so sweetly it makes me fairly 
 topple." 
 
 " Will you please remember you are Surgeon-In- 
 chief for the Eye at the Laflin College ? " 
 
 " Whether I remember it or not, you are not likely 
 to forget it," he replied in banter. 
 
 " Certainly not. I am very proud of being the friend 
 of the Surgeon-in-chief, if you want to know it," 
 she retorted with a bewitching dignity of head, " and 
 that's why I object to his making a goose of himself 
 in public." 
 
 " You forget, do you not, that he is one of those un- 
 fortunate birds that is not permitted to disport itself to 
 any extent in private ? " he responded. 
 
 She could not answer for the smothered laughing in 
 her eyes, and having got her into his mood of serene 
 
 165
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 confidence, he held her in it all day. The afternoon 
 was ideal and Bryson took everybody in turn out to 
 the park, ending after supper with John Allison. The 
 evening was warm and delightful, a moon rising full 
 over the lake. They drove leisurely and late, and 
 when they left the team at the stable to stroll home it 
 was eleven o'clock. Everybody had gone to bed ; the 
 night air was warm and the two men sat before the 
 open window in John's room talking till twelve. 
 
 In the very dead of the night, when sleep weighs 
 heaviest, there came a tap on Bryson's bedroom door. 
 A timid rapping first and after an interval a second 
 and louder rapping. " What is it ? " he called. 
 
 " Doctor Bryson?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Would you come and look at Ruth a moment, 
 doctor?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " She doesn't seem well." 
 
 " In just a minute." 
 
 It was hardly so long before Mrs. Eliot heard his 
 tap on her sitting-room door. 
 
 " Ruth is acting so queerly, doctor," Mrs. Eliot 
 whispered as she opened the door. " She hasn't slept 
 any to speak of." He listened reflectively. 
 
 " May I go right into the bedroom? " 
 
 " Certainly. I feel conscious-stricken at disturbing 
 you" 
 
 " You did perfectly right," he said in an undertone, 
 following her as she put aside the bedroom portiere. 
 Ruth slept in a pretty little brass bed opposite her 
 mother's. The gas burned low at the dresser. Bry- 
 
 166
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 son walked lightly across to Ruth. She lay dozing 
 uneasily. Standing above her, spread all over the 
 pillow, he listened a moment, took her pulse in one 
 hand, passed the other over his eyes and pushed the 
 tangle of hair back from his forehead. Mrs. Eliot in 
 a kimono stood with folded hands at the dresser. He 
 motioned to her to turn on the gas, which she did, 
 and pulling up a chair he sat down in silence and for 
 some time watched the sleeping child. After a while 
 Mrs. Eliot tiptoed to his side. 
 
 " She seems to be easier now, but she has been so 
 restless and so feverish it alarmed me." He heard 
 without comment, still looking at Ruth, who began 
 again to toss. But with the doctor's coming the rest- 
 lessness had subsided, and Mrs. Eliot blamed her- 
 self for having called him. His face, just out of a 
 heavy sleep, showed in the glare of the gas that which 
 it never showed in daylight, lines of hard work and 
 thought. In his trousers and slippers and shirt, hair 
 awry and heavy-eyed, he looked ten years more than 
 day put upon him. 
 
 " Go back to bed, doctor," she whispered. " I have 
 let my fears run away with me and broken your rest 
 for nothing." 
 
 He leaned back in his chair. " She isn't well," said 
 he, still looking at Ruth, " a little fever ; not much 
 though. She swallows queer. I'll sit here a few 
 minutes. She'll wake pretty soon." 
 
 He stretched out his legs, crossed his arms and then 
 his feet. His chin gradually sunk on his breast ; in 
 five minutes he slept just as he sat. Mrs. Eliot, sitting 
 over by the bureau, watched the two, almost side by 
 
 167
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 side, sleep ; her child and her lover. It seemed a long 
 time before Ruth roused ; Bryson woke with her first 
 turning. She asked for a drink, and while her mother 
 got it the doctor stepped to his room and back again. 
 
 " Sit up, just a minute, Ruth, will you?" asked the 
 doctor, " I want to look at your throat." Her eyes 
 were slightly bloodshot and her cheeks flushed. He 
 sat down on the bed and held her around on his arm 
 so he could see her throat. 
 
 " I hope she isn't going to be sick, doctor," ventured 
 her mother. 
 
 " She is sick now. I'll go and fix some medicine 
 have you a teaspoon ? Where has she been lately ? " 
 
 " Nowhere but at school, doctor." 
 
 "Are any of the little girls at your school sick, 
 Ruth?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " There are only twelve children there. She goes to 
 Miss Chill's." 
 
 " Does she go in the street cars ? " 
 
 " It's just around the corner, you know. She hasn't 
 been in a street car for a week." He made no com- 
 ment, but went after the medicine. 
 
 Among other things he brought a tiny tin box. " Let 
 me look at your throat again, Ruth," said he. " Come 
 over to the light, where I can see. Here, I'll carry you 
 to your mamma's bed," he suggested, bundling her up 
 in his arm. He got her directly before the gas jet, 
 and with her mother's help got a look at her throat 
 clear to the glottis. With his spatula he touched 
 one of her tonsils. Then he carried her all pink and 
 white and curly back to her own bed, and going to the 
 
 168
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 table took from it the glass of medicine he had pre- 
 pared and gave her a dose of it. From a small bottle 
 he gave her a teaspoonful of brandy. 
 
 " This will burn, Ruth, but don't mind that. Swal- 
 low it, swallow it. Quick ! " 
 
 " She will doze off again," said he to her mother 
 when the child had done the struggle with the 
 alcohol. Turning to the dresser, he took up the little 
 box, opened it, passed the spatula over the gelatinous 
 substance within, closed the box, and going to Ruth 
 opened her nightgown at the throat and placed the 
 box under her arm. " Now, let me see," he said, 
 methodically reflective. " There's nothing more to 
 do for an hour. I'll stay out here in the sitting-room 
 and you may lie down." 
 
 " You may go to bed again. I can give her the 
 medicine." 
 
 " No, I want to see her as soon as it's daylight." 
 
 " But I will call you." 
 
 " You might oversleep." 
 
 " Is it anything serious, do you think ? " 
 
 " It isn't far enough along to say. I merely want to 
 be first in if anything is going to develop. Now you 
 lie down " 
 
 " I'll lie down with Ruth." 
 
 " No, I wouldn't do that." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " She needs all the room she has," he answered 
 evasively. " She might be more wakeful ; lie on your 
 own bed." He looked at his watch. " It's three 
 o'clock now. Lie down and get what sleep you can ; 
 you haven't had much. I'll nap out here." He dis- 
 
 169
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 posed himself by the sitting-room window in a big 
 chair. She softly closed the bedroom door, but instead 
 of lying down began to dress herself. While doing so 
 she heard him at the telephone. She turned the gas 
 low and sat down by Ruth. The night wind rising on 
 the lake blew cool through the north window. She 
 lowered the sash and going to the sitting-room door 
 opened it to see what he was doing. He had thrown 
 himself among the pillows on the couch, and lay on 
 his side fast asleep. It was chilly in the room, and 
 as he lay in his shirt sleeves, clutching the pillow in 
 his arms above his head, he appeared abnormally long. 
 She looked at him a moment, tiptoed back, took a 
 blanket off her own bed, and going to him drew it cau- 
 tiously over him. He slept heavily. She listened to 
 his breathing, turned the gas low at the head of the 
 couch and bent over him. His hands were clasped. 
 The withered little old woman on whom he had oper- 
 ated came back to her, and, stooping, her breath stole 
 timidly over his closed fingers and her lips touched 
 them ; but he slept. 
 
 When he woke day was breaking. Mrs. Eliot was 
 sitting near looking out of the south window. 
 
 " Has she waked ? " he asked, sitting up. 
 
 " Not once, and she has been ever so much quieter. 
 I think she is better." 
 
 He walked to Ruth, fished his tiny box out from 
 under her arm and slipped it into his vest pocket, went 
 to his room, took a bath and dressed. The door bell 
 rang as he stepped again into the hall and he answered 
 it. Jim had come with the things the doctor had tele- 
 phoned for. 
 
 170
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " I caught the first car, doctor," said Jim, handing 
 him a package. 
 
 " You're in good time. That's right. Go up to 
 the room and stay for your breakfast. Then take this 
 box down to the laboratory straight and ask Kemp to 
 examine it at once. The minute you get the word tele- 
 phone me what he says. Don't call me up here. Call 
 me up at the drug store." 
 
 Returning to Mrs. Eliot's room, he found Ruth 
 awake, her eyes heavy and her cheeks purplish. With 
 her mother's help he got her to the light again and 
 looked at her throat twice, gave her medicine, followed 
 it with a teaspoonful of the fiery brandy and laid her 
 down himself. After breakfast he went over to the 
 drug store and was gone a long time. 
 
 When he came back he went in to Ruth. Mrs. Eliot 
 followed him from the sitting-room. " How does she 
 seem, doctor?" He made no answer, but walked to 
 the window and waited for her to join him. " Is she 
 sick ? " asked her mother again anxiously. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 " Has she ever had any serious throat trouble? " 
 
 "No. Why do you ask?" 
 
 " Because she has now." 
 
 " Oh, doctor, what is it ? " 
 
 " Don't become alarmed unnecessarily." 
 
 " Tell me what it is." 
 
 " I'm glad we have it on hand early " 
 
 " Tell me what it is" 
 
 " And for that reason I ask you not to be unneces- 
 sarily frightened. It is diphtheria." 
 
 171
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 Mrs. Eliot's face faded; in seconds she aged years. 
 
 "Diphtheria is serious," she heard him saying quiet- 
 ly, " it is by no means necessarily fatal. There is noth- 
 ing now to indicate more than an ordinary attack. My 
 dear one," he begged, " control yourself. These things 
 always come unexpectedly. We have it right in the 
 bud. She is in splendid health. Unless extraordinary 
 complications develop she will come out all right." 
 
 Mrs. Eliot sank into a chair deadly white. While 
 speaking he had thrown the sash wide for the air. Half 
 fainting, she tried again and again before she could 
 look up at him. When her lips moved no sound came ; 
 only her eyes looked prayers into his. He reached 
 for a cologne bottle, and sprinkling his fingers, bathed 
 her temples. As soon as she could raise her own hands 
 she caught his convulsively. " Will you save her? " 
 
 " Don't, for God's sake, look like that. Will it make 
 it any easier for me to work? Ruth is not going to 
 die." 
 
 "Will you save her?" 
 
 " I tell you I will." 
 
 " Oh, Johnnie, Johnnie Ledgcott ! " 
 
 " Everything was against me then, wasn't it ? You 
 know that, don't you ? " She nodded her head, her 
 eyes were tearless. 
 
 " Just be brave you can help so much. I'll have 
 a nurse here after breakfast. There will be no quaran- 
 tine, no annoyance of any sort. I will arrange all. We 
 need only have care. I love her. If she were my child 
 instead of yours if she were our child I couldn't do 
 more for her than I will do. You need only trust me. 
 Can't you do that?" 
 
 172
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 Crying softly then she returned the pressure of his 
 hand. He went in to Ruth. When she followed, 
 Ruth, surrounded by pillows, was sitting up, her head 
 hung in laughter. Doctor Bryson was telling her a 
 droll story about a fine and stylish young darky wo- 
 man, a very light chocolate colored young darky wo- 
 man, with red kid gloves and a picture hat and gold- 
 rimmed nose glasses, who wanted her eyes operated 
 on so she could read with them, never having had time, 
 in the regular way, to learn how. 
 
 And when Mrs. Eliot left the room again Bryson, 
 with his arm around Ruth, told her confidentially that 
 she was just the least bit sick, but that she must not 
 let her mamma know ; and that he would give her a 
 little medicine on the sly, and stay with her himself, 
 and mamma would think they were having an 
 old-fashioned visit together; for, he said, he was all 
 tired out anyway, and meant to stay home from the 
 old College for a few days and rest up. 
 
 There were blanched faces at the breakfast table 
 when the word went round. There happened to be 
 at the time in June's household three or four outsiders, 
 as those not in the regular circle were called. In spite 
 of all efforts to quiet the matter there was something 
 like a sensation in the house, and nearly a fight, in 
 which Bowles figured with a bull-necked bachelor, who 
 insisted the child should be sent to an isolation hospi- 
 tal. The bachelor's traps were finally put into the street 
 by Bowles himself, who stripped the offender's room 
 and suggested fumigating it. The enraged bachelor 
 filed a complaint with the health department and with- 
 in an hour afterward an officer arrived at the house. 
 
 173
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 But Doctor Bryson met him with his card and a smile, 
 and wrote a few words on the card to the chief health 
 officer, and that was the end of it. The bachelor man 
 stirred up the papers and three reporters together rang 
 the door bell. But Doctor Bryson again smiled and 
 wrote a few words on a card to the managing editors, 
 and telephoned Bowles, who arranged practically 
 everything. When the bachelor man looked next 
 morning in the papers for his account of the case of 
 malignant diphtheria that was being concealed by a 
 prominent South Side doctor, he couldn't find it. So 
 he wrote an article on the prevalence of pulls in Chica- 
 go, and sent it to a New York paper, by which, in due 
 time, it was returned with the intimation that the edi- 
 tors were not at present buying anything but news. 
 
 And Ruth, all the time the excitement was raging 
 on her account, was at first sitting up in the bed, with 
 Doctor Bryson telling her funny stories and making 
 her take beef essence and chicken broth that he cooked 
 himself. Yes, he said, he made it himself at the big 
 range, and she must take it. And he was always coax- 
 ing her to swallow something very fiery that she hated 
 because it burned her throat and choked her so. Then 
 she could no longer breathe and she saw terrible 
 things in the air, and a friend of Doctor Bryson's, from 
 the College, came to see her in the middle of the night 
 a short, fat, Germany man, with spectacles as thick 
 as bulls' eyes and fighting hair and a touch-me-not mus- 
 tache. He stayed a long time and stared at her un- 
 accountably, and put a complicated arrangement in her 
 mouth, and peered into her throat till he quite suffo- 
 cated her and she knew she was going to die. It was 
 
 174
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 serious that night. He was a very queer man, to 
 whom everybody paid great deference, and when he 
 tried to say throat, he said " troat," and put his finger 
 on her neck fondly, and felt it all around as if he were 
 feeling for a good soft place to cut into. But Bryson, 
 thoughtful and heavy, shook his head a little. He mut- 
 tered, " I think not, doctor," and Ruth slept. 
 
 She woke again, and it was night ; the gas carefully 
 shaded, and a strange lady in a gray striped dress sat 
 smiling at her, and Doctor Bryson stood at the foot of 
 the bed. His hair was tumbled and his arms were 
 folded and he was looking fixedly at her. And she 
 tried to speak, but her throat hurt so dreadfully she 
 could not. She could only gasp and make signs, terri- 
 bly frightened. And the doctor and the nurse spoke 
 fast and together took her up and worked a long time 
 over her till she could breathe somewhat. Then she 
 went to sleep. But frightful dreams came even after 
 that. A tall, tall man did things that hurt her terribly, 
 and a woman helped with the torture, and her throat 
 was on fire and getting bigger and bigger; but they 
 did not care, though she screamed until she forgot 
 everything and could hear no more save some one 
 moaning at her pillow ; and she slept. 
 
 And after a long, long time she woke again; and 
 again it was night and the light was very soft, and she 
 told, long, long afterward, of hearing a voice and 
 knowing it was Doctor Bryson's voice ; told of hearing 
 him say : " She is going to live." 
 
 Then her mother, moaning and sobbing, had thrown 
 herself down and buried her face in the pillow. It 
 seemed so strange to Ruth, with the striped lady bust- 
 
 175
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 ling around so sprightly and her mother crying so 
 hard and Doctor Bryson standing at the other side of 
 the bed looking. Only she was very weak, and when 
 she tried to lift her hand she could not. She turned 
 again and closed her eyes, glad she was going to live. 
 
 176
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 IT was morning next time, and sunshine, and Ruth 
 weakly asked for her mamma. The striped lady 
 said she was in bed. And Ruth asked for the doctor ; 
 and the striped lady said he was in bed. Then June 
 peered cautiously in from the sitting-room and looked 
 at Ruth as if she had stolen all the jam in the pantry, 
 and been a bad, bad girl generally, and asked many 
 questions of the striped lady. And Ruth, wondering 
 what they were all about, heard them. " Did he use 
 anti-toxine ? " asked June with awed curiosity. 
 
 " No," answered the striped lady. 
 
 " I thought everybody used that." 
 
 " He didn't." 
 
 " Nor tracheotomy ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " My stars ! How did he do it ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I guess he did it with grape brandy 
 and broths and things. ' Stimulation and nutrition,' 
 was all he said to me. I wouldn't want another case 
 like that." 
 
 Then Ruth knew after a while that she had been very 
 sick. When her mother came in, Ruth saw how pale 
 and worn she was. So she tried to put her arms up to 
 her mother's neck, but she could not even lift them ; 
 her mother had to do that. Then in the early morning 
 the striped lady went away and after nightfall Doctor 
 Bryson would drop in, not forcing a laugh as he did 
 
 177
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 when she was very sick, but really jolly again and 
 with some new joke that make everybody else jolly, for 
 the anxious hours and the deadly membrane and the 
 purplish poison were gone! Gone, all but the getting 
 well, which went slowly and at times discouragingly. 
 Doctor Bryson had warned all that patience would 
 be needed in the getting well. Ruth did not get back, 
 even with summer and sunshine, her color and her 
 strength. Doctor Bryson said she must have different 
 air. 
 
 " If you could get away somewhere with her," he 
 said in perplexity one night at the table. " Up north 
 somewhere; anywhere. She ought to be taken away 
 before the hot weather." 
 
 " If I could only get away," reflected Mrs. Eliot. 
 " But my pupils ! They would be scattered to the four 
 winds if I went away now. Later I could manage 
 but now, I don't see how." 
 
 " She needs to be somewhere up north on the water. 
 Sunshine and sand are what she needs all summer 
 long. Medicine is of no avail in a case like this. She 
 would come back in the fall better than she ever was 
 in her life. The virus of diphtheria is peculiarly ma- 
 lignant; she was pretty sick." 
 
 " I'll tell you what," exclaimed Mrs. Goddard, who 
 was in the circle, " let her go up to Grand Bay with 
 us; Mrs. Eliot. I'll take her and keep her all sum- 
 mer." 
 
 " Sure," chimed in Mr. Goddard, " you can go fish- 
 ing with me, Ruth, and swimming every morning. 
 Let her go with us, Mrs. Eliot. We're going to start 
 Monday." 
 
 178
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 It seemed sudden, but it seemed the thing to do. 
 There was a good bit of sewing necessary. Mrs. Eliot 
 hesitated; everyone urged her to a decision and one 
 night's reflection settled her doubt. In the morning 
 preparation began for starting Ruth with the God- 
 dards. After one week and a sewing and an excite- 
 ment in the Eliot rooms unparalleled, Ruth, like a 
 fairy girl, stood one afternoon between Mr. and Mrs. 
 Goddard on the deck of the northbound steamer, wav- 
 ing at her mother and June and Jim a wondrous par- 
 asol that June had surreptitiously conveyed, only the 
 night before, into her outfit. 
 
 The child left more than an ordinary vacancy at 
 June's table. It was several days before the new ad- 
 justment became endurable to her mother. Then a 
 letter from Mrs. Goddard, with incredible details 
 concerning Ruth's appetite helped restore Mrs. Eliot's 
 spirits. Bowles, too, astounded the household by 
 marrying, without the slightest notice, a pretty country 
 girl up at Waukegan, and taking a flat in a big new 
 apartment building out south. Following that, most 
 unexpectedly, Mary Montague came back from Lon- 
 don with exciting stories of new successes and new 
 sensations in the world of miniatures. The weather 
 turned intensely hot. Temperature became the topic 
 and the nights were spent in extraordinary efforts to 
 keep cool. 
 
 The whole South Side made an effort to get out of 
 doors the minute the sun set. It became a campaign 
 of rides and breezes and ices. Every night after din- 
 ner the doctor's horses were at the door. He drove 
 with John a great deal in the phaeton : sometimes they 
 
 179
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 ordered a stable cabriolet and took Miss Montague, 
 Mrs. Eliot and June through the parks, which hummed 
 from dark until midnight with carriages. Sometimes 
 they drove, four, through Lincoln Park and spent the 
 evening in one of the palm gardens where the music 
 was excellent, the refreshments good, and the air cool. 
 The tables were filled with people, relaxed, indolent, 
 resting, and the shaded corners swarmed with parties 
 at supper, parties at ices, and parties at steins and 
 cigars. Men with slightly foreign airs; hair pompa- 
 dour; men long haired and crop haired and men with 
 no hair; women smartly rigged, and under the arc 
 lights difficult to place as they laughed and sipped and 
 ate and listened. What amazed the party from June's 
 was not alone the apparent refinement and elegance of 
 the women, but their apparent indifference to the num- 
 ber of times their glasses were replenished. 
 
 If it was moonlight, so much the better. The doc- 
 tor would take the reins he was a whip with Mrs. 
 Eliot at his side, while John and Miss Montague rode 
 behind, and over the good pavement they would 
 briskly whirl, and through the bad streets they would 
 slowly and pleasantly lurch, with the moon breaking 
 between brick rows and from behind flat buildings, 
 and the horses eyeing the rotten roadway disdainfully, 
 picking aristocratic steps along it. The holes would 
 Ire black in the shadows, with Doctor Bryson watching 
 the careful pace as a sailor watches the water, the un- 
 even springing dip of the carriage punctuating 
 snatches of talk or laugh or joke from the back seat to 
 the front, or from the front to the back. And home 
 late to a big pitcher of lemonade left in the refrigerator 
 
 180
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 by old Julie, the cook, as a personal compliment to 
 her friend, Doctor Bryson. 
 
 Sometimes they would vary such diversions with a 
 roof garden evening; but the result was always the 
 same. Throughout the warm weather, like real 
 Chicagoans, they worked hard all night getting ready 
 for the next day's heat; then they wondered after a 
 while why they were tired at least so Bryson sug- 
 gested one night when there were complaints at din- 
 ner of fatigue. 
 
 " The real philosophy for hot weather," he declared, 
 " is to take off your clothes and go to bed. But I'm 
 the only one in town that knows that " 
 
 " And you haven't sense enough to do it," suggested 
 Miss Montague from a fork full of peas. 
 
 " True, but then I'm never tired." 
 
 He was, in fact, indefatigable; always ready for 
 any sort of an excursion, nor was any excursion too 
 extended for him. Hot weather, sun, rain, iced drinks, 
 music, night air, everything agreed with him. One 
 night when he wanted to go north it happened that 
 Miss Montague had something to go to at the Fine 
 Arts Building ; John was booked with her and it broke 
 up the party. Mrs. Eliot and June were sitting on 
 the porch with Bryson moving about, restless. 
 
 "Let's go down and call on Bowles and his wife/ 
 he suggested to Mrs. Eliot after a while. 
 
 " You go down," she said. He would not. 
 
 " We've been talking about it for a month," he per- 
 sisted. " Let's go down to-night." 
 
 " I should have to dress." 
 
 " Oh, no." 
 
 181
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " I couldn't call on a bride in this costume." 
 
 " Well, go ahead, I'll wait for you." 
 
 " Go on," urged June, " and wear your new dress." 
 
 " What's the new dress? " asked Bryson. 
 
 " Why, the organdie," scolded June 
 
 " The only one I have," laughed Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 " She made it herself, every stitch, and she hasn't 
 had it on yet. Now's your chance. Come on, I'll 
 help you." 
 
 After that .there was no hiding of the organdie 
 secret. The demand became peremptory. June urged 
 her upstairs, lighted the gas and got out the dress. 
 
 The dress ! The new gown of one whole year. 
 Product of a little money, of little economies, innumer- 
 able little stitches, hours stolen from rest and from 
 sleep and plannings prodigious simple little organdie. 
 Half an hour, at least, Bryson put in about the halls 
 and parlor ; then June brought her down with a cry, 
 " Now, Mr. Man ! " 
 
 " Jove, it's a dream," exclaimed Bryson, rising from 
 the piano stool. She stood playful under the chande- 
 lier, one hand clasping her girdle, the other falling 
 from an outstretched arm. She looked so slight and so 
 girlish, her face lighted so happily over the success, 
 her cheeks flushed so prettily at the surprised praise of 
 her critics, that they fell doubly in love with the 
 organdie and the wearer. Yielding to the quick im- 
 pulse of their admiration, she twirled half about like a 
 dancing girl. June clapped her hands at her with a 
 shout and ran at her, but she caught up her skirt, es- 
 caped, and with a bow of running nods, made away 
 for her hat. 
 
 182
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 "What makes it rustle so?" asked Bryson, as the 
 two followed her into the hall. 
 
 " That's the petticoat, you goose," exclaimed June. 
 " It's made over silk ; that's the finery of it, don't you 
 see?" 
 
 They started down the avenue in good mood. He 
 wanted to ride, but she wanted to walk. As they 
 went on there was a pleasure even in the fall of their 
 feet together, and her hand light upon his arm was 
 confidence and inspiration to him. The Bowleses were 
 at home ; they were rebelliously warm and happy. It 
 took only ten minutes of visiting between the men to 
 evolve a plan. A new South Side garden, over which 
 Bowles was enthusiastic, had been recently opened. 
 " Haven't you ? " exclaimed the Bowleses in chorus. 
 " Then, Sammie," cried Mrs. Bowles, a whole feminine 
 dynamo in herself, " we must take them right down 
 there on the trolley ! " So the call turned into a trolley 
 ride and an evening at the new garden under the chap- 
 eronage of the Bowleses. 
 
 But whatever Sammie Bowles's faults, failure to 
 provide entertainment was not one. The appoint- 
 ments of the new place were liberal, and it was 
 crowded. Bowles, however, was close enough to the 
 new manager to get a table surrounded by huge, new 
 painted green tubs bursting with perpetuated palms, 
 where they could command the dancing and the vaude- 
 ville " features " that crowded one upon another on 
 and off the stage. Bowles assumed absolute command 
 and controlled the ordering. Mrs. Eliot was served 
 with pretty ices and wonderful lemonades, and Mrs. 
 Bowles with a variety of frapped punches and fruited 
 
 183
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 creams : Doctor Bryson with steins of very black beer 
 and Bowles himself with delicately glassed amber bev- 
 erages, topped with lovely strawberries, which Bryson 
 declared had fallen into bad company. The people 
 that crowded the garden, seen through wreathing 
 cigar smoke and nodding plumes, through desiccated 
 fronds and spitting arc lights, were in a contagious 
 good humor. At eleven o'clock the party left the 
 resort and took the trolley car as far as the Bowles 
 apartments, where they parted, the Doctor and Mrs. 
 Eliot deciding to walk home. 
 
 T.he later hours of the night had brought but partial 
 relief from the heat. They sauntered easily, talking in 
 starts as they went along. He asked her what she 
 thought of Mrs. Bowles. " She's a good-fiearted little 
 thing. All nerves, of course. And very pretty, isn't 
 she?" 
 
 " Yes, she is pretty ; but Lord !" he drew himself 
 languidly together with the frank conviction naturally 
 his, " if anybody had been called to pick the bride in 
 our party you'd have been chosen fifty times over. 
 You never looked so pretty in your life as you did at 
 the table to-night. Mrs. Bowles was a shade jealous." 
 
 " Nonsense." 
 
 " Did you honestly make this yourself ? " looking at 
 the organdie under a street lamp. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " It's the loveliest thing I ever saw." 
 
 " Then if my nerves give out at music, as you say 
 they will, I'll take up dressmaking. I'll start a big 
 establishment on Michigan Avenue and adopt a plate 
 and a crest. Who knows? By that time, perhaps, 
 
 184
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 you'll give me orders for your wife's gowns ; she'll be 
 very swell, of course." 
 
 " She is very swell now," he answered, calmly look- 
 ing down, " and you can have the ordering of all her 
 dresses will you take the contract now? " 
 
 " For future delivery? It's a good way ahead ; don't 
 let's settle it to-night let's talk about Mrs. Bowles." 
 
 " All right. Do you see that star up there ? That 
 soft, white, burning one ; steady and dazzling. That's 
 you ; and there's Mrs. Bowles over there ; that blink- 
 ing affair to the right." 
 
 " Let's not talk about Mrs. Bowles then. Let's 
 talk about the poor people that came to you to-day in 
 distress and that you sent away happy." 
 
 " Let distress be for the day ; to-night let us dream 
 that there is no distress ; that troubles hide when the 
 stars seek. The day may be to another ; the night is 
 ours." 
 
 She made no answer. 
 
 "Why are you silent?" 
 
 " Listening to the echo of your words." 
 
 It was still in the street ; their feet fell in slow rhythm 
 together and the silken rustle of her skirt was as if 
 they tread among the leaves of woods. The walk 
 home was all too short and the house seemed stifling 
 after the night air. The windows and doors hardly 
 counted, though every one, to tempt a breeze, was 
 thrown wide. They parted at the head of the stairs. 
 He wanted her to go down again and sit on the porch. 
 He clung to her hand, but she pulled it away, and, 
 telling him he must go to bed, went to her room. 
 
 He did not go to bed. He went to his room, threw 
 185
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 off his coat and waistcoat and tore open his collar; 
 it seemed to oppress him. He dragged the couch 
 to the window and lay down with his hands clasped 
 above his head, looking out for a while at the stars. 
 In a few minutes he was up again hunting for 
 a fan ; then he walked irresolutely into the hall, down- 
 stairs, back to the basement stairs and through the 
 dining-room, which was dark, into the kitchen, where 
 the gas burned low. His friend, cook Julie, was a 
 night hawk. On muggy nights, owing to her asthma, 
 she never went to bed. Bryson found her just outside 
 the kitchen door dozing in her armchair. 
 
 " Julie," said he, " did you ever see such a hot night 
 in your life ? " 
 
 " Oh, doctor, is it you ? Ain't it awful to-day ? " 
 gasped Julie. " What be you wantin', doctor? " 
 
 " Julie," said the doctor, confidentially, slipping a 
 dollar into her hand, " do you want to make me a 
 lemonade ? One of those Pittsburg lemonades, Julie ? " 
 
 "Oh, doctor!" 
 
 "Will you?" 
 
 " Sure, for you, doctor, yes ; if I don't drop dead 
 over it." 
 
 " Is there any claret in the ice box? " 
 
 " Plenty." 
 
 " Make a pitcher of it, Julie. I never was so thirsty 
 in my life." 
 
 He lighted the gas in the dining-room, picked a 
 newspaper from the sideboard and sat down while the 
 lemonade was going forward to look it over. But he 
 threw the paper down almost at once, took a hand- 
 kerchief from his shirt pocket, passed it impatiently 
 
 1 86
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 across his forehead, and throwing one foot across his 
 knee, clasped his hands over his head, leaned back and 
 studied the ceiling. 
 
 " Put the claret in to suit yourself, doctor," sug- 
 gested Julie, coming forward, with her mellow wheeze. 
 
 He started, and the front legs of his chair struck the 
 floor as he laughed. He took the bottle, emptied half 
 of it into the lemon juice, and Julie wheezed and stirred 
 and sugared until he pronounced it right. " Julie," 
 he declared, admiringly, " you're a marvel." 
 
 " Ah, doctor ! Did you want one glass or two ? " she 
 asked, spreading a napkin on a tray. 
 
 " One." 
 
 " You're not going to drink all this alone ? " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Did you want just one glass? " 
 
 " Why, two, thank you ; that's fine. Good night." 
 
 When he left the dining-room his manner changed. 
 His restlessness became repression and he tread so 
 lightly that the chipped ice slushing faintly in the 
 pitcher as he walked upstairs was the only sound to 
 be heard. 
 
 The gas burned dim in the upper hall. He put the 
 tray noiselessly on the table at the head of the stairs, 
 took up a glass and, holding it to the lip of the pitcher, 
 filled it with only the slightest clinking, filled the sec- 
 ond glass more slowly and set the pitcher down. He 
 took the glasses up in either hand, set them again on 
 the table, took his handkerchief from the pocket of 
 his shirt, passed it over his mouth, took up the two 
 glasses and started toward Mrs. Eliot's room. 
 
 The door of her sitting-room stood slightly open. 
 187
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 He pushed it slowly open with his foot. The room 
 was dark save for the light from the hall that made 
 things dimly visible. He spoke her name, " Helen ? " 
 and listened. The portieres across the door opening 
 into the bedroom were half drawn ; the only light with- 
 in came through the transom of the hall door. Balan- 
 cing his two glasses, he walked toward the bedroom. 
 If it required an effort to steady the full glasses none 
 was perceptible, even to himself, and speaking in the 
 same low tone he had called before, he murmured, 
 " I've brought you some lemonade." 
 
 There were two beds in the inner room. Her own 
 stood to the right of the opening partly in shadow; 
 just as with the words he took a step forward and stood 
 in the doorway he saw her. She was on Her knees be- 
 side her bed, her face hidden in her hands. The cover- 
 let was turned back; she was saying her prayers. 
 Of all situations he had foreseen this was the unex- 
 pected. It struck him like a cold plunge, horribly out 
 of keeping with his temper. He had an instant's 
 vision of her loosened hair, of her bent head and the 
 slope of her rounding shoulders as she knelt, then her 
 face rose out of her hands. She looked up in astonish- 
 ment, in consternation, and was on her feet and before 
 him like a flash. All he could see was the white out- 
 line, the loose hair and the startled eyes. 
 
 "What is the matter, doctor?" 
 
 " Nothing, only I brought you a glass of lemonade." 
 
 She looked all her surprise, her unspoken question, 
 her swift comprehension, in the bare interval before 
 she spoke. Then she said evenly and kindly, " I sin- 
 cerely beg your pardon ; I did not hear you rap." 
 
 188
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " I didn't rap." There was no defiance in the way 
 he said it, only an inevitable one in the words them- 
 selves that she could ignore only by silence; but on 
 the threshold of honor silence is defense. 
 
 " I had both hands full," he muttered, " how could 
 I rap ? I called, but you didn't hear, probably." 
 
 She caught at the straw. " Oh, did you ? I am so 
 sorry I didn't hear." Speaking, she slipped directly 
 past him into the sitting-room, seized a match from 
 the mantel, struck it, and, reached quickly to the fix- 
 ture to light the gas. As she made the effort the 
 flowing sleeve of her nighrobe fell from her arm and 
 the blaze of the match left it lighted in defenseless 
 loveliness ; but what was it to him now a burglar 
 in Paradise? Just a slight revenge came to him 
 her match went out and they were left again in the 
 half darkness. 
 
 " I'm glad of it," he said, resentfully. " What do 
 you want to light the gas for? " 
 
 " You light it, please, doctor ; let me take the 
 glasses." 
 
 " Nonsense, I won't do it ; you don't need any 
 light. Here, take your lemonade." 
 
 "What is it, claret punch, doctor?" she asked in- 
 stinctively. " I drank two glasses of -lemonade at the 
 garden ; thank you very much. I'm not a bit thirsty. 
 I won't take any." 
 
 " I suppose you'll sit down while I take mine ? " 
 
 " Don't drink it," she urged, laying her hands on his 
 wrists, " you are burning hot now." 
 
 " Well, am I to stand here all night holding this 
 stuff?" 
 
 189
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " No, no, give it to me," she exclaimed, taking the 
 brimming glasses from him. They stood facing each 
 other. 
 
 " Now you look as foolish as I looked. Aren't you 
 going to sit down ? " 
 
 " Let me run and slip on a kimono," she pleaded. 
 " I'm just in my sleeping gown," she said, like one 
 ashamed. " I won't be a minute." 
 
 " No, I'm going, anyway." 
 
 " But don't go angry. Sit there by the window a 
 moment till I can partly dress." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You shall not leave me angry. Sit down. I will 
 be with you in an instant." 
 
 " Put down the claret then and sit down yourself. 
 If you're afraid of me as you are, go to bed." 
 
 " Don't be harsh with me. I will sit down." She 
 stepped quickly to the mantel and set the tumblers 
 upon it. He went to the chair at the window. As 
 he sat down she glided past the hall door that he had 
 closed behind him, drew it wide open and walking 
 over sat down at his side, in the window seat, with a 
 determined effort at ease ; but the woman shamed 
 could not be banished from her attitude, and it annoyed 
 him ; the more -because he knew he was the cause of 
 her humiliation. 
 
 " What have you opened the door for ? " he asked 
 shortly. 
 
 " It makes such a good breeze with the door open ; 
 don't you feel it?" 
 
 " And everybody can see us from the hall ? " 
 
 " Nobody is up now." 
 
 190
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " If just one person passes there," he pointed de- 
 liberately with his finger, " you are disgraced." 
 
 " Not in your eyes." 
 
 " Will you disgrace yourself for me, and yet not get 
 a divorce and marry me ? " 
 
 " Do I disgrace myself by sitting here as you bid 
 me ? You are not ashamed of me, are you ? " 
 
 He sulked. 
 
 " Answer me," she insisted. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I only want you to sit here for a minute till you 
 can think," she urged. " I tell you, you must not 
 leave me in anger. You must not go to sleep, angry 
 at me. I tell you I would crawl on my knees through 
 the hall after you, into your room after you, but you 
 should tell me you are not angry with me." 
 
 " Well, by heaven, I'm not going to sit here with 
 that door open," he muttered between his teeth. " If 
 you don't care anything for yourself, I care something 
 for you." Her heart bounded; she knew she was 
 safe. 
 
 " Close it if you like," she said, indifferently. He 
 did sulkily close the door, leaving it, as he had 
 first found it, a few inches ajar. When he came 
 back and sat down she slipped off her seat in the win- 
 dow. 
 
 " I am not so afraid of the appearance of disgrace," 
 she said, kneeling at his chair, "as disgrace itself." 
 She spoke low and fast. " I could stand a great deal 
 of the appearance of it for you." She caught his 
 hand feverishly. " I could bear disgrace for you. I 
 could wear a scarlet letter for you. I could wear it, 
 
 191
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 yes, I could for your child, doctor. But when I 
 think of what it would mean to this other child for 
 me to wear it, my unhappy little girl, whose life you 
 have saved to be a woman born in my wretched wed- 
 lock. When I think of a scarlet letter and her " 
 His hand fell from hers and she hid her face. 
 
 " Oh, hang it ! Don't talk any more about that." 
 
 She stopped and took his hand again. " What were 
 you doing? " he asked abruptly. 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " When I came in." 
 
 " Saying my prayers." 
 
 " I never saw anybody pray like that. I thought 
 women prayed with their eyes lifted beautifully up," 
 he said harshly. 
 
 " I'm ashamed to lift mine up." 
 
 " What have you to be ashamed of ? " 
 
 " More than I may tell to you." 
 
 " I interrupted you." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You'd better go back and finish." 
 
 "May I finish here?" 
 
 Before he could answer or protest or in any way 
 avoid it she sunk at his side, her elbows resting on his 
 knee, her face again in her hands. He shifted uneasily 
 again and again, all save the knee her elbow rested 
 on, but she did not release it. He felt shamefaced 
 with anger. The night wind puffed softly in from 
 the yard, but it was very still outside. When at 
 last she uncovered her face she took up his hand and 
 kissed it. 
 
 " You're crying," he whispered, staggered in an in- 
 192
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 .tant by a new feeling-. She would not speak. " I 
 hope your prayers will be answered," he added, after 
 a moment, haltingly. " I'm going." She followed 
 him to the door and into the hall. " You mustn't 
 stand here," he exclaimed, looking surprised and 
 alarmed at her. " What is it ? What's the matter, 
 Helen ; are you insane ? Go back into your room," he 
 whispered, pushing her uplifted hands. 
 
 " No here. Do you forgive me ? " she asked, cling- 
 ing to him. 
 
 "For what?" 
 
 " You know what. You know I can't explain. Do 
 you forgive me, I say ? " she cried under her breath, 
 catching at his sleeve. 
 
 " I love you, you know that and I'm just a man 
 like other men, you know that now, don't you ? " 
 
 " You're a million times bigger, braver, more gen- 
 erous than other men." 
 
 " Go into your room." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Yes." He urged her back. She would not be 
 put away. Looking straight into his eyes, she hesi- 
 tated ; then with all her courage said, " Kiss me." 
 
 He stooped half blinded. " Tell me you forgive 
 me," she faltered. His lips touched her forehead. 
 
 " I do you give me all you can " 
 
 " And that is nothing " 
 
 " Better nothing from you than all from another," 
 he murmured unsteadily. " Do you forgive me ? " 
 
 " You were forgiven before you touched my door, 
 forgiven in the thought of it, a thousand, thousand 
 times. Good night ! " 
 
 They turned and took the parted ways. 
 
 193
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 MRS. ELIOT made hardly an attempt at her 
 breakfast. It was Saturday, her free day. Ap- 
 pearing after the men had gone down town, she sipped 
 her coffee and talked with June of the intense heat. 
 Miss Montague did not come down to breakfast, and 
 Mrs. Eliot, going to her room, found her indisposed. 
 
 Mary Montague was not at any time large. Petite 
 would describe her, but in bed she looked fairly in- 
 fantile. Her hair among the pillows was very dark 
 and her brown eyes, set not quite regularly, eyes that 
 spoke of wistfulness and work rather than of even out- 
 line of deep beauty rather than shallow set in the 
 thinness of her French face, looked darker and heavier 
 than they really were. 
 
 " What is it, Mary, are you sick, child ? or is it the 
 heat ? " asked Mrs. Eliot, drawing the window shade. 
 
 " It must be the heat, I suppose. But I haven't been 
 really well ever since I came back this time. I'm just 
 being miserable this morning all by my lonesome." 
 
 " Have you had something to eat ? " 
 
 " Oh, Nannie brought me some fruit and chocolate. 
 And, oh, my pill; I forgot my pill. When I was in 
 Paris this spring I had to take pills. The doctor 
 said my blood was impoverished, and when I got back 
 here and began to run down again, you know Doctor 
 Bryson prescribed for me and, wasn't it queer ? he gave 
 me the very same pills my Paris doctor did. They are 
 made in Paris. When I told Doctor Bryson about it 
 
 194
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 he was quite pleased. He thinks so highly of the Paris 
 doctors. Have you had your breakfast? Then sit 
 down, do, and talk a while. Oh, I am as lonesome this 
 morning as and one oughtn't to be now in summer 
 with birds and trees and grass. I'm going to run 
 away somewhere into the country pretty soon." 
 
 " But where is your pill, Mary ? Take your medi- 
 cine first." 
 
 " Oh, yes. In the upper left-hand drawer in a little 
 bottle with a green label ; the upper drawers of the 
 escritoire, dear; right there " 
 
 The two tiny drawers opened side by side. Mrs. 
 Eliot, by mistake, opened the right-hand drawer. It 
 was empty save for a miniature which lay exposed to 
 the eye, a portrait of Doctor Bryson. She closed the 
 drawer with a start. The picture surprised her at first, 
 then she felt faint; so faint she could hardly open the 
 second drawer, and when it was open she could see 
 nothing in it, but had to feel with her hand for the 
 bottle of pills. A totally new sensation overwhelmed 
 her. Her conclusions grew like mushrooms and 
 weighed like stones on her heart. Mary Montague, 
 too, loved him ; Mrs. Eliot felt it and knew it, and be- 
 fore she reached the side of the little artist to give her 
 the innocent pill, jealous rage was churning in her 
 heart. Fortunately, Nannie came in at that moment 
 with letters. Mary ran them over and cried, " Here's 
 one that looks like wedding cards." 
 
 She opened that envelope first. " Yes, cards, Mrs. 
 Eliot ! Look there." It was the announcement of the 
 marriage of Mrs. Nellie Westover Ledgcott to Doctor 
 Samuel Reynolds Kurd. 
 
 195
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " She's got him, hasn't she ? " exclaimed Mary, 
 childlike and lovely. " No matter. I'll take the pill if 
 it's only Kurd. If it were Doctor Bryson I'd scratch 
 her eyes out," she added, frankly. 
 
 The room had become stifling to Mrs. Eliot. She 
 said she must write some letters and made her escape. 
 But from what she had seen and from what she now 
 knew she could not escape. 
 
 The same cards came for all those of the old table on 
 Wabash Avenue. They were sitting down at dinner 
 that evening when Doctor Bryson opened his envelope. 
 He read the full names of the contracting parties aloud 
 and with a mild deliberation to John Allison, and made 
 but a single comment. " Nellie Westover Ledgcott. 
 It would be better legal form if it were Nellie Leftover 
 Wedgcott, wouldn't it, John ? " he asked, lazily. Then 
 he began telling humorous stories about Kurd, and 
 forgetting Kurd, told others till he gradually brought 
 the whole table into good humor with him; for that 
 gift he had, that he could make troubles look far off 
 and slight and the passing life good and near. 
 
 While they were eating, Nannie answered the door- 
 bell twice. A little while after they had gone upstairs 
 from the dining-room Mrs. Eliot heard the doctor's 
 light double tap on her door. He held out an armful 
 of La France roses. 
 
 " Aren't they pretty ? " he asked, without looking 
 her in the eye. 
 
 " Oh, beautiful ! " 
 
 " I got them for Miss Montague. Nannie told me 
 this morning she was not very well and I thought these 
 would please her." 
 
 196
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 The natural thought that came into her mind as he 
 held them out had been that they were for her ; homage 
 had made her so far selfish. When he said his roses 
 were for Mary Montague she was conscious again of 
 that sudden pang. " Take them right up to her," she 
 smiled, sinking inwardly at the strange, hateful instinct. 
 " She has been miserable all day. Take them right up." 
 
 " You come up, too." She struggled with a guilty 
 joy at that tone from him, but beside it rose a new re- 
 solve that the bitter day had made firm : that he should 
 have a chance to love little Mary if he would ; a chance 
 if he would, she had said to herself in the agony of 
 her heart a score of times. " No," she answered, " you 
 take them yourself; it will be the prettier compliment. 
 She is upstairs now.'' 
 
 Mary met him prettily as all grace. " Isn't it good to 
 have friends ? " she cried, bounding across the room for 
 a bowl and water. " This morning, oh, I was so 
 wretched ; and now you and Mr. Allison have both re- 
 membered me with flowers. See, he sent these blos- 
 soms ; are they not delicious ? And now I have a bowl 
 of La France roses ! Beautiful ! Life is so good when 
 it is good, isn't it? Sit a few minutes over there by 
 the window do. The air sweeps through from the 
 bedroom. This is the chair you like." 
 
 She is like a humming bird, he thought, as he 
 watched and listened exquisite, miraculous yet one 
 does not love a sprite; one loves a woman, he said to 
 himself. The whole case called up, tried, decided in a 
 second man's verdict on woman is so quick. 
 
 Downstairs, while Bryson was chatting with Miss 
 Montague, Mrs. Eliot was sitting on the porch. She 
 
 197
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 sat alone, waiting for him to come down and tell her 
 what had happened during the day. She had insensibly 
 come to look for this, and his stay above and the heat 
 made her restless. She rose presently and went up- 
 stairs, holding her lawn skirt between her thumb and 
 finger like a cobweb. She closed the door of her room, 
 turned on the gas at the dresser, and looking into the 
 mirror dried her upper lip and her nose with her hand- 
 kerchief, for the heat was oppressive and her skin 
 moist. She opened a powder box, and dipping a 
 corner of the handkerchief into it, touched her face 
 here and there. Her hair began to worry her. It 
 would not behave in the humid atmosphere, and for a 
 time she fussed petulantly with stray locks that would 
 neither stay in curl nor in place and thought suddenly 
 of Mrs. Ledgcolt's wedding cards and of her wedding. 
 She wondered whether Doctor Bryson had come down- 
 stairs, and picked out the ruffles of her waist as a 
 bird plumes its breast after a bath. Then she turned 
 down the gas and walked in a stately daintiness down 
 the stairs, out on the porch. Doctor Bryson had not 
 come down. 
 
 She seated herself. Something of intense impulse 
 throbbed in her mood. She fell at once to wondering 
 whether he had come down. Possibly, she said, he had 
 gone out or he had ordered the team and was going to 
 drive. Would he ask her to drive? She agreed with 
 herself that she would plead a headache. Perhaps he 
 would ask Miss Montague to go; at the thought she 
 felt the extreme heat and fanned herself uneasily. 
 
 From above came laughter. She fancied she recog- 
 nized Mary's and his. It was too sultry on the porch. 
 
 198
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 Mrs. Eliot went upstairs to her room. After she had 
 closed the door she walked mechanically to the dresser, 
 turned on the gas and looked into the glass. Her hair 
 continued to annoy her. Again and again she put it 
 back of her ears and patted it about her neck; patted 
 her lips again with her handkerchief and studied her 
 face a moment to see whether she was " breaking " 
 under the eyes. He had told her once how to tell a 
 woman that had passed thirty-five. She was afraid 
 she would " break " long before that. She turned the 
 gas low again and sat down by the open window. 
 
 Back rooms, after all, were not nearly so comfortable 
 as front rooms, and her own, she knew, were nothing 
 like as attractive as Mary's, who spent a little fortune 
 on her belongings. The back rooms were cheaper, yet 
 they cost all Mrs. Eliot could afford, and she wished 
 she were able to earn as much money as Mary earned 
 with her miniatures, and her mind ran to that miniature 
 in the escritoire drawer. Mary loved him. 
 
 There was no air in the room. She rose oppressed 
 and softly opened the hall door enough to catch the 
 slight breeze from the stairway thinking as she did so 
 that it had been so opened for the air with the otto- 
 man placed so against it the night before when he 
 had come in with the claret. And she felt thirst now 
 and she would have drunk claret had it been near, for 
 her breath wanted to come quicker than she would let 
 it, and her struggle with the thought of his love for her 
 was pleasant. She felt her heart beat and her blood 
 run warm and languid, and she liked the dimness and 
 the night ; but Ruth ? She wondered what Ruth might 
 be doing. Then, like a borealis, her mind's train 
 
 199
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 shifted to last night, and she felt he must be angry. 
 She knew he must be angry, for he had never before 
 spent a whole evening in the house away from her. A 
 bell tolling in the distance caught her ear and suggested 
 how late it had grown. What if she had met him dif- 
 ferently ? But the heat when she thought of last night 
 made her faint and she put her mind on a new pupil, 
 a girl, a beautiful girl, who had come to her on Friday 
 to take lessons for the summer, and she wished she 
 were as stately as that girl, and listened for a step on 
 the stairs coming down for a double tap on her door. 
 He always tapped twice in precisely the same way. 
 She listened for it till the silence grew insupportable. 
 And, of a sudden, while her tortured thoughts wan- 
 dered, the tap came. 
 
 Her heart whirred like a burglar alarm, but her voice 
 fell soft as dew. " Come." As Doctor Bryson pushed 
 open the door she rose with a delicate surprise. " Oh, 
 pardon me, doctor," said she, insincerely, turning up 
 the light and advancing, " I thought it was June " 
 He held a basket. 
 
 " I've brought you some flowers." 
 
 " Me ? " she exclaimed, taking the offering hungrily. 
 " What are they ? " She lifted one of the leaves that 
 topped the basket. " Lilies of the valley ! " She raised 
 them and half buried her face in their fragrance. 
 " Lilies of the valley," then looking up at him as she 
 raised her face, " oh, but I love them," she said, fer- 
 vently. " I love them." He made no comment. " Does 
 that thank you ? " she murmured in low confidence. 
 He was silent, only smiling slightly. 
 
 200
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Why are you so good to me, doctor ? They are all 
 in moss ! " 
 
 " Because I love you." 
 
 She knew it was her fault, but with the faintness of 
 the lilies in her heart, she let the words sink like wine 
 into her senses. The torture she felt while he had been 
 with the woman who she thought loved him flushed 
 into the hungry joy of possession. 
 
 " I hunted all over town for these," he added, as she 
 contented herself with merely raising the frail basket 
 to hide her eyes from his. " You can guess why, can't 
 you ? " She inhaled the lilies' odor. " To plead for 
 my forgiveness." 
 
 He could not know she did not want to hear just 
 that. He could not know that her heart beat wild, de- 
 fiant, reckless now. If he had noticed her breathing 
 he would have thought it painful recollection, not sud- 
 den rebellion, that stirred her. Had the light shone at 
 that moment on her eyes he would have seen in their 
 expression what he never had seen before ; but her eyes 
 were in shadow. 
 
 " Come on downstairs," he suggested, lightly. " It's 
 cooler on the porch," and then, half laughing, " fasten 
 some lilies at your throat for protection against the 
 night air." 
 
 " Isn't it too late to go down ? " she murmured, rais- 
 ing a doubt that asked to be laid. 
 
 "Late? Why, it's only eight o'clock." She stifled 
 an exclamation. 
 
 " Eight o'clock ? Surely it's long after ten," she 
 cried, stepping hurriedly to the table to pin the lilies. 
 
 " It's just eleven minutes past eight," declared the 
 20 1
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 doctor, holding up his watch. She bent in low laugh- 
 ter. 
 
 " What's the matter with you to-night ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing," she rippled, laughing the last word. 
 "Come, where do you want to sit? On the porch? 
 Stay a moment," she added, " you must wear some of 
 these. Here." 
 
 She ran back to the table, took a spray of the lilies 
 from the basket and hurriedly, like a child, fastened 
 them to his coat, bubbling all the while with quick 
 words and suppressed bursts of mirth. " How could 
 I have made such a mistake about the time? " 
 
 " You've been napping." 
 
 " Nonsense. Asleep ? " She raised her eyes with an 
 inconceivable drollness. " Anything else ? " 
 
 " Well, are you going downstairs ? " 
 
 " I'm going wherever you want me to. Lead the 
 way, please ? " They walked down as if they owned 
 the city. At the vestibule he held open the screen like a 
 knight and she glided through like a princess. He 
 took a hickory chair; she drew a rocker close beside 
 him so she could rest the toes of her slippers on the 
 side rung of his chair. 
 
 " Now," she said, in a low voice, leaning well for- 
 ward, " tell me everything that has happened to-day 
 everything." 
 
 Bryson leaned back as if he found himself comfort- 
 able for the first moment in a long, hot day. " I con- 
 gratulated Kurd," he said, wryly. 
 
 " Oh, I hate him. Don't talk about him." 
 
 " I fancy I hate her, don't I ? " 
 
 "How should I know?" 
 202
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " You know me better and worse than anybody 
 else." 
 
 " I hope never to prove unworthy of your precious 
 confidence," she whispered. " Now go on ; tell me 
 something else. Anything; trouble, failure, success, 
 pleasure, anything so it is yours. If it isn't yours, don't 
 tell it. Did you operate to-day? Are you very, very 
 tired to-night ? Shall I make you some lemonade ? " 
 
 " No." He spoke with so dry a significance that she 
 laughed. Then with little quips and sudden playful- 
 ness and arch clawing, as a kitten touches up a musing 
 cat, she coaxed and woke him up. With confidence 
 again between them Bryson inclined to remorse. She 
 uttered no words, but there are moods stronger than 
 words, and it was her mood to resent compunction. 
 She would have none. 
 
 After a while, mystified by her unusual liveliness, he 
 wanted to drive. That she would not ; she had the reins 
 anyway. By ten o'clock he was determined to walk. 
 To this she consented and strolled bareheaded up and 
 down the block with him ; then over to the boulevard, 
 clinging to his arm and making him tell her just what 
 Mary had to say, and listening between words for every 
 inflection he used when he answered. In passing a 
 delicatessen store he balked, and insisted on buying 
 some ice cream. She let him, talking while he was be- 
 ing served with the chubby German woman that sat 
 at the cash register and wore her yellow hair braided at 
 an alarming tension. The doctor came forward pres- 
 ently with two paper bucket fills of cream, and heed- 
 less of her ridicule, carried them all the way to June's 
 porch. Joking and chaffing together they groped down 
 
 203
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 to the dark dining-room for dishes and spoons, and 
 sitting together long after the street grew quiet they 
 gradually ate, to the very last, the two bucketfuls of 
 cream, and laughed at each other. She poured a stream 
 of sprightly gayety into her quick talk ; she spoke and 
 laughed and looked abandon. It was moist and hot in 
 her hands and relaxed in her neck, and it flashed in her 
 eyes as she looked languidly into his. But when very 
 late she wanted at last to retire he insisted he was just 
 waking up and would not have it. She began to won- 
 der how she could get away : now feeling she ought to 
 and must ; now careless of consequences and listening 
 to tones that lulled her like poppy at his side. A north 
 wind came to her aid. A chill swept over the porch 
 and helped her, feverish and excited, to get away from 
 his clinging hands and up to her room. It was not till 
 she closed the door with a laugh on her lips at his part- 
 ing pantomime, turned on the light, looked in the glass, 
 saw the reckless beauty reflected there that she started, 
 frightened, at what she had done since she left her 
 room four hours earlier, and she turned from her face 
 as from a sudden wickedness. 
 
 She sat down on the side of her bed overcome with 
 horror at the way she had acted, for the first time in 
 her life, that evening. She saw, alarmed, for the first 
 time new possibilities in her nature. Tossed by con- 
 trary eddies, now one way, now another, she seemed 
 after thinking herself safe to wake on the edge of the 
 whirlpool. What most frightened her was that it no 
 longer looked black and awful. Drowning ? It is only 
 the struggle that costs; what is it, after all, if one 
 gives up? It made her giddy and sick to think. She 
 
 204
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 tore the gossamer lawn impatiently from her shoul- 
 ders; the very ruffles of her nightrobe looked hateful. 
 She took down her hair with her conscience burning. 
 She opened a drawer for a hair ribbon and caught up 
 in her fingers one of Ruth's. She hesitated, put it 
 aside and took another; then as she put out the light 
 she threw herself face downward on her child's bed and 
 burst into flooding tears. It was not that she was 
 sorry; she was not. She was rebellious, and knew it. 
 Exhausted at last with torment she felt the chill of the 
 wind on her shoulders. She knew she ought to go to 
 bed, but lay a long time without the resolution to do 
 so. To go to bed meant to say a prayer, and that she 
 could not bring herself to. There was no prayer in her 
 heart, only rebellion and despair. Her love for him, 
 the love she had never before fully acknowledged to 
 herself, swayed her like a tempest, and in the midst of 
 it tossed Ruth. Waking, sleeping, sick, well or dying, 
 the child would not leave her thoughts, and always in 
 the gloom stood the man she loved waiting. 
 
 She tried to think that divorce must be right. To 
 think of what he suffered, loving her barred from him ; 
 and of what he had done for Ruth ; and that she her- 
 self was the victim of insane scruples. But always she 
 ended in the smothered horror of an atmosphere that 
 she hated with every pure instinct. She tried to class 
 herself with divorced women, and boarding-house 
 women and hotel women, whose very proximity she de- 
 tested, and saw her daughter growing up with a spot 
 on her mother's name. Paint it as she would, that 
 would not stay covered. To what purpose a devoted 
 husband, such as she knew she could make of this 
 
 205
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 strong man that loved her, if she were not in the high- 
 est worthy of devotion? Of what use a pure home, 
 such as she knew she could make for him, with a taint 
 in her own heart? If one divorce, why not another? 
 Why should he not one day cast her off, as she wanted 
 now to cast off this weakling fettered to herself? Mrs. 
 Ledgcott rose before her in all her detestableness 
 running after a new husband while her boy lay dying 
 in a boarding house. Ledgcott himself was not so 
 heartless, for had he not come and wept over his dead 
 child and begged Mrs. Ledgcott to come to Johnnie's 
 side as the boy lay dead and speak to him? Had not 
 she, Mrs. Eliot herself, taken the pleading from the 
 poor devil to hear it scoffed at by his divorced wife? 
 And now with her boy dead this woman had married 
 another man, who was cruel, avaricious and mean, be- 
 cause he had money and she wanted money. 
 
 She rose and went to the window. The night air 
 was cold, the tower clocks were striking, her head 
 throbbing. She could not count whether it was two or 
 three. She looked out on the stars and Ruth came 
 back to her as she had knelt at night by the window 
 and pointed to them. Tears of another kind welled 
 into her eyes. She thought of last night and of that 
 fearful, fearful coming ; that silent, terrible coming ; of 
 what might have been if he had not found her as he 
 did find her ; of what might have happened if the roses 
 had gone last night to Mary Montague instead of this 
 night. And she staggered toward her bed and sank 
 writhing on her knees moaning for pity of her weak- 
 ness ; begging that her burden be not made heavier than 
 she could bear. 
 
 206
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE sun of the next morning rose on a very 
 quiet household at Miss June's. It was Sun- 
 day and shades were carefully drawn to shut out the 
 prettiest part of the day. The big bowl of roses in 
 Mary Montague's room lay in gloom till nine o'clock ; 
 at that hour Mrs. Eliot raised the curtain, and while 
 talking lightly to Mary, propped among the pillows, 
 touched with her quick ringers the roses and they 
 took urtfo themselves new life. She was freshening 
 them with the sole thought of loving them, because 
 they were his, and he had given them to Mary. She 
 was determined this morning that if he could love 
 Mary he should, and she thought, simple, that the best 
 way to bring this about was to love her herself. Nearly 
 all the morning she spent up in Mary's room, and when 
 the little artist appeared in the studio in cool blues and 
 arranged herself in a couch corner, where she could 
 look from over a marvelous bar of white mull at the 
 situation, Mrs. Eliot summoned John and the doctor, 
 and leaving the three together went downstairs to 
 write, she said, a letter. 
 
 Everyone was down for dinner and everyone ap- 
 parently cheerful. But after dinner until evening Mrs. 
 Eliot kept her room with the plea of headache, which 
 Bryson tried unavailingly to break up with advice and 
 inquiries and prescriptions, to all of which Mrs. Eliot 
 was provokingly unresponsive. When he insisted that 
 
 207
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 nothing would do her head so much good as a drive 
 in the park, she thought Miss Montague needed the 
 air more than she did. Thereupon he took Miss Mon- 
 tague to drive. When he returned and inquired about 
 the headache, and again recommended fresh air, Mrs. 
 Eliot asked why he didn't take John out. He took 
 John out. Later he suggested that the sun was just 
 low enough to make the evening perfect and invited 
 Mrs. Eliot to take a turn behind the horses, at least as 
 far as the Midway. It was then that she suggested 
 giving Miss June an airing, and Doctor Bryson took 
 Miss June is sepulchral finery up and down Drexel 
 Boulevard. When he brought June in and the horses 
 champed again at the curb he knocked once more at 
 Mrs. Eliot's door. 
 
 " I understand," said he thoughtfully, " the maid 
 is out. It's her day off. There is no one else about 
 the house now except you and the cook. If you 
 think best," he added, calmly, " I'll take Julie next ; 
 then, possibly, if I come back you'll go yourself." 
 
 "Are not the horses tired, doctor?" she smiled ap- 
 pealingly. 
 
 " It is a fresh team. Come now, do. I wouldn't 
 urge you if I didn't know it would do more to quiet 
 your nerves than anything else in the world." She 
 put on her hat. When they had driven a block he dis- 
 covered she had no wrap. Nothing would do but that 
 they must drive back and he ran in and up to her room 
 after it. 
 
 They drove leisurely to the Midway and walked the 
 horses through Jackson Park. Turning north from 
 the caravels the evening air blew cool off the lake. 
 
 208
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Now is the time for your jacket," said he, holding 
 the reins in one hand while he held the coat in the 
 other. " This is the moment I brought it for." 
 
 She knew she ought to thank him, but she did so 
 faintly. "If that air doesn't help your headache there's 
 no virtue in ozone. What have you been doing, writ- 
 ing letters all day ? " 
 
 " I wrote two." 
 
 "To whom?" 
 
 " Mrs. Goddard and Ruth." 
 
 " There's nothing like that northern air. This is a 
 taste of it you get right now. Do you feel that? It 
 will be the making of Ruth." 
 
 " I wrote Mrs. Goddard to send her down Thurs- 
 day when Mr. Goddard comes." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " I wrote Mrs. Goddard to send Ruth down." 
 
 " What on earth did you do that for ? " he asked 
 in astonishment. " That's the worst thing possible 
 to do. Bring her back in all this heat before she's 
 what did you do it for?" 
 
 " Perhaps I was selfish. I hope not. I am so lonely 
 without her " 
 
 He made no reply. 
 
 All day she had dreaded the telling, and not without 
 reason. He said nothing; but his anger grew like a 
 cloud and she could feel it as distinctly as she could see 
 the German Building, brilliant and noisy on the left. 
 
 " Doesn't this remind you of the World's Fair ? " she 
 asked tentatively. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Will they ever be able to do anything to preserve 
 209
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 that building?" she inquired as he swung the horses 
 at a higher speed around and past the Field Museum. 
 
 " No." 
 
 Twice again she made an effort to talk, but he un- 
 bent no further. When she thanked him with all the 
 gentleness at the curb, as he handed her from the 
 spider, he only lifted his hat in his derby and loose 
 driving gloves and his long light driving coat he was 
 certainly handsome and bowing, he spoke to the 
 horses and drove up the street. 
 
 For two people unused to concealing their feelings 
 they kept their secret for a few days very well. But 
 by Thursday even June perceived that a cloud had 
 settled on the gallant doctor. Nor did Ruth come by 
 the Thursday boat. Mrs. Goddard wrote that her hus- 
 band would not come down until the heat moderated. 
 
 After the first strain of the situation on Mrs. Eliot 
 wore away, she perceived one thing incumbent on her : 
 to make the advances. It was only a question with 
 her of waiting until it would avail to break the ice, for 
 she saw that to let him do so would be to give him such 
 a tactical advantage as to make her last state worse 
 than her first. 
 
 One night he came home to dinner unusually late. 
 June had gone to the market to quarrel with her 
 butcher, the dining-room was deserted, and Mrs. Eliot, 
 when she heard the doctor going to dinner, left the 
 porch and followed him downstairs. 
 
 " You are late to-night," said she, passing straight 
 through to the kitchen as he bowed, seated himself and 
 tapped the bell. There was a moment's delay in the 
 serving. His dinner was not quite hot enough to suit 
 
 210
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 Mrs. Eliot, and she took hold at the range herself be- 
 fore the dishes were allowed to go in. Julie brought 
 from the ice box the special portion of lettuce that Mrs. 
 Eliot earlier had seen reserved, and after it was ready 
 to be sent in Mrs. Eliot returned to the dining-room 
 and seated herself at the table near Doctor Bryson. 
 Nannie placed the lettuce, a royal dish of it, in front of 
 her, and Mrs. Eliot without ado began preparing the 
 doctor's salad, he meantime being much absorbed in a 
 thick whitefish steak. 
 
 Mrs. Eliot dried and shredded the leaves with com- 
 posure. The oil, the salt, the slices of lemon, the 
 grated Roquefort and the pepper were arranged be- 
 fore her. 
 
 " I can never remember, doctor, whether it is the 
 salt or the lemon next ? " she asked presently, lifting 
 her eyes under her brows. 
 
 " The salt," he answered, sulkily. 
 
 " Is this oil as good as that you brought home last 
 time from the office ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "June said it was the best she could buy." No 
 answer. " The oil you brought was exceptionally fine. 
 Where did you get it ? " 
 
 " From a friend." 
 
 " Why is it," she asked, mildly curious, " June 
 can't buy oil as good as that? " 
 
 " I trust you don't suppose I'd be carrying olive oil 
 home myself if it was the kind you can buy at stores." 
 
 " It wouldn't be like you," and after a pause, " Who 
 was it you told me gave it to you ? " 
 
 ft A friend." 
 
 211
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " How did your friend happen to get hold of it ? " 
 
 " He imports it." 
 
 " Oh ! Is that enough juice, I wonder? " she asked, 
 squeezing a slice of lemon over the mixture. " I had a 
 letter from Mrs. Goddard this morning." No com- 
 ment, unless a sudden and vigorous salting of the 
 whitefish could be so construed. " She says Mr. God- 
 dard will not be down till next week." 
 
 " I am glad he has more sense than to think of com- 
 ing back to Chicago in heat like this. There were nine 
 deaths from sunstroke to-day and thirty-three prostra- 
 tions. Did you go down town to-day ? " 
 
 " Yes, I gave five lessons." 
 
 " You shouldn't have gone out of the house." 
 
 " I didn't feel the heat much. There's a breeze out 
 on the porch," she added, when some minutes later he 
 had finished. " It is the coolest place I've found since 
 dinner." 
 
 John Allison had the general manager's car out that 
 night with a trolley party, but Mrs. Eliot had begged 
 off and Bryson admitted bluntly he was tired. When he 
 came from his room he joined Mrs. Eliot on the porch. 
 They talked little as they sat together and there were 
 long intervals of absolute silence ; but in the darkness 
 and the relief from the heat of the day there was com- 
 panionship even in silence. 
 
 " I suppose you are determined to bring Ruth back," 
 he remarked, after a long period of reflection. 
 
 " I determined that I ought to before I wrote for 
 her." 
 
 " I understand, of course, why you do it." 
 
 " If you quite understood," said she, laying just a 
 212
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 bare stress on the third word, " you would feel neither 
 annoyed nor aggrieved." 
 
 " I have no right, in any event, to feel either ; but I 
 don't seem to be able to help it." 
 
 " You have earned the right to feel solicitous be- 
 cause you saved her life. Who could have a better 
 right? It surely is not a matter of life and death to 
 bring her back now. If I do it, it is because I consider 
 her own welfare first of all, doctor." 
 
 " I merely make the point that it is unnecessary," 
 said he, stiffly. 
 
 " How can you be sure of that ? " 
 
 " My word ought to carry some weight even with 
 you." 
 
 " It carries more than anybody's in the world." 
 
 " Then when I tell you not to bring her back you 
 should not do it." Mrs. Eliot made no reply. " For 
 you still to feel that you need a protector," he con- 
 tinued, " is a humiliation I didn't think you would put 
 on me." 
 
 " I put none on you, doctor ; indeed, I do not." 
 
 " You say you don't, but you do." 
 
 " If there is any I put it on myself." 
 
 " Mere evasion," he muttered. 
 
 " It is not," she protested. " I have been sincere 
 with you." 
 
 ' And have I not with you? " he demanded, fiercely. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then you know and I know that you bring back 
 Ruth at the risk of her health because you are afraid 
 of me." 
 
 " You misjudge me." 
 
 213
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 He gave an incredulous exclamation: one of those 
 that cost so little and cut so deep. 
 
 " I can only repeat, you misjudge me," she said in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " And I can only repeat, you fear me." 
 
 " It is not you I fear." 
 
 "Pray who then?" 
 
 " Can you be cruel enough to make me say it ? " 
 Something in her tone silenced him. At her breaking 
 utterance he felt suddenly overwhelmed. " If you can," 
 he could not see that tears were no longer dropping 
 from her cheeks, nor that her face was burning, "if you 
 can then may the darkness hide my shame I humil- 
 iate myself before you to say I fear myself." 
 
 When he could speak, " Helen," he pleaded, " I 
 swear to you I had no more idea than a babe unborn 
 what you were going to say. I did not mean to 
 humiliate you. I would rather give my right hand than 
 cause you, knowingly, one minute's pain." 
 
 " I know that," she answered, calmly ; " it is I who 
 am to blame in this whole matter." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Yes, I ; and God will send some fearful punishment 
 upon me for it. I deserve this and more." She rose. 
 " Good night." 
 
 " I didn't know what I was doing, believe me." He 
 was hanging on her steps. " Forgive me if you can." 
 
 Going, she whispered, " Yes." And at the door, 
 "Yes; good night." 
 
 The next week did not bring Ruth. 
 
 " She is doing so well, my dear," wrote Mrs. God- 
 dard, " that it would be a sin and a shame to take her 
 
 214
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 back to that pot of a town while it is so hot. I just told 
 Mr. Goddard he should not do it. Doctor Bryson, I 
 know, would never approve of it. Now I'll tell you 
 what you can do. If you want to see Ruth you just 
 get on the boat and come up here to Grand Bay your- 
 self for the rest of the season and see her grow big and 
 brown and dig in the sand. It is only six weeks till we 
 all go back. Now don't write, but come." 
 
 Mrs. Eliot, between smiling and tears, read the 
 whole letter aloud at the dinner table. Everybody 
 cried go. Doctor Bryson, non-committal at first, joined 
 next morning in urging her to go. " It will give you 
 a new lease on life," he said to her. " You need it. 
 This heat breaks down a woman quicker than it does 
 a man. She shouldn't be brought back ; you go and 
 see her. You can get away now for six weeks, and 
 you will come back another woman. I don't mean 
 that, either. Come back the same woman," he 
 laughed, " only stronger." 
 
 June urged. Everybody urged. The opportunity 
 seemed precise. Mrs. Eliot said she would go. 
 
 Her preparations were made within the week. 
 
 " Don't buy any tickets," remarked Doctor Bryson 
 one evening to her. " I'll attend to the transporta- 
 tion." 
 
 " I shan't let you buy any tickets, doctor ; I mean it," 
 she said in alarm. " You shall not do it, remember. 
 I will buy them myself." 
 
 " Now, keep perfectly cool. I'm not going to buy 
 any tickets. I shall get you passes ; they won't cost 
 me anything ; I will merely save you that much money. 
 You don't object to that, do you?" 
 
 215
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " You have a kind heart. Sometime you will be re- 
 warded for it " 
 
 " Gad, I hope so," he said grimly. 
 " I want to have a talk with you to-night." 
 "All right ; we'll go driving then." 
 " For the last time." 
 He started. " What do you mean ? " 
 She smiled faintly. "The boat may sink; I may- 
 be drowned." 
 
 " Don't, for Heaven's sake, joke about things like 
 that. Come, eat a good dinner and you'll feel better." 
 The team was at the door at seven o'clock and they 
 got an early start. It was a mild evening. The bou- 
 levard was cool, not crowded, and the clank of the 
 pole chains in the prosperous sunset sounded satisfy- 
 ing. 
 
 " What did you want to talk about?" he asked, eas- 
 ing the horses down as they swung into the Midway. 
 " About you and me." 
 
 " I don't know of two more interesting subjects." 
 " I have been thinking." 
 " You shouldn't ; it's too hot." 
 " We are in a frightful situation." 
 " These people riding by would never suspect it." 
 " I wish I could meet your good spirits." 
 " Do." 
 
 " I can't to-night. I must tell you what we must 
 do. The path we are on will end in unhappiness and 
 ruin for you and for me." 
 
 "Then for God's sake get a divorce and have done 
 with it. Let me marry you." 
 
 " I have no right to marry you, and you have none 
 216
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 to marry me while my husband lives. Divorce would 
 only brand that on my heart. I should feel just as 
 criminal ; it would be just as criminal. Doctor, I 
 cannot. I have struggled tried to force myself into 
 thinking it I cannot. And yet I have fastened to 
 your heart, your good generous heart, like a parasite, 
 and I take the affection that should go to a free 
 woman. And I know it all, and wring my hands 
 and drift. Is it not frightful ? Oh, frightful ! " 
 
 " My dear one, you are in a highly nervous condi- 
 tion. This is the result of unnecessary worry." 
 
 "No; inevitable remorse. I know what it is. I 
 know my duty. You have done everything that one 
 rich and generous and strong can do for one poor 
 and weak. I know my duty now and I want you to 
 help me do it. Will you ? " 
 
 " I will do everything I can to make you happy." 
 
 " When I come back I am going to Evanston to 
 live. That is the first thing. Your home is with 
 Miss June and you will stay with her. I must go 
 away, and I shall. I don't want to say you are never 
 to come to see me " 
 
 " Humph ! " 
 
 " But under different roofs people can think differ- 
 ently; under one, placed as you and I are, we can't. 
 It would be best, perhaps, if we could each say we 
 would not meet again. But I know how easy it is to 
 promise one's self more than can be kept. Other in- 
 terests will come into your life, and at the very least 
 we shall meet less often ; that will make it easier." 
 
 " Something like cutting a dog's tail off an inch at 
 a time." 
 
 217
 
 5? Doctor Bryson 
 
 " It will be a step, and when the way is heavy 
 and the feet weak one step is something. It is for 
 you I ask it; for you as well as Ruth. You two are 
 the real sufferers. You both have life ahead; my 
 life is behind. I am nothing ; only a dead limb. You 
 are strong. Will you help ? " 
 
 "You think I am strong?" He smiled faintly. 
 "Strong? I'm a baby in your hands. Strength?" 
 Resting the elbow of the rein arm on his knee, and 
 clasping with one hand the lazy back behirici her, he 
 looked full into her face. " Just the sight of your eyes 
 takes the last particle of strength out of me. I may 
 be strong in some ways ; not against you. You make 
 me weak and faint. You are chloroform to me until 
 I drink in all your sweetness; then I go raging. I 
 have no strength against you, dear one; what's the 
 use pretending? I take a magnet so big you 
 couldn't lift it and with it pull a particle of steel so 
 small you couldn't see it out of a man's eye. And 
 you little weak you, such a tiny magnet with the 
 mere raising of a pair of eyelids strip me of the whole 
 armor I fight the battle of life with. You say I have 
 my life before me. Be it so; my life is wholly in 
 your hands; that's the situation. You talk of other 
 interests there are none." 
 
 " Your profession, your success, your fame " 
 " What are they without you ? What do they 
 mean to me? I've starved myself and worked like a 
 slave to get where I am, haven't I ? You know that, 
 for I've told you everything that ever happened to 
 me some things, perhaps, I oughtn't to have told 
 you. But you come near knowing it all. And the 
 
 218
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 first time I set eyes on you at the water cooler some- 
 thing went out of me to you. I can't explain it; I 
 felt it, that's all. You don't know even yet, because 
 I didn't want to make it seem anything, what a fear- 
 ful time I had with Kurd to force him out of Ruth's 
 case. I did it as coldly as a wolf would drive a coy- 
 ote from a wounded antelope. I knew you had no 
 money; it couldn't have been avarice, could it? I was 
 determined to have something to do with you, and I 
 lay awake night after night figuring how to save that 
 child's eye after the whole faculty had said it couldn't 
 be done." 
 
 " You know you know how I bless you for it? " 
 " I'm not leaning on it for credit. I don't deserve 
 any credit. It's the motive I'm telling you of. I did 
 it all only to please you. That's the exact truth; 
 that's all there is to it. I enjoyed my success be- 
 cause it drew me to you. All the pleasure I get out 
 of success and money is to bring it before you to 
 tell you about it and hear you say what a devil of a 
 fellow I am. You say the fault that we've drifted to- 
 gether is all yours. That's because you're innocent, 
 dear one. You don't know a fraction of what I've 
 done to make it come so and bind you to me. Don't 
 cry; I can't stand it to see you cry, unless I might 
 kiss away your tears. I get thirsty for them nights 
 when I lie awake and you're asleep, and I want to go 
 to your room and kiss them off your cheeks. I came 
 awfully near doing it one night not that night, but 
 another night you don't know anything about." 
 
 " You mustn't talk in that way. Sit around straight 
 again, do, please." 
 
 219
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 The sun was sinking behind the wooded island, 
 the night air drev; in swift off the lake, and under the 
 leash of his iron hand the sleek horses rocked in their 
 trappings like the tiny yachts bobbing in the offing. 
 
 " Do you ever realize," he went on, " what you've 
 done for me? Half my education has been of you. 
 You've taught me even what kind of clothes to wear, 
 haven't you? I mean, told me when I asked you, 
 what was good taste and what bad. I didn't know 
 what colors were till you taught me. Every day I 
 use hints you drop about the thousand finer things of 
 life, things about books and pictures and men and 
 manners; things I never had the chance to learn till 
 you taught me. Do you really think you owe me any- 
 thing ? Not a thing. I owe you everything. 
 
 " And now what do you propose ? To root it all 
 up ? Can it be done ? I doubt it. At the same time 
 I realize how this strain is wearing on you. It pulls 
 sometimes on me, and I'm not going to see you worn 
 to a nervous wreck with it. I love you too much to 
 do anything; mark me anything that would hurt 
 you. I have seen how you have failed lately because 
 it's my business to see such things in anybody, and 
 I shouldn't be likely to miss it in you. Anything you 
 please to ease the strain on you I'll agree to. But 
 when you talk of my giving you up I might as well 
 give up the whole game, just exactly. Profession, 
 fame? What are they without you? Nothing; not 
 a thing. Do you say you are dead, dear one ? Dead ? 
 Then move over a little in your grave, please, and 
 give me a chance to crawl in next to you. That's all 
 I want ; I'm not looking for the earth." 
 
 220
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 IT was morning at the office of Dr. Bryson, Surgeon- 
 in-chief of the Eye at the Laflin College, and 
 things were strained. Jim had come in from Rush 
 Street with the boat transportation, and it was not 
 right. 
 
 " Did you tell Mitchell I wanted passes?" demand- 
 ed Doctor Bryson, glaring at the tickets and at his 
 messenger. 
 
 " Yes, sir," contended Jim. " He said these were 
 the same things." 
 
 " Take them back and tell him I don't want his 
 tickets. If he can't give me what I ask for he can 
 go to the devil !" exclaimed the doctor, angrily. 
 
 But Mr. Edward Mitchell, besides being an ex- 
 member of the Annex set, a particular friend of Doctor 
 Bryson and treasurer of the Northland Navigation 
 Company, was likewise a philosopher. When he re- 
 ceived Bryson's message, in no degree softened by the 
 messenger, he jumped into a cab and came over to the 
 College with Jim. 
 
 " You said I could go to the devil, Harry," re- 
 marked Mitchell, greeting Bryson, affably, " and I 
 came as fast as a horse would carry me. Now what 
 are you kicking about? You sent for transportation 
 for one to Grand Bay and return " 
 
 " I sent for a pass for one to Grand Bay and re- 
 turn ; you sent tickets." 
 
 221
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " They'll carry you just as far as passes, won't 
 they?" 
 
 "I don't want tickets. If I'd wanted tickets, I'd 
 have bought tickets. I wanted passes." 
 
 "My dear fellow, as long as they don't cost you 
 anything, there's no difference whatever," began Mit- 
 chell suavely, for Bryson was not perceptibly cooling. 
 
 " Look here," cut in the surgeon, shortly, " you 
 fellows over there have been jollying me for two 
 years about wanting to do something for me, haven't 
 you? You've sent me passes over here again and 
 again, haven't you? To Duluth and to Buffalo and 
 the Saulte and the deuce knows where. I never rode 
 on one of your infernal old boats " 
 
 " Don't mind the treasurer's feelings." 
 
 " And I never will." 
 
 " You're dead, doctor, but not buried, remember." 
 
 " I wanted these passes for a friend of mine that's 
 going up to-morrow, and I wanted passes, not tickets." 
 
 " I see, doctor. The fact is, we've gone into an 
 ironclad agreement with all the lake lines not to issue 
 passes this season; that's why I couldn't send you 
 what you wanted. But I will do it. Calm yourself. 
 It shall be done, if we bu'st the whole condemned as- 
 sociation. Let your boy come over with me." 
 
 " I'm putting you to a whole lot of trouble, Ed," 
 said Bryson apologetically. 
 
 " Not a bit ; no trouble at all. I wouldn't lie about 
 a little thing like that." 
 
 " How are the old man's eyes, Ed ?" asked the doc- 
 tor, taking new ground calmly. 
 
 " He can see a trout in ten feet of water. Egad, if 
 222
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 you hadn't fixed him out he'd have sold the line and 
 I'd been out of a job." 
 
 Bryson laughed. " You've got too much money 
 now, Ed." 
 
 " He wants you to go on the Nepigon in Septem- 
 ber, doctor. Say, do you think the cataracts will ever 
 come back on him ? " 
 
 " No. How are your wife's glasses ? " 
 
 " Well, there's such a thing as having too much of 
 a good thing, you know. She says she can see clean 
 through my pocketbook with them." 
 
 " If that's the case we'd better give her a weaker 
 pair of lenses," laughed Bryson. " How's the yacht? " 
 
 Mitchell's face brightened like a boy's. " Harry, 
 she's the prettiest thing afloat ; the prettiest craft on 
 the lakes, and bar none. I claim to know something 
 about boats " 
 
 " You ought to" 
 
 " When you get tired of life just take one week on 
 ' The Sweetheart ' with me. I'll make you wish you 
 could live a hundred years," declared Mitchell, break- 
 ing away. 
 
 " Ed, I'm awfully obliged to you. Sorry to have put 
 you to all this trouble," apologized Bryson, following 
 the affable steamboat man out. 
 
 " If I don't get even with you, it's not my fault," 
 retorted Mitchell. "Try hard, anyway. Good bye. 
 God bless you." 
 
 An hour later, at the risk of shattering the passen- 
 ger agreement, the transportation arrived. This time 
 it was in due form, and Doctor Bryson examined it 
 with satisfaction. He left his office early in the after- 
 
 223
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 noon. When he walked upstairs at Miss June's, Mrs. 
 Eliot's door was thrown wide open and her trunk 
 stood in the middle of the room. June and she, in 
 the middle of chairs and tables and couches strewn 
 with the plumage of woman, looked flushed. It was 
 the packing. 
 
 Mrs. Eliot's face lighted girlishly. " Don't look 
 in, doctor," she exclaimed. " It's confusion worse 
 confounded. If Miss June hadn't come up I should 
 never have got packed in the world." 
 
 Doctor Bryson leaned hungrily against the door 
 casing, as June knelt authoritatively in front of the 
 trunk. The mere sight of her belongings made his 
 head reel. " Humph ! Do you call this packed ? " 
 said he in words a thousandfold quieter than his 
 thoughts. " If you depend on her to pack it, you won't 
 get off till September. Let me come in. I can pack 
 your trunk in thirty minutes by the watch. 
 
 "Oh-p! Well, if you ain't cheeky!" declared 
 June, on her knees. " I like that. Just get out of 
 here, Sister Bryson. When we need you we'll holler." 
 He stuck his fingers lazily in his waistcoat pocket, 
 June eyeing him from the floor. 
 
 " There's always something good comes out of that 
 pocket," exclaimed June, with a twinkle. " He never 
 puts his fingers into that pocket that way without some- 
 thing good coming out." Mrs. Eliot, with a parasol 
 in one hand and a camera in the other, stood rosily 
 awaiting developments. Bryson smiled, and held a 
 little envelope toward her. 
 
 " What is it, doctor ? " she asked quizzically. 
 
 " Your transportation." 
 
 224
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Oh, Doctor Bryson, did you really get passes for 
 me?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Thank you ever so much. But it is a shame to 
 have put you to that trouble." 
 
 " Oh, it wasn't any trouble." 
 
 "Not a bit?" 
 
 " Not the least in the world." June jumped up 
 from her packing and looked eagerly over Mrs. Eliot's 
 shoulder at the coveted prize. "My cracky ! I've 
 lived twenty years longer than you have," she ex- 
 claimed to Mrs. Eliot, " and nobody ever got me a 
 pass yet." . 
 
 " There are your meal coupons," explained the doc- 
 tor, handing Mrs. Eliot additional credentials. " Com- 
 plimentary, see? You hand this little book to the 
 dining-room cashier with your table check. He de- 
 taches a coupon." 
 
 " Free meals ? " cried June, incredulousy. " Can 
 you eat all you want ? " 
 
 " All you want." 
 
 " It would be just my luck to be seasick, anyway, if 
 I had 'em," reflected June. " Well, I don't care. If 
 you're seasick, give 'em to somebody else to use." 
 
 " In other words, beat the company," put in Bry- 
 son. "That's June all over ; they ought to be swindled, 
 of course, for granting me a favor." 
 
 " I don' t care ; they're a corporation," grumbled 
 the anti-monopolist. 
 
 " Oh, how did you get all these ? " interposed Mrs. 
 Eliot, in a low tone. " How should they give them to 
 you?" 
 
 225
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 "The president of the company was losing his 
 sight he is pretty old was going to sell out the line. 
 The young partners were nearly crazy, and after they 
 had chased all over the country to save his eyes with- 
 out getting any results, Mitchell brought him to me. 
 There were some complications, but I was lucky." 
 
 " Well, I don't care," repeated June, " you're just 
 the sweetest old thing in the world, anyway, for think- 
 ing of it," she cried, advancing on the unsuspecting 
 surgeon. " I don't suppose she'd kiss you for it, 
 but I would, and I'm goin' to," and throwing her arms 
 around Bryson's neck she kissed him unsparingly. 
 She tried then to break away quick, but that was dif- 
 ferent. She found herself suddenly in the vise of the 
 doctor's own arms and he kissed her again and again 
 before she could squirm and twist and shriek away 
 from him. Mrs. Eliot sat down and laughed into 
 tears. 
 
 " You're perfectly scandalous," stormed June. 
 " Why, look at him ! He doesn't look as if he could 
 harm a fly, does he ? " she declared, arranging her hair- 
 pins indignantly. 
 
 " Don't monkey with the buzz-saw," murmured 
 Bryson, leaning again in the doorway. He caught 
 Mrs. Eliot's glance as he spoke ; caught a bubble of 
 comprehension in her eyes as she laughed, and he 
 laughed with her. The dinner bell rang just as June 
 got down on her knees again to pack. She threw up 
 her hands. " I declare, it seems something interferes 
 the minute I get started at this trunk. I have got 
 down here a dozen times to begin, and haven't got 
 started yet." 
 
 226
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " And you never will," predicted the doctor. About 
 ten o'clock that night when he looked in, hungry, 
 June had started in earnest. 
 
 " Now clear out, both of you," she commanded. 
 " You just make me nervous. Go downstairs and in 
 an hour I'll be through." 
 
 Mrs. Eliot rose from the couch, laid down the para- 
 sol and the camera, on which she had made no 
 material advance during the evening; that is, they 
 appeared no nearer packed than ever, and she was now 
 clinging to them in a sort of feeble-minded way. She 
 laid them on the table and started downstairs behind 
 the doctor, who, for the evening, had assumed a suit 
 of white flannel. She opened the screen door tenta- 
 tively as he turned at the foot of the stairs. 
 
 " No," he begged, quietly, " this way. I want some 
 music." 
 
 " But Mr. Allison and Mary have both gone to their 
 rooms. It would disturb them." , 
 
 " Nonsense," he responded, turning on a gas jet, 
 " they won't care." She seated herself at the piano 
 and ran her fingers over the keys. 
 
 " Can you see if I turn this jet off and light one 
 in the back parlor? " 
 
 " Yes, I think so." 
 
 " Then I'll do it. I want to sit here in the dark to 
 listen." 
 
 " What shall I play ? " she asked, when he had come 
 back and seated himself. Her mood seemed to lighten 
 as she turned to the piano, and in a few moments her 
 hands were dipping above the keys as swallows when 
 
 227
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 the sun sets in August hover and strike at the flow of a 
 
 river. 
 
 "That's right; jolly them up," he exclaimed with 
 satisfaction. She laughed and struck again and again, 
 till the keys did, in truth, take life from her fingers. 
 
 " There are all sorts of colors dancing around here 
 now," she murmured, lightly. " What do you want? 
 What shall I play? Quick." 
 
 " The Flatterer." 
 
 She swayed a sudden answer to the plea, leaned for- 
 ward, and with an exquisite caprice melted a group 
 of heavy chords into the delicate opening of the French 
 song. He bent forward in his chair, and putting up 
 his hands, stared into distance. 
 
 For a week it was all he could remember ; the dark 
 of the parlor, the heady music, the fragrance of the 
 woman, the ripple of her fingers, the looseness of her 
 hair. That, and her slender figure standing in the sun- 
 shine the next afternoon on the steamer's deck, a 
 broad plumed hat of straw dipping light as a gull over 
 her head, as she waved good byes, until a two-hun- 
 dred-pound brute of a fellow elbowed her from the 
 rail, and she was gone. 
 
 After a week he quieted down and began to marvel 
 at how well he was standing the separation. A week 
 went, and a month, quiet as night. Bryson drove 
 with Mary Montague and with John to the summer 
 concerts, and congratulated himself on how unex- 
 pectedly well he was behaving. He had promised not 
 to write, and she purposely wrote to no one at the 
 house. An occasional word from Mrs. Goddard to 
 
 228
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 Mary was the only word they had from the Michigan 
 cottagers. 
 
 But one morning Doctor Bryson, while despatching 
 his grist of patients, was confronted by a young man 
 that gave him a shock. He was not above twenty 
 years ; a handsome fellow in a lazy tweed travelling 
 suit. A piece of adhesive plaster covered a wound 
 above his right eyebrow ; the eye itself was inflamed. 
 
 " I'm just in from Denver," he explained. " I 
 came over the Burlington. I was sitting in the smok- 
 ing-room of the sleeper, and when we were pulling 
 into town this morning some kid threw a stone 
 through the car window and a piece of glass struck 
 me right over the eye. The company surgeon at the 
 depot fixed up my forehead. I bled like a pig for a 
 while," laughed the young man, briskly, " and then 
 he sent me over here in a cab to have you see whether 
 there was any glass in my eye." 
 
 While he was talking Bryson was inspecting him. 
 Critically, at first, as he looked over every new face 
 that came to him ; then with surprise and wonder, for 
 some indefinable thing about the boy's face stirred 
 him. 
 
 It was a delicate face, feminine almost, the nostrils 
 sensitive and the eyes frankly appealing. The cold- 
 featured Doctor Bryson listened without hearing, and 
 with his faculties still disordered, made his visitor re- 
 peat all he had said, studying the while his nose and 
 mouth, the way he said " glass " and " with " and 
 " forehead," and the way he sustained an inflection at 
 the end of a sentence, and a certain manner he had of 
 talking straight ahead till his breath was quite gone. 
 
 229
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 Then to Doctor Bryson's incertitude a verdict was 
 made fast. Startling and improbable as it seemed 
 even in the making, it read in his mind, "This is her 
 brother." 
 
 Every move of the affable surgeon after that was 
 made in that conviction. Doubt asserted and reassert- 
 ed itself, only to give way before facial expressions 
 and mannerisms of tongue and voice so impalpable 
 as to be unmistakable, and Doctor Bryson grew inly 
 excited and " threw himself," as June would say, to 
 make, like a huge surprised spider, the most of his 
 chance fly. 
 
 He took the young man's vision carefully, watching, 
 while the latter read, the length, shape and fall of his 
 fingers as his hand rested on his knees, knowing, who- 
 ever he was, as he mused to himself, wherever he 
 came from, he was her brother. Turning him finally 
 to the light and putting a powerful lens over the in- 
 jured eye to examine it, he could feel a sensation of 
 faintness almost as if she herself were close under his 
 scrutiny and the eyes turned confiding to his were 
 still her very own. 
 
 "Can you see anything, doctor?" asked the un- 
 known. 
 
 " Glass the glass that does the mischief is the 
 hardest thing in the world to find in the eye," replied 
 Bryson, after a long search. " I'll look at your eye 
 again after a while in the dark-room. Take a seat over 
 there by the window. Look down. By the way, what 
 is your name ? " he asked, putting some drops into the 
 inflamed eye. 
 
 " Dempster, W. D. Dempster. My people used to 
 230
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 live in Evanston, but I've lived in Denver the last three 
 years with an uncle." 
 
 Dempster Helen Dempster was Mrs. Eliot's 
 maiden name. He knew that from June. 
 
 " What are you doing there ? " continued Bryson, 
 straightening up. 
 
 " Mining." 
 
 " You have some relatives here? " 
 
 " I've a sister that's married." 
 
 "Mrs. Eliot?" 
 
 " Why, do you know her ? " 
 
 " We board at the same place on the South Side. 
 Keep your eye closed a while. Take a seat over there 
 by the window." 
 
 After a second examination and an assurance to 
 Mr. Will Dempster that there was no glass in his eye, 
 the doctor chatted about his sister's pretty little girl, 
 Ruth. Will Dempster was in no wise backward 
 about pursuing the pleasant acquaintance, and in 
 the end Bryson insisted on taking him to luncheon 
 at the Athletic Club. There he sat and fed on the boy 
 and listened to his talk, told him where his sister was, 
 and entertained him royally. The young man, whose 
 very feet and hands continually suggested the dainti- 
 ness of his sister, promised to come around again in 
 the morning. 
 
 " Who is he ? " asked Bryson of June that night. 
 " I never heard her speak of a brother. Do you know 
 him?" 
 
 " What, Will Dempster? Well, I guess I do. He's 
 a skidamarink, that fellow." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 231
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " A ne'er-do-weel," said June, discussing the hand- 
 some boy candidly. " He's a cross to her. She's 
 tried for years to straighten him out. He'll never 
 straighten out for anybody." 
 
 " He doesn't look over eighteen." 
 
 " Eighteen ? He's twenty-two, if he's a day." 
 
 Next day Master Will Dempster did look a little 
 older, but a more lovable boy Bryson thought he had 
 never met in the world, and when it came to telling 
 stories he kept Bryson laughing by the hour. At 
 luncheon Will asked if the doctor knew his sister's 
 husband, Eliot. 
 
 " I've met him." 
 
 " There's a chap for you. He's the damnedest fellow 
 you ever saw," declared Will, breezily. " He's great 
 on family and schemes and things." 
 
 "Schemes?" echoed Bryson, lazily, enjoying the 
 rattle. 
 
 " Schemes ? " re-ehoed Will, stimulated by the cock- 
 tail with which, when someone else paid for it, he al- 
 ways began a meal. He paused to laugh, " Why, that 
 fellow wouldn't stop at anything when he gets started. 
 He used to take quinine, and every time he had a 
 good dose on he'd start a new scheme the world 
 was his. He hadn't any idea of business on earth, 
 but he could plan more schemes than a Utah Gen- 
 tile." 
 
 " Is that so ? " asked Bryson, leadingly. 
 
 "That's right. Why, that fellow," declared Will 
 as handsome a vagabond as ever graced a dining- 
 room, leading, rosy-cheeked, to a climax "that fellow 
 
 232
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 wouldn't hesitate to start a fire insurance company in 
 hell." 
 
 There was no end to this sort of jokes. For a week 
 he came in daily to see Doctor Bryson. At the end 
 of that time he explained that his uncle's remittances 
 had failed to arrive. Doctor Bryson promptly handed 
 him a hundred dollars. 
 
 " That settles it," declared June that night. " You'll 
 never see that fellow again." 
 
 She was right. Bryson never did see him again. 
 Willie disappeared permanently. 
 
 " Not much like his sister," mused Bryson over his 
 dessert. " I'd like to see anybody succeed in making 
 her accept a temporary advance." 
 
 " You'll look a long way before you can find a 
 woman in the world like her, I can tell you, doctor. 
 Why don't you marry her ? " Bryson started. " I 
 mean it. I can see things, I guess, when they're stuck 
 under my nose, can't I ? " 
 
 "June, I'd give my right hand if she'd marry me. 
 She's queer about divorce and things. She won't 
 marry as long as that man Eliot lives." 
 
 " Oh, pshaw," sniffed June," there's no use being a 
 crank. Just as good people as she get divorces. 
 You're too easy, doctor. Tell her you are going to 
 marry her, divorce or no divorce, and you see. Some 
 women imagine nothing in the world will start 'em. 
 You just let a mouse loose on 'em, and see what they'll 
 do." 
 
 "What's that?" exclaimed Bryson, jumping half 
 out of his chair as he pointed to the floor with a terror- 
 
 233
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 stricken face. " See there ! Isn't that a great big 
 mouse there, right now ? " 
 
 " Godfrey Martin ! " cried June, dodging behind his 
 chair with an inconceivably quick spring. " Kill it," 
 she gasped. " Where is it, doctor?" 
 
 " Sit down. There isn't any mouse." 
 
 " You miserable, mean thing, what are you trying 
 to scare me for ? I hope you don't want to marry me, 
 do you ? " 
 
 " I wanted to know how to classify you," said Bry- 
 son, languidly. Then he shook his head. " She 
 wouldn't jump like that." 
 
 " Well, I bet she would, just the same," declared 
 the flushed and offended June, reseating herself. 
 " I've heard all I want to about this remarkable woman 
 business. When you come to test them they are every- 
 one just exactly like any old woman." He pushed 
 away his plate and leaned back in his chair. 
 
 " Not just exactly, June. She's not. I was with her 
 once in a parade down town. The time you were in 
 Cleveland. We started to get from State to Wabash, 
 and a cross-current in the crowd pocketed us on Jack- 
 son Boulevard. You know what one of those down- 
 town crowds is. On top of that, just as they shoved 
 us into the middle of the street, a runaway team, 
 dragging a brougham along like a sulky, swung into 
 the Boulevard from Wabash and jumped right into the 
 crowd. They were tremendous big horses, and they 
 cut into that jam like a lawn mower. There must 
 have been a thousand people that couldn't have moved 
 six inches to save their lives, and the horses reared 
 and struck right and left and cut people down it 
 
 234
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 looked like a slaughter house in two minutes. They 
 ran the carriage pole right through a woman's back, 
 June, and shoved her along hung up like a figure- 
 head. Before we could think they were right on us. 
 Mrs. Eliot was in front of me. Women were scream- 
 ing, men yelling, and that woman on the carriage 
 pole." He closed his eyes. " The off horse was so 
 close he threw foam into my face. What do you think 
 Mrs. Eliot did? I was scared sick. I couldn't, for 
 Heaven, -have got her behind me. I leaned over her 
 and waved my arms at the crazy horse. I might as 
 well have shaken a straw at him. But she tore her hat 
 from her head and batted him across the eyes as fierce 
 as anything you ever saw in your life, until he backed ; 
 and she followed him right up, June, till a man passed 
 me a pistol. I cocked it right at her ear, and the 
 brute's nose was so close that I fired within six inches 
 of her head. Faint ? Not much ! Scream ? Never 
 a sound. 'She was pressed so against me I could hear 
 her breathing pretty hard ; that was all. She asked me 
 never to say anything about it," he mused, shifting in 
 his chair. " That boy looks as much like her as a pho- 
 tograph, June. I'm sorry he's dropped me. He 
 didn't know what a mark he had, did he? I'd have 
 given him a hundred a week if he'd asked for it." 
 
 That night he could not sleep. She had come fear- 
 fully into his mind, and he could not sleep. Hour and 
 hour he tossed and turned ; it was useless. He got 
 up, dressed himself, pulled a chair to the window and 
 sat in the lake breeze. The room grew unendurable, 
 and without waking John, whose door was open, he 
 slipped out of the house, made for the Boulevard in 
 
 235
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 the gaslight, walked far beyond, and crossing the dan- 
 gerous railroad tracks, went straight to the lake shore, 
 where it was dark. He stumbled out, sat down on a 
 rotten pier and listened to the wash of the surf on 
 the shingle. He liked it because the water at his feet 
 reached to hers and made her seem nearer, and he sat 
 a long time, hoping day would break. But day did 
 not break, and when he slipped his passkey into the 
 door again it was only three o'clock. When one tries 
 to wear it completely out, a night is so long. 
 
 Walking upstairs, he could not get by her door, 
 and he halted before it, leaning irresolutely against 
 the banisters. He was mad for a sight of her face, 
 and with the thought that there might be what she 
 had always refused him, a photograph, somewhere in 
 her room, he opened her door, entered the sitting- 
 room, stood a moment in the dark, felt for a 
 match, struck it and lit the curious red candle on her 
 dresser. Her rooms were empty, but the spell of her 
 presence was upon him. The indefinable fragrance of 
 the apartments was like incense, and he groped about, 
 candle in hand, looking for a photograph. There 
 were pictures of girls all about, pupils, friends, and in 
 a leathern case a beautiful photograph of Ruth. He 
 got to the bedroom door with his heart beating wild ; 
 looked silently at her bed and its whiteness ; tiptoed to 
 it, and bent over it ; breathed of her pillow as one does 
 of lilies, then bending lower, kissed it. 
 
 236
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE Goddard Cottage on Grand Bay lies toward 
 the East Arm, where it is quiet, and the sum- 
 mer days are much alike. Mrs. Goddard and such 
 guests as summer with her cultivate the art of lazi- 
 ness and indulge in nothing more active than driving. 
 But the drives in Michigan are attractive, for the 
 poorest country road gives contrast to the accursed 
 sameness of the city park and boulevard that Chicago 
 monotony of house and curb and lawn and elm that 
 invites an ultimate mental collapse. 
 
 After Mrs. Eliot, arriving at the Goddard Cottage, 
 had smothered Ruth in a press of kisses choked with 
 grateful smiles, and shone rainbow-like, through a 
 shower of summer tears, Mrs. Goddard, relentless as 
 a permanent cottager, took her in hand to show her 
 the places and the things, for Grand Bay is rich in 
 both. The fever on water, land, among the neighbors 
 and on the porch lasted a fortnight. Then Mrs. God- 
 dard resumed her hammock and her novel, gave the 
 usual programme to the colored maid in the kitchen, 
 and left Mrs. Eliot to her own devices, which were to 
 taste with Ruth the woods, the birds, the mosses, the 
 vines; the flowers, the mushrooms, the berries; the 
 rocks, the sands and the surf. 
 
 With Mrs. Eliot the gay of the day went in the 
 shade of the trees or along the stretches of cool green 
 above the headland : the decline went to the children's 
 
 237
 
 bathing, the cliffs, the footpaths, or to the rowboat 
 under the stars and song over the waters; and the 
 night Ruth tucked away to the roaring beech logs 
 in the big room; knees crossed in aching rest, arms 
 akimboed, hair tossed, head drooped in musing; at 
 confidences with Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 In six weeks this delicate, fair-skinned woman, with 
 her pinkish ears and her gloved fingers and her dainty 
 footgear, was hued to a hazel, her hair burnt o' the 
 sun; brown handed, strong booted, reckless of sand 
 and thorn and stone ; a summer, low-voiced, burning- 
 eyed amazon. And one morning off the point where 
 before lay every morning only blue water and gold 
 lay a yacht at anchor. 
 
 Why she always saw such things first, Mrs. Eliot 
 could not tell. She and Ruth slept upstairs and the 
 sun was hardly an hour high when she drew up her 
 shades: and there lay the boat. The water was blue 
 and gold, for the Grand Bay is as deep as the Bay of 
 Naples, and the sky in August is Italian. The yacht 
 was white and gold, slender as hope and as buoyant 
 and strong. It lay a pretty boat, but she knew not all 
 it meant as she gave a cry of delight and called through 
 the summer floor down to Mrs. Goddard to announce 
 the distinguished harbor visitor. In northern waters 
 a yacht is the thing exclusive. Ruth, tumbling from 
 bed, without a second call, at the news of a yacht, 
 hugged the window while her mother dressed, and 
 could not be coaxed to her waist and skirts. Her 
 mother had just knotted her own hair when she heard 
 footsteps up the hemlock sidewalk, a rapping at the 
 
 238
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 door below and a startled darky mammy answering 
 the voice of a man. 
 
 " This is Mrs. Goddard's cottage, isn't it ? She's 
 at home, I presume. Not up yet ? Is Mrs. Eliot here ? 
 She is? Doctor Bryson's compliments to everybody, 
 please." 
 
 In the summer cottage everyone hears at once ; 
 everyone screams at once; everyone talks at once, 
 visitor and visited. From behind partitions came 
 voices and welcomes and from before them came 
 laughter and banter and replies, and Ruth, bounding 
 from all restraint, scuttled downstairs in her night- 
 gown to reach Doctor Bryson first and hug his neck 
 and cuddle her feet in his waistcoat and tell him quick 
 about the Indian man that had the toothache all day 
 and lay under the point in the shade while his wife sold 
 baskets. And she asked Doctor Bryson, while Mrs. 
 Goddard hurled questions like old shoes over her par- 
 tition, and from Mrs. Eliot's throat above ran all sorts 
 of little trilling tunes, she, Ruth, not believing it her- 
 self, asked Doctor Bryson whether he believed the 
 poor Indian's toothache could possibly have come from 
 Milwaukee in a bottle, as old Colonel Cross said it had ; 
 and Doctor Bryson refused to believe it. Doctor Bry- 
 son thought, just as Mrs. Eliot appeared at the turn 
 of the stairs, that a man with the toothache should 
 have the benefit of a doubt. 
 
 He met her, half bending as he advanced, his eyes 
 raised under his brows and both hands extended. On 
 her part there was a frank quickening of feet as she 
 put out her hands and an exclamation as he caught 
 
 239
 
 them. " You are looking so well, so well," he declared, 
 marvelling. 
 
 "And you, too, doctor." 
 
 He gazed at her with admiring amazement. " Truly, 
 I never saw you looking so well in your life," he cried, 
 clinging unyieldingly to her fingers. She, after a quick, 
 cordial pressure, was trying to escape his hands. 
 
 " Your yachting suit is stunning," she stammered, 
 with a trace of confusion. " I saw it first ; I mean the 
 yacht. But I never dreamed you were here. Ruth, 
 run right upstairs and dress yourself." 
 
 " I can't get over it," he exclaimed. " This is 
 magic. You look like a gypsy queen. Where did I 
 come from ? Chicago, of course. That's Ed Mitchell's 
 steam yacht out yonder, ' The Sweetheart,' up for the 
 regatta in the West Arm next week. If we haven't 
 had a ride ! Mrs. Goddard, I congratulate you. You 
 never dressed half so quickly in your life." 
 
 " Never had the incentive before, doctor," retorted 
 Mrs. Goddard, smiling from flaming stuffs of morning 
 hue. 
 
 " You look ten years younger than when I left you 
 in Randolph Street ; do you remember ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I remember ; you look ten years wick- 
 eder than when I left you, doctor." 
 
 " Oh, mean ! Well, you shouldn't have left me. 
 Nobody should leave me." 
 
 " What on earth are you doing here ? " 
 
 " Nothing on earth. I'm sleeping, eating, drinking 
 on the water. But say," he added, speaking to both 
 as all sat down, "on that yacht I have the surprise of 
 your lives." 
 
 240
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 "What is it?" they cried together. 
 
 " Never mind. It's the surprise of your lives. 
 You'll never get it from me. Wait till you go 
 aboard. By the way, how often do you breakfast 
 here? I'm starved. Where's Goddard? West again? 
 I'd make him sell out his mines, or I'd leave him." 
 
 " I've left him two or three times, but he won't stay 
 left. I'll hurry up your breakfast. Tillie," she called, 
 raising her voice to the kitchen, "Doctor Bryson is 
 very hungry." 
 
 " Oh, yes'm." 
 
 " Hurry up, Tillie." 
 
 " Yes'm." 
 
 " That's the great advantage of a summer house," 
 sighed Mrs. Goddard. " The walls are so accommo- 
 dating. You can give orders to all parts of the house 
 without leaving your chair. I'm getting fat on it. 
 With a megaphone, if it's raining or anything, I can 
 sit here and converse with any of the neighbors. Now 
 tell us about it, like a good man, doctor. He looks so 
 well in his yachting clothes, doesn't he, Mrs. Eliot? 
 He certainly understands colors." 
 
 " Well, it's very easy. I was coming up to sur- 
 prise you, but my ambition didn't extend to a private 
 yacht. I sent Jim over Monday for tickets and Ed 
 Mitchell heard of it. He came down to the College 
 and said that he was going up Wednesday with his 
 wife, and that I didn't have money enough to buy boat 
 tickets when he had steam on ' The Sweetheart.' And 
 I packed, and, by Peter, here I am. Merry Christ- 
 mas! Mitchell went north on the up boat last night. 
 Ruth, you'd better go dress, or you'll get killed. Bring 
 
 241
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 your clothes down here and I'll help you, eh? Oh, 
 you won't. Getting too big a young lady ; I thought 
 so. There's nobody very glad to see me, that's plain." 
 
 " Nobody glad to see you ? " cried Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 "You horrid thing! What do you mean?" de- 
 manded Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " Can't you see I'm in a state of collapse for some- 
 thing to eat?" 
 
 " Tillie ! " 
 
 " Yes'm." 
 
 " Hurry breakfast, please." 
 
 " Oh, yes'm." 
 
 Mrs. Eliot sprang up. " Nobody glad to see him ; 
 isn't he polite, Mrs. Goddard? I'll get his breakfast 
 myself ! " And she did mostly get it, and it was very 
 good and he was immensely grateful. He ate raven- 
 ously and talked like a boy. 
 
 After breakfast he gave them just time to dress over 
 again for a call on Mrs. Mitchell aboard. The doctor 
 had condensed all marine phraseology to " aboard " 
 and " ashore." 
 
 Doctor Bryson and Ruth headed the procession for 
 the boat, and the ladies, to the envy of the entire col- 
 ony of cottagers, followed over to the pier, where a pre- 
 cise looking salt, who Doctor Bryson explained was 
 a " bo'sun," saluted, and marshalling his crew of two 
 lesser salts, handed his guests into his boat and pulled 
 them swiftly out to the yacht. 
 
 " Everything is so novel, isn't it ? " whispered Mrs. 
 Goddard, with the homage that critical intelligence 
 pays to luxury as the little party approached the 
 white racer. Even when they reached the deck, and 
 
 242
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 Mrs. Mitchell, whom they hadn't seen for a long time, 
 ran forward to welcome them, Mrs. Goddard still spoke 
 in the subdued tone that she descended to only in the 
 presence of the mighty. It was a moment for admir- 
 ation and enjoyment. The white of the upper outer 
 equipment shaded into gold and within, the gold 
 shaded into blue and mahogany, and in the cabin, a 
 dream of cosiness and appointment, Doctor Bryson's 
 surprise rose gloomily to meet them; it was June. 
 They greeted her with screams. 
 
 " How are you, you sweet old thing ? " cried Mrs. 
 Eliot. 
 
 " I ain't very well," replied June, with a face as 
 long as her waist. " This miserable old boat ex- 
 cusing me, Mrs. Mitchell teeters too much to suit 
 me. I was doubled up all day yesterday," she said, 
 gauntly, " and I ain't got one laugh left in the locker, 
 if that's nauchical language." 
 
 The morning on " The Sweetheart " went like an 
 hour. There was an orchestrelle in the cabin and a 
 piano, and Mrs. Eliot played. Captain Larry, a 
 wrinkled Scotchman, took Mrs. Eliot personally in 
 hand and showed her the fine points of the boat with a 
 spirit that made every rope's end interesting. At eleven 
 o'clock sightseeing was done and a pleasurable fatigue 
 felt ; a breakfast was served in the after-cabin with the 
 silence, the excellence and the savor of things well 
 thought out. Doctor Bryson presided, Mrs. Mitchell on 
 the right. Next to her Mrs. Eliot, who heard in asides 
 how Doctor Bryson had saved her father's sight and 
 how much her husband thought of him and how much 
 she thought of him. Then, while the doctor joked at 
 
 243
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 June, Mrs. Mitchell, as woman must, asked Mrs. Eliot 
 in a whisper if she didn't think him just splendid. 
 
 " But how did you ever get June up here ? " asked 
 Mrs. Eliot of the doctor when he got a minute with her 
 on deck. 
 
 " I'll tell you. John and Mary Montague have gone 
 to Oconomowoc for a month ; the house is empty, any- 
 way, and June was ' busted ' again, so I told her to 
 come up here with me. I was afraid she'd snow me 
 under with a new batch of bills, and I thought it cheap- 
 er to let her travel ; that's about it. But she's a poor 
 sailor. We'll have to leave her ashore somewhere up 
 here. She swears she'll swim ashore if we don't land 
 her. Now let me unfold the plan," he added, as Mrs. 
 Goddard and Mrs. Mitchell came up. " I'm up here 
 to see the country and I've got barely two weeks to do 
 it in, so it is necessary to keep moving. Mr. Mitchell 
 took the Mackinac boat last night. He couldn't stay 
 over with us ; we are going up to-night. You want 
 us to dine ashore ? " He appealed to Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " And don't forget, doctor," put in Mrs. Mitchell, 
 "Mr. Mitchell invites Mrs. Goddard and Mrs. Eliot 
 for the little cruise you are to take before the regatta, 
 while he is fishing." 
 
 " He and Mrs. Mitchell are going up on the Steel 
 River for a few days after trout," explained the doc- 
 tor, " and he puts ' The Sweetheart ' at our disposal 
 while they are gone. It's magnificent ; royal ; but what 
 can you do? That's Ed Mitchell. He can't help it. 
 When you see him to-morrow prepare to lose both your 
 hearts, subject, of course, to Mrs. Mitchell's censor- 
 
 244
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 ship. He grows handsomer yearly. Now, will you 
 go?" 
 
 " Why, how perfectly delightful," exclaimed Mrs. 
 Goddard, looking at Mrs. Eliot. " If we can arrange. 
 I think we can. We certainly must ! " repeated Mrs. 
 Goddard. " Mrs. Mitchell, it has been the dream of 
 my life to cruise. If I could cruise just once I think 
 I could die." 
 
 June, very glad of Mrs. Goddard's invitation to dry 
 land, went ashore with them. Mrs. Goddard, wild 
 over the prospect of visiting her Mackinac friends in 
 a yacht, thought the matter so little worth discussing 
 that she was astonished when Mrs. Eliot demurred at 
 the proposed trip. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Goddard, despairingly, sitting 
 down in the midst of the finery she had already strewn 
 over the bed, " if you are not going, of course I can't." 
 
 " Oh, now, Mrs. Goddard," protested Mrs. Eliot, 
 " surely you can go and leave the rest of us here for a 
 week." 
 
 " Go away while you are my guest leave you here 
 alone? I think not. You must go if I do, my dear. 
 There's nothing on earth to keep you, is there? You 
 can see the doctor has set his heart on it. June will 
 stay here with Ruth. What is there to prevent your 
 going?" 
 
 The situation reduced itself for Mrs. Eliot to sub- 
 mission or open rebellion. June, after one hour on 
 solid earth, had recovered her spirits and urged her 
 to go. Ruth urged. Mrs. Goddard no longer urged ; 
 she looked crushed. 
 
 " I will go, my dear," said the bewildered lady at 
 
 245
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 last to Ruth, who clung to her neck, " and may God 
 keep you and me safe until my arms fold you again." 
 
 The cottage dinner in the evening was gay and 
 afterward a sort of reception was given on board 
 " The Sweetheart," favored colonists of the resort be- 
 ing accorded the freedom of the yacht. At the last 
 moment sailing was deferred until morning, and the 
 slight change in the programme seemed to relieve Mrs. 
 Eliot of the strain that had come over her. She took 
 of the gayety of the company and was merry with the 
 merry. The cabins cleared and thrown together gave 
 a tiny sweep for dancing. There was singing and two- 
 stepping, and, to her mother's playing, Doctor Bryson 
 danced with Ruth, swinging her at arms' length 
 rhythmically as a mower swings his cradle. There was 
 a moon over the bay, and late in the evening " The 
 Sweetheart " steamed around the lighthouse and into 
 the West Arm, where a monster beach fire shot a 
 glare far up and down the shore line and distant song 
 floated across the water. When the big yacht anchored 
 again it was midnight and the resorters, intoxicated 
 with pleasure, were rowed ashore. 
 
 Next morning in the sunshine it was not half so 
 hard to say good bye. Everything seemed so much 
 more feasible and so much easier, and the adieus waved 
 to Ruth and June and the crowd on the dock and 
 boomed by the pretty brass cannon from the deck 
 were infinitely less painful to one uneasy heart than 
 they had seemed twelve hours earlier. 
 
 Mrs. Mitchell and Mrs. Eliot were with the Cap- 
 tain, and Mrs. Goddard and the doctor, aft in steamer 
 
 246
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 chairs, were talking Chicago under cunningly devised 
 awnings that shaded all and hid nothing. 
 
 "Do you know," remarked Bryson, drawing his 
 chair to a vis-a-vis with Mrs. Eliot when Mrs. Mit- 
 chell took Mrs. Goddard in hand, "this is my first 
 vacation ? " 
 
 " Since when ? " 
 
 " Since I was born." 
 
 " You don't mean you've never had a vacation in 
 all your life?" 
 
 " Never in all my life." 
 
 "Why, doctor!" 
 
 " I have worked ever since I was old enough to 
 know what work was. This week, out of all the weeks 
 that have gone before, is mine own, by Heaven. And 
 isn't this Heaven ? " he exclaimed, as the firred shores 
 of the Grand Bay insensibly receded and the throbbing 
 yacht dipped her nose into the darker, heavier waters 
 of the lake. " Such sun, such scenery, such air. Oh, 
 this is air ! Here I've talked about it for years and told 
 my patients they must have it I suppose I've sent 
 five hundred people to Lake Superior and never 
 breathed its air myself." He took a great breath. 
 " Day before yesterday," he went on, " I sat in the 
 office till noon. The clinic was pretty heavy and the 
 strange thing is, those eye cases come in groups. 
 One day it is all one thing, myopia or astigmatism, 
 or foreign bodies, and the next, perhaps, all old peo- 
 ple with cataracts or mere presbyopia. Day before 
 yesterday there were seven cases, and bad ones, every 
 one, of choroiditis. That's more choroiditis than the 
 ordinary oculist runs against in a month. Do you see 
 
 247
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 that lighthouse over there? Isn't it pretty, dear? " he 
 asked, his tone falling. "We went ashore there yester- 
 day. The engineer shut down for something and Mrs. 
 Mitchell and I went ashore. She knows the people. 
 The keeper has been there for thirty-one years ; think 
 of it." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 " No, bless you, his wife. And he has been blind 
 seventeen years of that time." 
 
 " Why, how can he manage tire light? " 
 
 " He doesn't ; his wife has attended to it ever since 
 he went blind." 
 
 " Poor man. Oh, it must be dreadful to be blind. 
 What is the matter with his eyes? " 
 
 He was about to answer when he checked himself. 
 He never spoke before her of glaucoma. He knew her 
 fears for Ruth, and kept the spectre from her 
 mother's mind. Nor did he tell how, when Mrs. 
 Mitchell had introduced him to the slender, gray- 
 haired woman at the lighthouse and told her he 
 was a famous eye surgeon, tears had followed the lit- 
 tle woman's smile and she had asked him please to look 
 at her husband's eyes. Nor did he say how he had 
 asked the very old man to look down, and had felt 
 with each forefinger of his eyeballs, first one and then 
 the other stony hard balls, each of them and told 
 him not to worry ; that he would always have to use 
 his wife's eyes, but to be glad he had such a wife. 
 
 " Atrophy of the optic nerves," replied Doctor Bry- 
 son to Mrs. Eliot, his eyes bent on the vanishing 
 lighthouse. " But his wife is the brightest, happiest 
 woman you ever saw. She showed us everything 
 
 248
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 about the tower from top to bottom and explained 
 things like a government inspector; she's wonderful. 
 She fastens her skirts about her knees with a cord, 
 in the way you've seen vaudeville people do for gym- 
 nastic turns, and she runs up and down the tower lad- 
 der like a trapeze performer. What, Mrs. Mitchell ? 
 Time to eat again? Well, it do beat all. And the 
 worst of it is, I'm hungry every time." 
 
 249
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 MACKINAC is the clearing house of northern 
 summer travel. Here everybody tarries, 
 touches, or at least passes, and at the height of the 
 season Mackinac is a busy place. When " The Sweet- 
 heart " anchored off the island it was night. The straits 
 gleamed with steamer lights or rung with the hoarse 
 bay of whistles or echoed to the faint chime of engine 
 bells as silent monsters moved up and down the artery 
 of the Great Lakes. The village twinkled its brightest ; 
 higher, the hotels, like huge electric signs, blazed a 
 multitude of lamps ; skyward, cottage windows, strung 
 along the cliffs, shone dim like a Milky Way of stars. 
 
 In the morning the yawl was sent in for Mitchell, 
 and, bringing mail and papers and magazines, he was 
 kissed with unconscious ardor by his wife and smiled 
 at by Mrs. Eliot, whom he handed in to breakfast 
 with good-humored ceremony. With his arrival life 
 on " The Sweetheart " took on the quick and stren- 
 uous. The presence in the North Country of Mr. 
 Edward Mitchell, treasurer of the Northland Naviga- 
 tion Company, was like the presence of a lord on his 
 distant estates. Everyone wanted to see him; every- 
 one had a petition to present, a favor to ask, an offer- 
 ing to tender, an invitation to extend. Not only was 
 the yacht crew kept busy skimming to and from port, 
 but a procession of launches and lesser craft sought 
 " The Sweetheart " continually for conference with Ed- 
 
 250
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 ward Mitchell, who despatched business like an ad- 
 miral, presided at the table like a duke, laughed in 
 abeyance over a quill of a cigar, told marvelous 
 stories to Mrs. Goddard in the deck moonlight or lis- 
 tened to the music of Mrs. Eliot below. He was 
 in this way a wonder; in this knack of satisfying 
 suitors whom he refused, in drawing people out of 
 themselves and in making about him an atmosphere 
 colored to the life of the day, the hour. The dinners 
 on the yacht took on new character after Mitchell 
 assumed the ordering. The abundance of northern 
 waters was offered on the table. Chicago markets 
 were drawn on daily and the wines of " The Sweet- 
 heart," always in evidence, showed discrimination. 
 The eating and the sleeping, the seeing and the hear- 
 ing, even the delicate glasses of wine served to the 
 women and the hardier quantities taken by the men, 
 spread a sort of magic haze over the waters and the 
 shores, like the softness of an Indian Summer come in 
 August. 
 
 For a week never an hour passed without its ex- 
 citement, and no day without its guest. One day it 
 was Grand Hotel people to discuss a shorter Chicago 
 schedule for the following season ; another, a Canadian 
 yachting party with plans for a passenger service from 
 the Lakes to Collingwood and the Sound. Ed Mit- 
 chell's friends were of that class of business men and 
 public men who travel in a large way, entertain like 
 lords and expect so to be entertained, and it was part 
 of " The Sweetheart " code to furnish forth such hospi- 
 tality. Living for a brief week in an air like this is the 
 tonic of a year's ordinary existence. To sit at table 
 
 2 *
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 with railroad men, mining men, masters of commerce 
 and of transportation, men of striking personality and 
 matured wit, was a stimulant. With such men Doctor 
 Bryson was at ease. Nor did Mrs. Mitchell, Mrs. 
 Eliot or Mrs. Goddard find difficulty in maintaining 
 their position with the women of the parties. Enter- 
 tainments were multiplied, excursions made a round. 
 
 "It's like another world, isn't it?" said Bryson to 
 Mrs. Eliot one night. " The Sweetheart " party were 
 guests at the Grand Hotel and it was on a private bal- 
 cony of the great caravansary after dinner, with a moon 
 in the full rising out of Lake Huron and the dance 
 music of an orchestra below. Bryson had tucked Mrs. 
 Eliot into a corner, a little from the rest, for a chat. 
 
 " We've thought we knew something about life 
 down on the South Side, but I've been thinking we 
 don't. This is life: these people with their private cars 
 and yachts and summer palaces and fishing preserves 
 and wooded domains; they understand the thing. It 
 fires me to be with such people; and, Lord, how you 
 shine ! " he exclaimed, in softer tone. " When you sit 
 down at the piano how they look and listen! And 
 aren't they jolly? Can't they sing, and dance, and tell 
 stories? The only thing that's worrying me is that 
 you'll not care much for me after seeing all these swell 
 men." 
 
 His face turned to the east and in the shadows she 
 looked through the dim light at him. Their heads 
 were not far apart ; hers was shrouded in a soft film of 
 wool. She made no answer. His hand crept over her 
 own. She did not take it away, but spoke without 
 
 252
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 answering the pressure of his fingers : " I like the 
 South Side home, don't you ? " 
 
 " I love it, because I love you." 
 
 " They are very nice, of course, but I don't think 
 these extraordinary luxuries are necessary to happi- 
 ness." The others of their party were rising to go 
 down to the ballroom. " How much less would I ask 
 to be happy ! " she murmured in a pitiful supplication. 
 " How much less ! Only to be free ! " 
 
 Mrs. Goddard called to them. " We don't get five 
 minutes together, do we ? " he complained ruefully. 
 " Well, we may dance ; come, let's make some of this 
 happiness ours, just to see what it tastes like. You've 
 never danced with me," he whispered. " Dance with 
 me to-night, will you?" 
 
 She gave a little troubled laugh. " If you like." 
 
 When they swept together out on the floor it was 
 not only the eyes of their own party that followed 
 them. Tall as he was, Bryson moved at ease in the 
 dance, and Mrs. Eliot, supported by his arm, floated. 
 
 " Isn't it a delight? " he murmured. And answering 
 she did not speak ; just her half-troubled little laugh 
 made response. 
 
 The yachting party went aboard late, tired and hap- 
 py, to supper and to bed. Before daybreak Mrs. Eliot, 
 dozing, heard the whip of the screw on the water. At 
 breakfast they were among the Cheneaux Islands for 
 muscalonge. 
 
 The men stripped to fishermen's togs for the trolling. 
 Just before they took the rowboat Bryson tapped at 
 the door of Mrs. Eliot's stateroom. " I wish you would 
 keep these for me while I am out, will you? " he asked, 
 
 253
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 handing her a package of papers wrapped in a manila 
 covering and tightly clasped in rubber bands. " I 
 should hate to lose them." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Do you know what they are ? " he asked, good- 
 naturedly, running the tops of the documents under his 
 thumb like a pack of cards. 
 
 " Insurance policies ? " she asked, at a venture. 
 
 " That's a new name for them, but not a bad one. 
 They insure you against everything on earth, except 
 death." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 " Don't leave them around your stateroom, for 
 they're not registered." 
 
 " Have they a money value ? " 
 
 " Well, rather." 
 
 " Oh, I shall carry them where I carry my money, 
 then." 
 
 "Where's that?" 
 
 " Here," she answered, laying her hand with per- 
 fect simplicity on her heart. 
 
 " They're lucky," said he reflectively, " to be so well 
 taken care of. But your heart is big," he added, with 
 a smile. " And, by-the-way, I want you to pay atten- 
 tion now, dear one ; mark what I say, will you ? There 
 are eleven of them. If anything happens to me, they're 
 yours. Do you understand ? All yours ; you are just 
 to keep them." 
 
 " Oh, nothing is going to happen to you," she said, 
 clutching at his coat fearfully. " Nothing shall hap- 
 pen. If you go into danger, I go with you. Do you 
 understand? If one of us dies, both do you under- 
 
 254
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 stand ? " she asked, frantic in appeal. He laughed and 
 tried to catch her in his arms, but she was as shy as a 
 humming bird. 
 
 " Do you mean to say you would die with me ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Leave Ruth?" 
 
 " Oh, that is cruel to suggest. But I would give 
 my life for either of you ; can't you understand ? " She 
 trembled. 
 
 " I think .so. There's no danger, dear one. Some- 
 times a fisherman gets ducked and loses his valuables, 
 that's all." 
 
 " Are you sure there's no danger? " 
 
 " Sure. Kiss me good-bye." 
 
 " No," she bubbled, fighting away, " I can't kiss 
 you. But," she snatched one of the gloves from his 
 hand, " I'll kiss this," she laughed, putting it to her 
 lips, " and bid it bring my dear, dear doctor back to 
 me. Good-bye, now. Run along," she whispered, 
 arching her neck and brows and shaking the package 
 at him. 
 
 Mitchell's voice rang down the companion way, 
 " Oh, doctor, hang it ! get a move on, won't you ! " 
 
 " Coming ! " cried Bryson, kissing the rescued glove 
 and backing away. She protested in pantomime 
 against his holding it to his lips ; then as he reached 
 the cabin stairs her head nodded and she disappeared. 
 
 For some reason the muscalonge refused that morn- 
 ing to bite. At eleven o'clock the fishermen quitted the 
 water with a despised string of pickerel and bass. 
 Bryson took it philosophically, but Mitchell was an- 
 noyed, and his plans for the trout fishing were made 
 
 255
 
 immediate. He invited everyone in turn to go up 
 with him to Steel River, but everyone in turn, except 
 Mrs. Mitchell, absolutely declined to brave the mos- 
 quitoes and the flies. 
 
 " We want a few days at the Grand Hotel to rest 
 up," declared Bryson. " This pace of yours is too 
 fast, Ed." 
 
 " I'll tell you what," suggested Mitchell, finally, as 
 they neared Mackinac. " I'll have Larry take Mrs. 
 Mitchell and me up to Steel River to-night. You folks 
 visit in Mackinac to-morrow and Friday and take the 
 Duluth boat for the Soo Friday night. Larry will be 
 back there Saturday morning with the yacht and bring 
 you to Steel River after us. That will give you the 
 magnificent scenery of the North Shore, and we'll be 
 ready to come back with you when you reach the river. 
 You've never been on Lake Superior, any of you, have 
 you ? I want to tell you it's a trip for a king." 
 
 " Fine ! " exclaimed Mrs. Goddard. " Indeed, Mr. 
 Mitchell, you have a great head. We'll have all the 
 ride" 
 
 " And our Mackinac visit," added Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 " And no mosquitoes " put in the doctor. 
 
 " Then we can run right back to Grand Bay," con- 
 tinued Mitchell, " and you will see next week the pret- 
 tiest yacht races ever run on the Lakes. 
 
 They parted at the wharf, Mitchell and his wife 
 going to the yacht, the doctor and his friends to the 
 hotel. 
 
 The morning brought the first bad weather of the 
 trip; rain and a sweep of low clouds from the north- 
 east ; it brought, too, neuralgia to Mrs. Goddard. At 
 
 256
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 breakfast Mrs. Eliot reported her unable to come 
 down. The day wore with the storm. Bryson chafed 
 not in the least. They sat part of the time with Mrs. 
 Goddard, part of the time reading and talking before 
 a log fire in a private parlor. He was brimming with 
 energy and planning for the future and talking in low, 
 earnest tones, wiping out difficulties and elaborating 
 new departures for work at the College. 
 
 " The happiest day of my life, I do believe and I've 
 had some mighty happy ones with you ! " he said to 
 her that night, leaving her at her door. 
 
 " Oh, I have your package yet ! " she exclaimed, 
 putting her hand upon it. " Wait a moment till I can 
 give it to you." 
 
 " No, keep it to-night. Put it under your pillow, 
 and see what you dream. It will be as safe with you 
 as with me. Good-night. May I kiss your hand ? " 
 
 " If you like." He bent low over her fingers laid 
 frankly on his own and kissed them twice. 
 
 Once in the night he was called to Mrs. Goddard, 
 who was suffering, and after administering some medi- 
 cine he sat for an hour at the fireplace in her parlor with 
 Mrs. Eliot, whose rooms communicated. When Mrs. 
 Goddard went to sleep he left. 
 
 Morning broke beautiful, with the wind shifting to 
 the south and the doctor made all plans for a drive. 
 Mrs. Goddard was better, but afraid to venture out. 
 So with a basket luncheon brought out to the trap 
 on the run by a wonderful man from the kitchen, Mrs. 
 Eliot was helped in by the doctor and the two set out 
 to do the island. 
 
 Bryson, along the road and through the woods and 
 
 257
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 fields, took a multitude of pictures, and they brought 
 up about noon at the Fort. The day was ideal. They 
 wandered over the whitewashed precincts like chil- 
 dren, prowling through old passageways, sunning 
 themselves on the rotten parapets and day-dreaming 
 above the magnificent panorama of the Straits. The 
 driver brought out the hamper and an unexpected 
 cooler of wine, deposited them under a maple tree and 
 disappeared upon orders. She took off her hat, which 
 he hung above their heads, pinned her skirt up a little 
 and on the angle of a venerable rampart disposed the 
 luncheon while he cut their initials, " H " for Harry 
 and " H " for Helen, into a retaining beam. 
 
 " Doesn't it make a pretty monogram ? Play you're 
 seventeen and I'm nineteen," he said, while she, stand- 
 ing, watched him. " How old are you, dear one? I've 
 never asked you." 
 
 " Twenty -seven." 
 
 " And I'm twenty-nine. That's why I love you, but 
 you don't love me." 
 
 They lunched, talked, and found a grassy bank 
 where she sat down. He threw himself at her side 
 and told stories and planned for all the fun they would 
 have on their Lake Superior trip ; before they knew it 
 the sun was descending. The trap waited for them 
 under the arched gateway. At the hotel they found 
 Mrs. Goddard up, but pale and wan looking, and seized 
 with a sudden resolve. " I'm going home to-night," 
 she said at dinner. " I'm sick, doctor, and you know 
 you always say ' the place for a sick person is at 
 home.' I'll go down to the Bay on the night train. 
 It's only two hours and a half. You two go ahead on 
 
 258
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 the yachting trip ; you must leave me out. If I should 
 get another attack like that one yesterday I should 
 go crazy." 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Goddard," expostulated Mrs. Eliot, 
 " surely you will be able to go to Steel River with us. 
 You'll feel better just as soon as we get on the boat, 
 I know. I always feel better travelling than I do at a 
 hotel." 
 
 But Mrs. Goddard was resolute. The longer she sat 
 the more evident it was that she ought not to try to 
 go. She made a final appeal to the doctor. He told 
 her frankly the sensible thing to do was to go home. 
 Mrs. Eliot, who continually intervened, seemed to hope 
 he would encourage Mrs. Goddard to go with them. 
 Bryson, on the other hand, was quite easy about it, 
 and gave Mrs. Goddard explicit directions for taking 
 care of herself after she got home. 
 
 It was nearly eight o'clock when they rose from the 
 dinner. " The Bear " was due to leave for the Soo at 
 nine ; the baggage had gone to the pier. 
 
 " Your ferry-boat leaves at ten o'clock ; an hour 
 after ' The Bear ' pulls out," the doctor reminded Mrs. 
 Goddard in the parlor while he buttoned his glove. 
 They were waiting for Mrs. Eliot. She came in with 
 her hat and wrap. 
 
 " You and I will walk down ahead to see the crowd 
 and the unloading when ' The Bear ' arrives," said Doc- 
 tor Bryson. " I've ordered your carriage for a quarter 
 of ten, Mrs. Goddard, and as we'll be gone when you 
 go, I'll say good-bye until we join you next week at 
 the Bay." 
 
 " Good-bye, doctor. Ever so sorry I couldn't go." 
 
 259
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Really, ought any of us to go? " asked Mrs. Eliot, 
 appealing to both of them. " If Mrs. Goddard is sick 
 let us go down to the Bay to-night with her, doctor." 
 
 " Disappoint Mitchell after he has sent the yacht 
 way back to the Soo after us ? " exclaimed the doctor. 
 " That would be shocking. Why, he's treated us like 
 princes. It wouldn't do ! " 
 
 " That's true ; you must go," interposed Mrs. God- 
 dard, with an invalid's privilege of insistence. 
 
 Mrs. Eliot's eyes wore an expression that could not 
 pass unperceived. " I do not think we ought to. In- 
 deed, I do not, doctor," she urged. 
 
 " Why, what on earth ! " he exclaimed. " You 
 wouldn't spoil our whole trip at this stage, would 
 you ? " he protested, with a hard look. 
 
 " You go, then," importuned Mrs. Eliot, " and let 
 me take Mrs. Goddard home." 
 
 " But Mrs. Goddard doesn't need to be taken home, 
 my dear," smiled the good lady, amiably. 
 
 " Come ! " said the doctor to Mrs. Eliot, with quiet 
 emphasis, " you're unnecessarily nervous. Let us 
 start. We shall miss all the fun. Everybody's going 
 to the boats already." 
 
 " Good-bye, dear," murmured Mrs. Goddard, kiss- 
 ing her, " you'll have a lovely time ; run along like a 
 good girl ; don't mind me. I'm all right." 
 
 Mrs. Eliot stood bewildered. She tried to respond 
 to Mrs. Goddard as the demonstrative lady embraced 
 her, but when she turned to leave with Doctor Bryson 
 she turned like one dazed. 
 
 260
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 NIGHT had fallen when they descended the porch 
 of the hotel. In the zenith lingered a 
 fading light shot out of the west, above a bank of 
 heavy clouds. The air was humid and electrical; op- 
 pressive. On the Straits laden steamers moved like 
 stately fireflies, noiselessly, and the village below 
 blazed in evening finery. The bazaars, stripped of their 
 fronts, opened upon the street, and upon each other. 
 Sightseers thronged the sidewalks. On the primitive 
 roadway cottagers in traps and buckboards and road- 
 wagons rattled along, and bareheaded girls, behind 
 curbed and docked horses spangled to the crupper, 
 perched on carts of extravagant height and color and 
 babbled recklessly. A double row of hacks and run- 
 abouts packed the market-place and toward the pier 
 set a stream of travellers, idlers, porters and baggage- 
 wagons. It was steamer night for the Buffalo boat, 
 the Georgian boat, the Grand Bay boat ; for " The 
 Bear," Duluth, up ; " The Arctic," Chicago, down ; 
 and in and out between the big steamers plied the 
 night boats for St. Ignace, for around the island, for 
 the moonlight dance and for the ferries to the main- 
 land and the upper peninsula. On the excursion boats 
 mandolin trios played Sousa's airs and rival harp and 
 violin combinations offered two-steps and waltzes 
 timed to the heavy respirations of the incoming 
 steamers blurred by the bantam spank of the screws 
 
 261
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 of the little boats and the hoarse splutter of the big 
 ones backing and pushing their leviathans to dock. 
 
 Clinging with mechanical tenacity to his arm, el- 
 bowed by baggage-laden women, crowded by tackle- 
 laden men, by runners piloting their customers and 
 travellers tearing at big heaps of satchels, Mrs. Eliot 
 kept Doctor Bryson's step and listened unreplying 
 to his running talk and comment. His humor flowed 
 in every step he took, in every tone of his voice and in 
 every turn of his eye. With the queer little panic she 
 had fallen into at the hotel checked, he made it his 
 art to conjure his companion into good spirits again, 
 for happiness such as his must mate or die. 
 
 " Come on through this crowd," said he, pushing 
 steadily ahead. " We'll get out to the end of the pier, 
 where we can see without being shoved about. 
 " What's the matter with you? You're shivering." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You look wild," he persisted, halting to bend over 
 her. " What's the matter ? " 
 
 " Doctor, could you give up this trip to-night? " 
 
 " Give up this trip to-night ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 She made no answer, but clinging to his arm, looked 
 out on the water. 
 
 " Why, Helen, this is the first play-spell I've ever 
 had in my life since I went to work. By Heaven, it 
 seems to me there's something coming to me in life 
 after a while. I'm not looking for a chance to give 
 up any trip like this. I'd like more such." 
 
 '"' Then do you go alone. Let me go back with Mrs. 
 Goddard to-night." 
 
 262
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 His voice grew hard as ice. " I thought we settled 
 that at the hotel." 
 
 " I ought not to go." 
 
 " Why not ? " he asked, with chilly patience. 
 
 " I ought not to go." 
 
 " That's like a woman. If you've a reason, give it ; 
 if you haven't one, for Heaven's sake, brace up." 
 
 " It's a dread ; a foreboding." 
 
 " Humph ! If I regulated my actions by dreads and 
 forebodings " 
 
 " Sometimes all a woman can do is to dread. I'm 
 only a woman ; you're a big, strong man." 
 
 " You stay with me, then, and you'll be all right. 
 I'm running this affair. Enjoy yourself; let me look 
 after the baggage." The hollow roar of a steamer 
 whistle cut him off ; they listened. 
 
 " That must be ' The Bear/ " he exclaimed. " It is 
 ' The Bear,' by Jove, and she's on time. Look, there 
 are her lights. You'll be over this in five minutes," he 
 whispered, reassuringly. 
 
 " I wish I might." 
 
 He took her hand. " Why, hang it, you're as cold as 
 ice ; your voice is as dry as a husk. You're not sick ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " 1 can't lie to you," she looked straight into his 
 eyes. " I wish I could ; I wish I were sick. Every 
 step I've taken from the hotel has been torture. I've 
 wished horses would run over me on the street; the 
 earth would swallow me up; a steamboat would ex- 
 plode and kill me. Oh ! doctor, doctor, can't you see 
 can't you see what I'm facing? " 
 
 " Control yourself. You used to be brave " 
 263
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Ah, brave ! No, no, no," she shuddered, " not for 
 that. If I am ever with you two days alone on that 
 yacht I cannot save myself I am lost ! " 
 
 " You are hysterical." 
 
 " No ; look in my eye. You've taught me what hys- 
 teria is. I'm not hysterical ; I'm drowning." 
 
 The sudden hulk of the Soo boat loomed like a 
 mountain beside them and glided, panting and hissing, 
 past to its moorings. Passengers high on the deck 
 swarmed like bees to the rail and a band played " El 
 Capitan " march. A tribe of Shriners on excursion 
 was on board and a crowd of them leaped upon the pier 
 from the gangway ahead of the plank and poured into 
 the crowd like noisy schoolboys. 
 
 " You're frightened to death, that's all," declared 
 the doctor. "Listen, isn't that music fine? How 
 that band plays. Stand by me. I live to protect 
 you. My life everything I have is yours. I love 
 you ; I make no secret of it, do I ? I've always loved 
 you. I always shall. There's nothing on earth I ask 
 but the privilege of marrying you if you 
 will marry me. You won't have that now. You 
 won't have a divorce. What will you do? Will you 
 leave ; cut loose from everybody with me ? We'll start 
 to-night. I'll go to the end of the world with you 
 anywhere on God's earth you say. That package you 
 carry in your bosom is money, bonds, fifty-two thou- 
 sand dollars. Say the word, and no eye that has ever 
 seen our faces shall see them again. We will send for 
 Ruth ; she shall be with us ; one of us. I'll tell her the 
 story. By Heaven, Helen, I'm not ashamed of it. 
 Haven't I been more of a father to her than her nat- 
 
 264
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 ural father? Didn't I scoop death out of her throat 
 with my own fingers? When she's a woman will she 
 condemn me for doing what I've done for her; for lov- 
 ing her mother above every other woman ; for throwing 
 everything I have, everything I am, at her feet? Will 
 she condemn me for that ? " 
 
 " She could not condemn you ; I could not no one 
 could condemn you." 
 
 " She couldn't ever live to condemn you. After all 
 your sacrifice, your struggle to care for her as you've 
 cared for her, if she could live to condemn you " his 
 words stung with anger " she ought to have been left 
 to rot with diphtheria." 
 
 " What will happen what will happen," she asked, 
 wildly, " when I condemn myself? " 
 
 " You shall not. You never shall condemn yourself. 
 You can't, till you condemn me. And when you close 
 my eyes you won't condemn me; I'll die with your 
 image in them." 
 
 " Don't blind me, don't blind me, when every drop 
 of my heart's blood pleads for you." 
 
 " Listen to it, then, and come. It's an accident. We 
 didn't will it, you nor I. If we've reached the river, 
 let us cross it." 
 
 " Cross it, do you say ? Cross it ? Yes, if ever I set 
 foot with you on this boat to-night I have crossed it. 
 I could never struggle further. Tell me first, tell me 
 now, doctor, you surely want me to cross it. Is there 
 nothing in your heart that speaks for me ? Oh, I know 
 I am weak and wicked, or I shouldn't be here. Don't 
 be angry if I falter on the brink. Can't you rest with 
 me yet a while ? Can't you be patient a little longer ? 
 
 265
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 I know I'm all to blame. I've done you a fearful wrong. 
 Don't say no I have but don't push me into the 
 river. When I sink I drag you with me, darling, and 
 I love you too much for that. God forgive my wicked 
 heart, I love you." 
 
 His arm caught her waist and she felt its fearful 
 strength sweep her like chloroform from her feet. He 
 was bending above her ; the wind was blowing wildly 
 and the Shriner band dinned a mad tune in her ears. 
 She heard, but caught through it all only one burning 
 word : " Come ! Come." 
 
 " No," she gasped. " No, darling, no ! " She 
 writhed in his grasp. Something wet and cold dashed 
 into her upturned face. People all about began run- 
 ning, a confused mob of indistinct figures, out of a 
 pour of rain. There was hurry, scramble, confusion on 
 every side. The rain fell harder and a little girl, thrown 
 like a chip out of the selfish, eddying crowd, running to 
 where they stood, caught frantically at Mrs. Eliot's 
 skirt. 
 
 " Mamma ! mamma ! " she cried, bedraggled and 
 sobbing and panic-stricken in the deluge. " Are you 
 my mamma?" she screamed, choking in the driving 
 storm. " Oh, I can't find my mamma. I've lost my 
 mamma." Before they could catch her or speak, she 
 had darted away. The terrific chime- whistle of " The 
 Bear," opening above, stunned them with its starting 
 blast; the wind whipped a sheet of water about them. 
 He pulled her hurriedly forward. 
 
 " Come, we must get aboard." 
 
 She fought him with her little strength of hands 
 266
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 and feet as he urged. " I can't. Oh, Harry, I can't. 
 You're killing me." 
 
 He straightened suddenly up; a blare of lightning 
 revealed his face. His features set with rage as she 
 stood the rain beating her upturned eyes resisting. 
 
 " You don't love me ! " he cried, in a frenzy. " You 
 never loved me. A woman that reasons doesn't know 
 what love means." 
 
 He pushed her roughly away. She staggered, slip- 
 ped and fell to her knees. A frightful crash of light- 
 ning split the night. The long pier, stripped of peo- 
 ple, lay bare to the storm and the water swept it in 
 driving torrents. He started away; hesitated; looked 
 back; stopped. She did not cry nor scream. Her 
 hands, clasped in rigid terror, seemed to stretch for 
 help, but did not; her eyes, staring, seemed to see, 
 but did not. He ran to her side. Again it was dark- 
 ness and a raging of wind and rain and he caught her 
 up. " Come back to Mrs. Goddard. Come ! " 
 
 She struggled slipping to her feet ; he could feel her 
 breath fluttering and could remember a little bird flut- 
 tering so in his hand when he was a boy. 
 
 " I can't see " she faltered, in a broken stammer, 
 as she stumbled at his side. " I can't see." 
 
 " Who, in God's name, can see? " 
 
 They were passing the gangway of the steamer. 
 The plank was up. With a huge, hollow purr, like the 
 pant of a great cat, the big boat was backing steadily 
 away from the pier; backing away for the Soo, and 
 from the horns of the Shriner band, snug within, came 
 the easy, swinging rhythm of the " Mosquito Parade." 
 
 He half carried her to the street, got her under an 
 267
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 awning, bribed a hackman to drive through the deluge 
 to the hotel, and took her to Mrs. Goddard's room. 
 
 " Yes, we're back," he said, shortly, to Mrs. God- 
 dard's open-mouthed amazement. " Mrs. Eliot changed 
 her mind. Good-night." 
 
 The cab horses slipped and struggled down the hill 
 again with him to the pier. The storm deepened in 
 fury, but he gave it no heed. 
 
 268
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 ON the Monday following the gale that swept 
 the lakes on the night of that parting, John 
 Allison, in an office of the legal department of the East 
 Side Railway Company, was dictating a despatch. 
 Out of a litter of newspapers, letters and telegrams 
 about him he made up, after many alterations, this 
 message : 
 
 " To Mrs. J. F. Goddard, The Hemlocks, Grand Bay, 
 Michigan. 
 
 " My attention has been directed to the following 
 death notice, contained in the newspapers yesterday, 
 Sunday, morning : 
 
 " ELIOT On Friday night, at the residence of his 
 mother, Mrs. J. Gordon Eliot, 1228 Forest Avenue, 
 Evanston, Gregory Brewster Eliot, aged thirty-six 
 years. Notice of funeral hereafter. 
 
 " A telephone message from C. W. King, manager 
 of the Plankinton House, Milwaukee, informs me that 
 Henry E. Bryson is lying there ill with pneumonia. I 
 go to him at noon. Notify Mrs. Eliot. 
 
 " JNO. C. ALLISON." 
 
 The affixing of his own careful signature to that 
 telegram was the last thing John did before taking 
 the train. It was two o'clock when he reached Mil- 
 waukee, greatly perturbed. From the hotel manager 
 he learned the bare facts of the breaking down of the 
 steamship " Arctic " Friday night in the middle of the 
 
 269
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 lake; how it had been forced, by stress of weather 
 Saturday night, to put into Milwaukee for harbor ; how 
 the passengers for Chicago, with the exception of Doc- 
 tor Bryson, who had come to the hotel sick, had been 
 forwarded by train. 
 
 The meeting of the two young men, the well one 
 and the ill one, was more than sympathetic; it was 
 affectionate. Bryson greeted John with a smile. 
 " They're trying to make me believe I'm sick," he be- 
 gan, pausing occasionally. " There's an amiable old 
 spider of a doctor here, a fine old fellow, John the 
 house physician he's taking good care of me; said 
 he'd heard of me. He showed me an old fashioned 
 lancet, John," panted Bryson, with a strange excite- 
 ment over the trivial incident, " that he took a cinder 
 out of Long John Wentworth's eye with when he 
 was coming back from the Fremont Convention 
 in 1856." Bryson shifted uneasily as he smiled and 
 attempted again to speak. " He tells me my left lung 
 is pretty well caked to-day, but the constitutional 
 symptoms don't alarm me. His views on the treat- 
 ment coincide exactly with mine ; that's reassuring." 
 
 " Good. Now don't tire yourself out talking, doc- 
 tor. I shall hear it all right. Just lie easy and rest." 
 
 " A moderately warm room, John, and an absolutely 
 stationary temperature " 
 
 " I understand." 
 
 " Champagne brandy for the heart. The difficulty 
 is to keep the temperature right between midnight and 
 morning, and to get the right brandy. It is the heart 
 must do the work. You must push it, John, all the 
 time with grape alcohol understand? " 
 
 270
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " Have I ever explained to you the chemical differ- 
 ences between the alcohol of the grape and the grain 
 alcohol?" 
 
 " Fully, fully." 
 
 "Sir?" 
 
 " Fully, doctor, fully." 
 
 "What was I saying? It is curious how I got 
 caught here." He raised himself on his elbow. " You 
 know Ed Mitchell's crack boat; his pet, 'The Arctic,' 
 John, broke a nurse, will you give me a drink of 
 water ? " He lay back and closed his eyes. They 
 opened again with a wandering stare. " The artery 
 forceps, please," he said, in a quieter tone. Then his 
 eyes closed. " Thank you," he muttered. " He's a 
 bleeder, gentlemen ; he's certainly a bleeder." 
 
 More than his feverish talk, more than his carefully 
 labored respiration, it was his eyes that shocked John. 
 Terribly large and bright and restless, they seemed 
 not merely to see ; they blazed with thought and un- 
 derstanding. Eyes, brain, mind and excellence leaped 
 together in one great fire of unreason. 
 
 Allison went downstairs sick at heart. The room 
 clerk handed him a despatch. It was from Mrs. God- 
 dard. 
 
 "Mrs. Eliot," she telegraphed, " is in a highly nerv- 
 ous condition. I have told her of her husband's 
 death, but not the doctor's illness. For special rea- 
 sons I do not want to tell her unless imperative. Keep 
 me posted frequently." 
 
 He hunted up the manager and they went together 
 to the office of Doctor Spruance, the house physician. 
 
 271
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 At five o'clock John sent a message to Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " Symptoms this afternoon less favorable. I should 
 inform Mrs. Eliot." 
 
 When he went upstairs the nurse told him the doc- 
 tor was dozing. He looked in again later. The same 
 exhausted smile greeted him, the eyes grown bigger 
 under the shaded light, and with the rising fever an 
 increased restlessness. At eleven o'clock the house 
 physician, bearded, bent, and superbly confident, scut- 
 tled in like a beneficent old pirate, scanned with a 
 piercing eye the preparations for the night, gave his 
 orders like a field marshal and by his very decision 
 and presence dispelled uneasiness and gloom. At 
 midnight, after a final consultation with the sick man, 
 whose head seemed to clear magically the minute his 
 case was discussed, the house physician noiselessly 
 took his departure, the nurse noiselessly made her final 
 preparations and John sat noiselessly down for the 
 watches of the night. 
 
 It was a hard night. Morning, the shortened res- 
 piration, the sunken eye, the impassive fever ther- 
 mometer told the story. John telegraphed Grand Bay 
 early. 
 
 " Have you told Mrs. Eliot. He has expressed a 
 wish to see her," said he, in his message. " Condition 
 critical." 
 
 Noon brought a telegram from Mrs. Goddard: 
 " We leave with Mr. Mitchell for Milwaukee at once." 
 
 Growing apprehension put John at studying time- 
 tables and steamboat schedules. They could not pos- 
 sibly arrive, the agents told him, before Wednesday 
 
 272
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 morning. At one o'clock came a telegram from Ed- 
 ward Mitchell. 
 
 " Mrs. Eliot's party are with us on ' The Sweetheart ' 
 en route Milwaukee. We should reach Northern 
 Steamboat dock not later than ten p. m. Have car- 
 riages there early. By all means, if not already in 
 charge, secure Doctor Spruance. If he so desires, 
 wire my own physician, Parks Ingram, of Chicago, 
 and ask him to come up for consultation. The St. 
 Paul people will make a special run. Call on our peo- 
 ple at Milwaukee for anything you need." 
 
 Ed Mitchell's pretty yacht did even better than her 
 promise. Captain Larry made that run the run of her 
 life. He made a supreme effort, for Captain Larry was 
 an Irishman and his charge was a distressed woman, 
 and a lovely one. St. Gall's bells were just chiming 
 eight o'clock when " The Sweetheart " whistled for the 
 Northwestern Bridge. The carriages, warned by the 
 harbor master's telephone, were at the dock waiting 
 when the yacht steamed up ; thirty minutes later John 
 in the hotel was called down to meet them. Mrs. Eliot, 
 Ruth and June, marshalled by Mrs. Goddard, were 
 there. " The Mitchells will be here in a few minutes," 
 she said. 
 
 John greeted Mrs. Eliot. She stood between Mrs. 
 Goddard and June. " Dear Mr. Allison, how is he? " 
 she asked, brokenly. 
 
 " He's a little, just a little better to-night," John re- 
 plied, carefully taking her hands ; they were clammy. 
 " He knows you are coming," he added, floundering, 
 " for he has asked again and again for you. Go right
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 to your rooms ; they are next to his, and I'll get Doctor 
 Spruance right up to see how soon you can go in." 
 
 Mrs. Goddard took her arm and put her, with Ruth 
 and June into the elevator. " I'll follow right along," 
 she said. " How is he ? " she whispered, after the car 
 had gone. John shook his head. " Temperature a 
 hundred and six. His breathing is something fright- 
 ful." 
 
 " What on earth has happened between them, John ? 
 He brought her back from the boat Friday night dis- 
 tracted. John, you musn't repeat this, but " her 
 voice sank for a moment to a frightened whisper. He 
 started, and looked at her, white and serious. " That's 
 why I didn't want to tell her," she resumed, wiping her 
 eyes, " for fear it would make her worse. Isn't it terri- 
 ble? And how did he come here sick with pneumo- 
 nia?" 
 
 " I hardly know more than you. For some reason 
 he took ' The Arctic ' Friday night for Chicago. It 
 was the night of the storm, you know. He stuck to 
 the bridge the whole night with the first officer. 
 Knowing he was a particular friend of Ed Mitchell's, 
 the Captain didn't want to cross him." 
 
 " They have had a terrible quarrel. I hope it won't 
 end here. And now her husband is dead ! Lordy, 
 Lordy, we've come so fast my head is whirling. John, 
 is he going to die ? " 
 
 " The old doctor says not. I don't know. Shall 
 we follow them ? " 
 
 Upstairs Mrs. Eliot and June were with Doctor 
 Spruance in the hall. " Remember," he was saying 
 to Mrs. Eliot, impressively, " you are going in to see a 
 
 274
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 sick man. The slightest indiscretion on your part 
 may be a fatal one. You must avoid exciting him. 
 Go in now with Mr. Allison. I will follow; when I 
 touch your shoulder leave quietly ; do you understand, 
 my child ? " 
 
 " You are so good," she whispered to the short, bent 
 old man. " So kind and so skillful, I know everything 
 will be right. I will do exactly as you say. He has 
 taught me how to go into a sick-room, doctor. You 
 will save him ? " she burst, in a sudden shock of sobs. 
 
 " I am doing everything I can to save him. If you 
 break out like that in there just once," he answered, 
 tartly, " you'll kill him." 
 
 She took the rebuke and pressed his hand. " I am 
 ready." 
 
 The light was heavily shaded, and the nurse stood 
 back of the bed in the shadow. He lay on his side, 
 his eyes half closed, but the hardly audible rustle of 
 her skirts caught his ear. He roused with feverish 
 alertness. With eager, stretching steps, blunting on 
 her heart the awful shock of his breathing, she made 
 her way, with June's help, to his bedside and knelt. 
 He looked intently into her eyes. " Dear one," she 
 murmured. He raised his brows and they fell again. 
 " She is not here," he panted. 
 
 " Not here ? " she pleaded, trying to make plain her 
 face. 
 
 " John has sent." His thin, queer tone dropped to 
 huskiness. " Tell her I want to see her." 
 
 Her hands slipped over one of his and she kissed it 
 in an agony ; his ear caught her suppressed sob. 
 
 " Coughing." His brows drew down frowningly. 
 
 275
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " You have taken cold. Now, will you do as I tell you ; 
 will you ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes." 
 
 " Take a teaspoonful of this brandy every hour one 
 teaspoonful. Drink as much water as you please be- 
 fore taking it but none after. It will reduce inflam- 
 mation. For some coughs and sore throats due to 
 our lake breezes it gives remarkable results." 
 
 " Do you not know me?" she whispered, pressing 
 his hand. 
 
 " Perfectly. Listen. The books will tell you alco- 
 hol excites inflammation and fever. I tell you it fre- 
 quently allays both say nothing about that," he mut- 
 tered, drowsily. 
 
 " Oh, don't you know me, doctor?" 
 
 His eyes closed. She clasped his hand in a secret 
 fright; the panting respiration of a sudden subsided; 
 the eyeballs sunk within their sockets. With a scream 
 she sprang up. " He's dying. You're deceiving me. 
 I know ! He's dying ! " Her voice rang frantic twice 
 with his name. " Harry ! Harry ! " 
 
 They jumped about her. Bryson from his stupor 
 started into ghastly life. His eyes opened, and as a 
 dreamer wakes he saw her outstretched arms. He 
 struggled to rise. " Ah, Helen ! " he cried, like a sink- 
 ing man. 
 
 She threw herself beside him, caught his head in 
 her bosom, cradled it on her breast, and savage with 
 unrestraint kissed his vacant eyes. Until she would 
 they could not part them. She laid him, fainting, back 
 like a child, and he whispered, frightened, she must 
 not leave him. She put kisses on his hot forehead, 
 
 276
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 hushed him with a loving breath and knelt till he grew 
 at last quiet. 
 
 Not even Doctor Spruance would venture to predict 
 the sequel. But Bryson took the crisis and took the 
 collapse asking only for her; the convalescence, still 
 asking for her. 
 
 " You can't kill me," he said, faintly smiling early 
 one morning at John. " What's been happening since 
 I've been sick ? Is this Monday ? " 
 
 John looked long at him before he said, slowly, " A 
 great deal has happened, doctor. Mrs. Eliot's husband 
 is dead." 
 
 "Dead, John?" 
 
 " Dead and buried two weeks ago." 
 
 After a moment he spoke. " She knows, of course? " 
 
 " Yes." John took from his pocket a clipping. Sup- 
 porting himself weakly on his elbow, Bryson, gaunt- 
 eyed, read. " Dead," he muttered. He lay for a mo- 
 ment with his eyes closed, breathing heavily. " John, 
 ask her if she won't come to me." 
 
 " She isn't here, doctor." 
 
 "Not here?" 
 
 " She went to Chicago yesterday on some matters 
 she had to see to," said John, rather awkwardly. 
 
 " Chicago ? " echoed Bryson, faintly. 
 
 " We expect to take you down in a few days, any- 
 way, you know ; just as soon as you're strong enough 
 to be moved. By the way, she gave me a sealed pack- 
 age of yours. She said you would know what it was. 
 She had no opportunity of returning it, and asked 
 me to take care of it. I have it safe." 
 
 277
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 Bryson wavered, trying to collect his thoughts. 
 " What did she leave here for ? " 
 
 " There were some business matters, Harry." 
 
 " She has no business matters." 
 
 " She must have had." 
 
 " Did she say so ? " 
 
 " I assumed so." 
 
 " You don't know anything about it ? " observed Bry- 
 son, weakly, eyeing him. 
 
 " I don't know very much, for I gave it no thought. 
 You know the rest of them all went down last Thurs- 
 day. When Mrs. Eliot said she had better go, I as- 
 sumed that it was business of some kind that was 
 taking her." 
 
 " Taking her on Sunday ? " asked Bryson. It made 
 John uncomfortable. He did not cease to explain, but 
 he had already ceased to convince. 
 
 It had been his custom during Bryson 's convales- 
 cence to go to Chicago every morning, returning in 
 the evening. That morning he left with the promise 
 that he would return early enough to take dinner with 
 the doctor in his room ; the sick man was beginning to 
 sit up and to know appetite. A day earlier such a 
 promise would have made Bryson smile one of his old 
 happy smiles. But this day it brought only mechanical 
 thanks. John went away with the feeling of having 
 managed badly, yet without knowing precisely how he 
 could have managed well. He was a lawyer, but not 
 a diplomat. He had concealed a secret without con- 
 cealing the effort to do so. 
 
 It was ten o'clock when he reached his Chicago 
 office, and his manner of despatching business indi- 
 
 278
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 cated something on his mind more pressing than what 
 was on his calendar. Contrary to his invariable cus- 
 tom of taking luncheon down town, John, after getting 
 Doctor Hoxie at the Laflin College on the telephone 
 and making an appointment with him at the house for 
 two o'clock, went down to Miss June's. Mrs. God- 
 dard, June, Mrs. Eliot and Ruth were at table when 
 he arrived. 
 
 " He's better," announced John, briefly. " Weak as 
 a cat, though ; it's pulled him down terribly. He can't 
 sit up two minutes at a time yet. It will be a week 
 before we can move him. How are you to-day, Mrs. 
 Eliot ? " he asked, anxiously. 
 
 " Pretty well, thank you." 
 
 " Doctor Hoxie will be here at two o'clock." 
 
 " He has been very kind," said Mrs. Eliot, gently. 
 
 " Well he may be ; Harry Bryson has made him all 
 he is ; and he knows it. When I apologized for drag- 
 ging him so far he said he would come down here on 
 his knees to serve any friend of Doctor Bryson's. I 
 like that kind of gratitude." 
 
 " Doctor Bryson certainly has the faculty of attach- 
 ing his friends to him," ventured Mrs. Goddard. 
 
 " It's no wonder," interposed June, " when you 
 think of the trouble he takes to do things for other 
 people." 
 
 A pained expression passed over Mrs. Eliot's face. 
 Mrs. Goddard shut June off with a look, and the talk 
 became an effort to support a livelier topic. Doctor 
 Hoxie was announced before they rose from the table. 
 When he left the house with John Allison it was nearly 
 three o'clock. Mrs. Goddard had retired for her 
 
 279
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 beauty sleep. Ruth had gone with June to market and 
 Mrs. Eliot sat by the window in her room. The day 
 was mild, with just the merest breath of air through 
 the casement ; a dreamy September day. She reclined 
 with her hands limply open on the chair arms and her 
 head back. 
 
 She had heard the rumble of carriage wheels on 
 the street without thought of them. She heard, with- 
 out heeding, the front door below open to a pass key 
 and close, and sat motionless as before. But for her 
 wide-open eyes looking out into the sky she might 
 have been asleep. If there was a breath on the stairs, 
 a step slower or more uncertain than those familiar 
 to her ears, they went unnoticed. A few minutes later 
 not even the tall, gaunt figure of a man in her door- 
 way, enveloped in a pull-down cap and a huge ulster, 
 stirred her revery. 
 
 " Helen ! " She started and clasped the chair arms 
 as if she heard a ghost. 
 
 " Who called me ? " she asked, trembling, wide-eyed. 
 
 " Have you forgotten even my voice ? " 
 
 With a cry she put out both her hands and ran 
 forward. An ottoman between them tripped her and 
 she stumbled and almost fell in front of him. " Doctor, 
 doctor! How did you come here? What have you 
 done?" 
 
 " Why did you leave me yesterday? " 
 
 " You are faint and trembling, doctor. Come to the 
 couch. Why have you left your bed and endangered 
 your very life like this ? " 
 
 " He is dead, Helen. You are free. You left me." 
 
 " Oh, no." 
 
 280
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Now that you are free have I lost everything? " 
 
 " No, no. Everything I have and am, is for you 
 everything." 
 
 " Did I dream when I was sick," he muttered, sink- 
 ing from her arms upon the couch, " that you called 
 my name, and kissed me, and said you would not leave 
 me?" 
 
 " You did not dream it," she murmured, beside him. 
 
 " And this is you and I now? Do I wake now? " 
 
 " It is indeed I, doctor." 
 
 " And you do not kiss me ? " 
 
 With a hushed moan she threw her arms around him 
 and smothered his reproaches. 
 
 " This sickness I have been through," he said at 
 last, struggling to steady himself, " sometimes takes 
 men's minds. Since I have begun to get well there 
 seems some mystery about me. Since I have been 
 strong enough to notice, everyone has acted strangely. 
 It is a bad sign when a man's friends all go mad. I've 
 sense enough left to know that. A man should 
 blow his brains out then before they lock him up. I'll 
 never die in a mad-house, Helen. Tell me, if you have 
 any mercy, am I insane? Are you all hiding some- 
 thing from me ? Why does everyone act so queerly ? " 
 
 " You are too sick to talk or worry, my darling. I 
 may call you that, Harry ? " she whispered, hiding her 
 eyes on his cheek. " It is not you, darling ; it is not 
 you. It is poor I who am causing all this trouble. In 
 trying to keep it from you we have done worse than if 
 we had told you. I am not very well, that's all. But 
 I shall be soon, and I only want you to get well. If 
 
 281
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 in trying to keep away from you for a while we all 
 thought it was best I have made you expose your 
 life and you should die ! " she raised her hands de- 
 spairingly. "If you should die, is there no death for 
 me ? I could stand every sorrow now but that to lose 
 you. I cannot stand that. Do you think it is only you 
 that can love ? '' Her hands caught around his neck as 
 she looked into his face. " Only you that can hunger 
 and thirst ? " She drew him like a reed to her, kissing 
 his hair and eyes. " Some day you will know better. 
 You must lie down, you poor, poor boy." Her fin- 
 gers gentle, restless, sensitive fingers crept over his 
 forehead and eyes and lips as he held her in his arms. 
 
 " If I can only get well and strong again, so I can 
 love you," he muttered, " only to atone for my cruel 
 selfishness." 
 
 " Poor, sick boy ; you must lie down ! " 
 
 " First tell me why you are not well, dear one. I 
 am closest to you. I must be your physician. You 
 must tell me what your trouble is so I can relieve it. 
 Don't be afraid to trust your secrets to me. What- 
 ever you suffer, I surfer." He tried to rise, but fell 
 back. " Give me some water, will you, Helen ? " he 
 asked, pointing to the pitcher on the table. " I'm mis- 
 erably weak." 
 
 She rose, took a step forward, hesitated strangely, 
 put out her hands in front of her and stepped again. 
 Supporting his head on his hand, he did not at first per- 
 ceive her efforts to reach the table. When he looked 
 up she was past it, feeling with her hands. 
 
 " Helen ! " he cried, struggling to his feet. She 
 282
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 turned with a startled exclamation and her out- 
 stretched hand swept a vase of flowers from the table 
 with a crash. " What is the matter ? " he asked, fran- 
 tically. " Can't you see ? Is this what you are keep- 
 ing from me, You are blind ! " 
 
 283
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 GREENISH with pallor and faint he led her to the 
 chair at the window. Controlling his throat 
 with a painful effort, he tried to say, " Close your 
 eyes. Look down." But his tongue dried and his 
 mouth parched with the words. " Have you pain ? " 
 he asked, pressing first above one eyeball and then the 
 other with the forefinger tips. 
 
 " No pain whatever," she answered, trustingly con- 
 fident. " I told them I should be all right when you 
 could care for my eyes. Only I wanted to keep it from 
 you till you were strong." 
 
 " Not knowing that these few days might be the 
 difference between sight and blindness. How long has 
 this been ? " he faltered, still feeling the tension with 
 his skeleton fingers. 
 
 Her voice dropped. " Since the night of the storm, 
 dear one, at Mackinac." 
 
 His hands fell upon her neck. " Is this the price you 
 pay for my accursed brutality ? " he asked, slowly. 
 "Of all punishments was there none for me but 
 this?" 
 
 " It is not your punishment, dear one. It is mine." 
 
 He felt distractedly about on his breast. " I must 
 have an ophthalmoscope. I must look at your eyes." 
 He pointed across the room. " Can you see that picture 
 over there ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 284
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Can you see my fingers ? " She shook her head. 
 " Do you see the window, Helen," he asked, painfully. 
 
 " Dear, I see light there." 
 
 " Has your vision failed every day since you were 
 first affected?" 
 
 " Listen ; don't suffer for me. I shall be better ; 
 indeed, I shall. That terrible crash of lightning 
 do you remember it seemed to blind me. In the 
 morning when I opened my eyes everything was hid- 
 den in a fog. I thought it was a fog until Mrs. God- 
 dard told me there was none ; that she could see every- 
 thing. But the fog did not lift from nv eyes and I 
 knew I must wait till you could help me if you would. 
 I was afraid, sometimes, you might not help me," she 
 whispered. " But even if you did not I knew I should 
 love you, blind, dear heart." 
 
 " Such a wrong as this will never be forgiven," he 
 muttered, his features set in vacancy. " Do not speak. 
 It never can be ; it is too frightful." 
 
 " I have no wrong to forgive. If I had, my love 
 would swallow up blindness for you, if only," she 
 trembled, " you would still be kind." He kissed her 
 solemnly. 
 
 " Come to my room. I am a coward," he choked, 
 his damp hand in hers. " I am afraid to look. If you 
 go blind, I'll prick my own eyes. Come." 
 
 " No," she breathed, supporting him as he guided 
 her ; " no, I need your sight, you need my strength ; we 
 will help each other." 
 
 They walked, one weak, one sightless, into his office- 
 room. He put her into a chair, and steadying as best 
 he could his own uncertain steps, fixed his light, dark- 
 
 285
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 ened the little apartment, burnished the mirror of his 
 ophthalmoscope and placed her in front of him. She 
 put her gentle hands upon his shoulders. " Harry, 
 dear heart of mine, I love you. That has been my only 
 wickedness. Since I saw you that first day, young 
 and strong and generous, good, I loved you. I strug- 
 gled ; I couldn't help it I loved you. Tell me, Harry," 
 her hands drew convulsively upon his shoulders, " tell 
 me before you look, before you know can you love 
 me if I am to be blind ? I dare not let you look," she 
 cried. " I dare not let you know. How can you love 
 me if I am forever blind? And if you forsake me " 
 
 He folded her in his arms ; their tears fell together. 
 When they could control themselves he placed her in 
 position and adjusted the mirror disc steadily on her 
 eye. The mighty instinct of healing asserted itself once 
 more and strengthened him. He closed the distance 
 until their faces touched and threw the dazzling rays of 
 the glass unfalteringly upon her retina. 
 
 If one in this life may look into the soul of another 
 it is the oculist who pierces the heart of the eye with 
 that light which, shot quivering back, lights his own. 
 To bare the mystery of the divinest and tenderest of 
 created things ; to look from capillary to vein , vein to 
 artery, artery to macula, to choroid, to cup; to that 
 mute sensor of the brain, of form, thought, life itself 
 the optic nerve: to contemplate thus, alive and in its 
 very function, the human eye must always inspire awe. 
 But if the eye bared to one's own be a woman's eye, 
 a woman dearer than very life what may the inspira- 
 tion be? 
 
 Patiently and long he studied, and with delicate 
 286
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 questioning and artful scrutiny and the instant calcula- 
 tion of trained faculties, steadily built up his diagnosis. 
 
 Clasping his hand as he drew back and pushed away 
 the light, she whispered, " Tell me. Don't be afraid of 
 the truth." 
 
 " How can you believe me when I do tell you," he 
 responded with some of the deadly weight lifting from 
 his breast. " What I most dreaded is not there. There 
 is no glaucoma, my darling." 
 
 " None ? " 
 
 " No trace of a visible lesion in either beautiful eye. 
 Your eyes appear absolutely healthy and normal." 
 With the thankfulness that she tried to utter her caress- 
 ing hands felt the sweat that beaded his forehead ; from 
 her girdle she drew a slight film of a handkerchief and 
 wiped it away. 
 
 " It seems impossible to realize you cannot see," he 
 continued, sorely perplexed. " Your organs of sight 
 are perfect. If my own wretched skill counts for any- 
 thing we must think back of the optic nerve for this 
 trouble. This is why Hoxie can make nothing of it; 
 he knows nothing of it. It is my shame. The shock 
 of that night has stunned some impalpable sense nearer 
 the unknown, nearer the brain itself, than we can see. 
 My Helen, my darling, oh, my queen, for this wrong 
 I offer you my life. Believe me, trust me, and God 
 helping me you shall see again. If I faint you must 
 not be frightened,'"' he faltered. " A shock might 
 do you understand ? " 
 
 With incredible strength she got him into the ad- 
 joining room and upon his bed before he lost con- 
 
 287
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 sciousness. June found them there, Mrs. Eliot sitting 
 with his head in her lap; somehow she had managed. 
 
 At five o'clock Hoxie came. He stayed to dinner 
 and spent the night with Bryson, to watch, without at 
 all letting him suspect it, for the collapse that he 
 thought must surely follow the doctor's unheard of 
 exposure. But Bryson's youth and strength and en- 
 ergy defied consequences, and with stimulants and 
 sleep he mended like one that has work to do and must 
 be about it. 
 
 The moment he was able to sit up he began to 
 analyze the subtle malady which, in clouding Mrs. 
 Eliot's sight without a discoverable lesion, offered so 
 few assailable points. Doctor Hoxie was at his call 
 continually, and before the sick man left his bed his 
 campaign had been laid out and was being fought. In 
 his bitter self-reproach he had told her he should never 
 again speak of what was nearest his heart until he had 
 given her back her sight. " Now I shall know," he 
 had said, " whether I have only the brutality to shatter 
 without the skill to restore. If I cannot save you," he 
 had vowed, " I will never touch an eye again." Weeks 
 lengthened into months while he bent every resource 
 of his skill upon the baffling problem. She had one day 
 said she whose concern hovered always over him 
 who, sightless, saw better the crushing of his spirit 
 than those that could daily question his reticent features 
 she had told him he must go back to his lectures ; but 
 he said he could not, and when she pleaded he broke 
 down utterly. He said he could not ; and she realized 
 at last that it was true. He came insensibly to lean 
 more and more on her ; clung closer to her, hid nothing 
 
 288
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 of all he could confide from her, and tried to hide but 
 one thing the sting that defeat renewed every day in 
 his heart. But she saw even that, and for her own help- 
 lessness had only the sweetest reflections. 
 
 " When I think, dear one," she would say, his head 
 upon her breast, " of my captivity until then, and my 
 blessed freedom since to love you, how can I be any- 
 thing but the happiest woman in the world ? " And 
 upon her face, before so resolute and quick and girlish, 
 grew another sweetness the gentle sunshine that 
 limns the features of the blind. 
 
 With him the impatience of continued worry settled 
 into a dogged courage, which, exhausted at night with 
 failure woke new in the morning with expedient and 
 hope. " We must win," he would say, kissing her 
 fondly. But she would fondly ask, " Have you not 
 already won ? Are we not free ? " 
 
 If he saw that her instinct penetrated his forebod- 
 ings he painted new masks upon his grief to deceive 
 her with play of light-heartedness. That Ruth might 
 be always near, a governess was brought into the house 
 to take charge of her studies, and Ruth, companion of 
 her mother's blindness, grew to womanhood if wom- 
 anhood means thoughtfulness and unselfishness be- 
 fore her years. So, indeed, to girls like Ruth, it does 
 mean these. At ten they already know all of woman- 
 hood except its joys and sufferings : something must be 
 left for to-morrow. 
 
 He made, after a time, a pretence of going down oc- 
 casionally to his office, but his practice was turned 
 away. He had said that while hers remained sightless 
 he would not touch an eye, and he would not. Hoxie 
 
 289
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 was installed in his elaborate college quarters, and Bry- 
 son, thin and feverish, called sometimes to act in con- 
 sultation with his junior. But away from her, he was 
 studying always or sitting at the club alone lost in a 
 deep chair looking out upon the lake; a silent man, 
 shunning companionship, absorbed in thought. He 
 still kept track of the clinics. Hoxie had his orders to 
 fasten every case that turned up of hysterical amblyo- 
 pia, and Bryson devoured them greedily as they came 
 along only, when he had helped them, to turn away with 
 the quiet despair that marked his face. Those in the 
 city highest in his profession who had their hints of the 
 desperate case he was struggling with, likewise ap- 
 prised him of such cases as fell into their hands ; and 
 he was made to feel in his loneliness and despair that 
 he had a few friends that did not forget. 
 
 Helen was never for half a day left without an evi- 
 dence that she was of his thoughts. It might be a cut- 
 ting of flowers, a bunch of grapes, only a package of 
 chocolate. It was often a ring at the telephone; he 
 loved to call her up to ask an answer to some absurd 
 conundrum or to give her a news bulletin. It might be 
 the result of an election or the death of a royal person- 
 age, or the details of a round in a notable prize fight, a 
 sport of which he professed to believe her fond. 
 To relieve the monotony of the telephone calls, Jim 
 would arrive all the way from the College to bid her 
 be ready to drive at four o'clock; or he would bring 
 tickets for a matinee at which Ruth and her mother 
 were to meet him. Or best tonic of all, it was at the 
 most unlocked for hour, his own distinctive entering 
 nobody could deceive her on his coming and his 
 
 290
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 springing bound, two steps at a time, on the stairs. 
 For herself she was happy; in secret it was only for 
 him that she grieved. 
 
 One Sunday morning in her mother's apartments 
 Ruth, sitting on his knee pulling, while he talked, at 
 his hair, gave a cry. 
 
 "Oh, doctor!" 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 " Here's a gray hair two of them ! three ! " 
 
 " Can you see so well ? " he asked gently ; and Ruth 
 rebuked hid her eyes on his shoulder. 
 
 Not long afterward Doctor Bryson came home half 
 sick. He had taken cold, he said, and would be all 
 right in the morning. It was the first time they had 
 ever known him to complain. He did not go down 
 town, but came to her room to sit with her. She could 
 not see that his eyes were congested; but his hands 
 were cold. 
 
 " You are worrying about something," she said. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Honestly not." 
 
 "What has happened?" 
 
 " Nothing much. Oh, by the way, I've resigned." 
 
 "Resigned?" 
 
 " Day before yesterday." 
 
 She could not hide the shock. He made light of the 
 matter. " I've been overworking since I was sick. I 
 need a rest," was all he said. Tears filled her eyes. 
 
 " Does Mr. Allison know it? " she asked. 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Does June?" 
 
 291
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " No." 
 
 "What will they say?" 
 
 " What need they say ? " 
 
 " Loving you as they do to see you throw away the 
 highest honor in your profession. The prize that any 
 oculist in the world would be proud to hold. Oh, doc- 
 tor, doctor. Who will your successor be?" 
 
 " I don't know. Kurd, I guess." 
 
 She could not control herself. He held her in his 
 arms. " It is I who have brought this calamity," she 
 stammered at last. 
 
 " Why calamity, dear heart? " 
 
 She caught at his arms. " Am I still to ruin your 
 life?" 
 
 " No, I have ruined yours," he replied, quietly. 
 
 " I will never live to be a lifelong drag upon you," 
 she sobbed. 
 
 " You can never die without me ; I promise you 
 that." 
 
 " It is because of my eyes that you are sick and 
 worried. I know why it is." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Oh, why will they not see ? " 
 
 " They'll never right by worrying about them, dar- 
 ling." 
 
 " I worry about you," she whispered, hiding her face 
 on his neck, " not about my eyes." 
 
 " I thought I knew something about sight," he mut- 
 tered. " I don't ; it's a farce to pretend it. I am 
 broken. I cannot tell whether I can ever give back 
 what I have robbed you of. Knowing that, can you 
 marry me ? " 
 
 292
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 ' You have not robbed me of my sight; it was an 
 accident or a punishment. You have given me all the 
 sunshine that has ever come into my life. If I never 
 see again I shall die blessing your name. I loved you 
 when I had no right to " 
 
 " Do not say so ! " 
 
 " I let myself wickedly grow into your life when it 
 was wrong for me to do it; now my punishment has 
 broken your heart. I am blind now, perhaps forever. 
 I release you, Harry. You should not have a blind 
 wife. You need never marry me." 
 
 " Only shame has kept me every day from asking 
 you, my darling, to let me marry you. Will you let 
 me?" 
 
 " Are you sure you know your own heart ? " she fal- 
 tered. " Knowing I am blind, can you marry me? " 
 
 " I ask nothing more on this earth." 
 
 It was long before she spoke. She opened her eyes 
 wide upon his face and her hands slipped about his 
 neck. " Then in God's name, dear one, let me be your 
 wife, and blind though I am, you shall be rewarded 
 for all your goodness or I will die to release you." 
 
 But having so far forgotten herself, Helen Eliot 
 becoming again a free agent demurred with a wom- 
 an's promptitude at appointing the day. He asked for 
 the very next; she pleaded for at least two months. 
 They compromised, late, and to her great horror, on 
 two weeks. When John was told he asked for only one 
 privilege : that of supplying the minister. " I got him 
 in a damage case," explained John to them, with 
 interest and emotion. " He has had trouble and 
 I think he will do," and John's minister did, indeed, 
 
 293
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 prove to be a man of sorrows. Cast upon the lee of 
 penury by a strenuous boulevard congregation, Mr. 
 Carey, starving meanwhile modestly, was awaiting on 
 a side street the Master's call. He had a plump, gray 
 little wife, who on their starvation diet still burst 
 through waists and sleeves but what cannot a good 
 woman do ? She worried over her uncommon assimila- 
 tion, but the less they had to eat the rounder grew Mrs. 
 Carey's shoulders, and she was, in the end, forced to 
 attribute her flesh to the impurities in Chicago drink- 
 ing water. 
 
 Her husband, not satisfied with being stoned by a 
 body of prosperous church trustees, had shortly after- 
 ward fallen foul of one of John's trolley cars, and his 
 demoralization had become complete. After his en- 
 counter with the brethren in the business meeting the 
 unlucky divine had conceived so wretched an idea of 
 his own worth that the thought of making a claim 
 against the street railway company did not occur to 
 him. John's satellites laid the facts before the official 
 head of the Claim Department, and the head, viz., Mr. 
 Allison, expressed a desire to meet so phenomenal a 
 man. He not only made Mr. Carey's acquaintance, 
 but loved him at once. 
 
 When the great day that had been appointed at Miss 
 June's was but one week away, John brought his find, 
 starved and kindly, over to the house to meet those 
 whom he was to join in holy wedlock, and, leaving, the 
 stranger had breathed out of his pitying heart a little 
 prayer over Helen Eliot's sightless eyes and for that 
 Bryson loved him. 
 
 Nothing then would do but that Mrs. Carey should 
 294
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 come over, too. One night the little gray lady came 
 in a basque made for her when she was young and 
 slender, and she crept pretty nearly out of it into 
 Helen's heart with a story. 
 
 " You know," she whispered over on the sofa, while 
 at the other side of the room Mr. Carey was answer- 
 ing some inquiries of John's concerning the position of 
 his young successor in the Boulevard pulpit on the 
 authorship of the ten commandments. " You know," 
 whispered Mrs. Carey, eagerly, as if it were a real ice 
 cream secret, " we live right next door to Madame 
 Laferte's." 
 
 " You do ? " asked Helen, squeezing her roly-poly 
 hand in great surprise. Happy people can always get 
 up an interest even in directories and street numbers 
 and such things. " Why, she is making my dresses." 
 
 " I know it, dear ; it's about that. Her sister, you 
 know, Aggie Lafferty, is her head seamstress." 
 
 "Is she?" 
 
 "They have eighteen sewing girls " 
 
 " Just think of it." 
 
 " And Aggie works so hard and is such a good girl. 
 They had a distressing time getting started, but now 
 they are prosperous," sighed Mrs. Carey. " We have 
 known them two years ; they are Catholics," she added, 
 lowering her voice. Helen only squeezed her hand 
 sympathetically; under the circumstances it seemed 
 the best thing to do, for it might mean " How nice," 
 or, " This is simply dreadful," whichever way you took 
 it. " Two years ago, when Aggie was working her 
 finger-tips off to keep soul and body together, her eyes 
 gave out. She began to go blind," faltered Mrs. Carey, 
 
 295
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 feeling suddenly conscious, " and whom do you think 
 she went to ? Doctor Bryson ! Yes. He worked with 
 her three whole months she had to stay nearly all that 
 time in a dark-room ; but he cured her completely. They 
 lost all their trade, because she couldn't work and they 
 hadn't any money. Oh, they had a hard time. But 
 now she makes these grand party dresses that cost two 
 and three hundred dollars. And when she offered to 
 pay him, dear he must be a very good man ; I don't 
 see how he could ever do anything wrong he wouldn't 
 take a cent for all his trouble, because he saw one day 
 how worn her shoes were and knew they were so 
 poor " She squeezed Helen's hand and Helen 
 squeezed her hand ; it seemed the only thing to do. 
 
 " And now she is making your wedding dress all 
 herself, and she ran over day before yesterday to tell 
 me that they were making such beautiful gowns for a 
 lady that was bl having trouble with her eyes. And 
 I told her Mr. Carey was going to perform the cere- 
 mony and that he had met the lady and that she was 
 going to marry Doctor Bryson ! Oh, Mrs. Eliot ; when 
 I told her she burst into tears and said if that wedding 
 dress was for his bride she would kiss every single 
 stitch in it, and," Mrs. Carey trembled, " she is praying 
 for you : and so are we, dear," and she squeezed Helen's 
 hand very gently ; but Helen asked to hear more about 
 Aggie Lafferty. 
 
 So Mrs. Carey told her how this same wonderful 
 and resourceful Aggie had intervened when the Careys 
 were in the sorest distress to see whether she couldn't 
 do something, and had persuaded Mr. Carey, as a re- 
 luctant concession to her sympathies, to carry in his 
 
 296
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 pocketbook a tiny statue of St. Joseph, telling him it 
 might bring him a new Presbyterian congregation. 
 And how Mr. Carey shortly afterward, with St. Jo- 
 seph asleep in his pocket, had been run down by a 
 trolley car; but when he reproached Aggie for this 
 lapse of her patron Aggie had contended that if 
 it hadn't been for St. Joseph, all the same, he might 
 have been killed. At which Helen laughed happily. 
 There were so many, many inconsequent things to be 
 happy over that night, and when Helen told Doctor 
 Bryson about Aggie he vowed she should be invited to 
 the wedding and bade June, under pains, look to it. 
 
 When all the stunning gowns were sent home and 
 the bill from Madame Laferte's came, no charge could 
 be found for the wedding gown itself: the dreamy 
 gray gown lighting all over into gold and white: the 
 gown that Helen, when she tried it on, stood in draped 
 so queenly that June just dropped on her knees before 
 her and clasped her in her arms. 
 
 So Madame Laferte was interviewed peremptorily 
 by June concerning the omission, and answered, as 
 dressmakers peremptorily will, that Aggie had put 
 every stitch into that gown herself and that no bill for it 
 would ever be rendered by any party of the name of 
 Lafferty: it being solely the sentiments of the house 
 towards the high contracting parties one of whom 
 had long ago cancelled the obligation by preserving 
 the eyesight the gown was planned and executed with. 
 
 Somehow everything went to make it an intensely 
 happy wedding. Not many were there, but they were 
 true hearts Doctor Hoxie and the closest friends on 
 the staff. Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell could not be left out, 
 
 297
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 and Ed Mitchell, satiny and starched and shaven, just 
 from a special meeting of the trustees of the Laflin 
 College for the Ear and Eye, brought an engrossed 
 resolution from that body which, before the ceremony, 
 he presented with a formal bow to Mrs. Bryson to be. 
 And upon her request he read aloud to her and to all, 
 wherein the trustees mindful, etc., etc., had declined 
 to accept the resignation of Henry Elwood Bryson, 
 M. D., Member of this and Fellow of that, but had, in 
 stead, granted him leave of absence for one year with 
 the hope that when his private affairs permitted he 
 would resume his duties all duly signed and attested. 
 
 " Mrs. Mitchell has had the silversmiths working 
 overtime since she heard of this thing," said Mr. 
 Mitchell, confidentially to the bride-elect. " I don't 
 know what she's got out of it. Whatever it is, it's in 
 that trunk over there. But this resolution is my pres- 
 ent to you." 
 
 Mary Montague, too, had her special offering for 
 the occasion. To Doctor Bryson a miniature, such as 
 royalty loves, of his bride; to her a miniature of her 
 husband, done long ago, Mary said, for this very wed- 
 ding day when it should come; for Mary's faith had 
 been of the kind that sees through mountains. Nor did 
 Tune, even, come empty handed it was she who 
 poured over the nuptials the libation of old maid's tears 
 and what tears make purer benediction ? 
 
 298
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 4 4 "PRANKLY," wrote Doctor Bryson to John Alli- 
 JL son from Vienna six months later, " we are 
 very nearly the happiest people on this earth in spite of 
 everything strange tongues, strange beers, strange 
 dishes, and the strange mist that still hangs over dear 
 Helen's eyes. Sometimes we think her sight improves. 
 Again we know or unhappily, John, I know that 
 hope once more has juggled us. Perhaps that is why 
 the men on this side have a little disappointed me. It is 
 my fault ; I expected too much. An old fellow in Paris 
 caught my heart with an unlocked for compliment. 
 ' My dear doctor/ he asked, with a shrug, ' why 
 have you brought her over to me? I have just sent a 
 woman, with as extraordinary a case of hysterical am- 
 blyopia, over to you.' But he gave me no light : only 
 believes as I believe can't help believing that she 
 will see yet. We are all gropers, John, though it 
 is only among the elect that we admit it. Ruth likes 
 everything immensely, and learns French and German 
 fast. I show her as a star Jonnesco case; the scar on 
 her neck is completely hidden by her hair. Helen 
 would like to leave her in Munich for a year, as Mary 
 M. wanted, if the two could stand the separation 
 which they can't. 
 
 " And now I shall surprise you with the announce- 
 ment that our stay over here is for very good and re- 
 markable reasons to be cut short. They are not reasons 
 
 299
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 that would appeal to a bachelor, so I shall not enter 
 into them, but I shall be glad to have you instruct June 
 to fire all boarders, positively, by the first of October. 
 We want a quiet house this winter and I reckon you do, 
 too. Mary M. we shall pick up in London on our way 
 home and bring with us. That much we have settled 
 without your intervention, my son. Helen and I are 
 rejoiced that you are to be married in October; you 
 two are missing everything by living at different ends 
 of the earth. Art is all right, John, but the great art 
 in this life, as far as I've studied life and art, is for two 
 people that love each other to get together and to stay 
 together and to keep on staying together in the 
 quietest possible old-fashioned way. And I so told 
 Mary Miniature Montague last spring in London. And 
 she denied not, which I took as long ago as that for a 
 hopeful sign for you." 
 
 John met the Brysons and his sweetheart at Quaran- 
 tine. He couldn't wait for the landing to get sight of 
 Mary M. who, wrapped in the most English of serges 
 for a frame, peeped at him like one of her very own 
 miniatures, only greatly excited. 
 
 When the party reached Chicago, June and Jim 
 boarded the train at Sixty-third Street, and for a few 
 minutes turned one sleeping car into a camp-meeting. 
 
 Ruth had grown tall and Viennese, and her 
 braided hair, in the misty gray of the Lake Michi- 
 gan landscape, looked wonderfully dark to June. Doc- 
 tor Bryson's legs, too, appeared to have grown. Pos- 
 sibly it was the swelling tide in June's eyes that length- 
 ened them as with the bit sleeker air of the travelled 
 man he hurried forward, cavalier-like, to kiss June, 
 
 300
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 whirl her and lead her back to where Helen, with a 
 start and a flush and a face all life, held out her hands. 
 June swept her up in a volume of skirts and sleeves 
 and hat and tears and she disappeared. But she 
 emerged from June's embrace, shook her feathers the 
 least, the very least bit, and stood there again with all 
 the demure charm that made June ache to muss her all 
 over again. Then Mary Montague glided up to go 
 through June's wringer, and John Allison intervened 
 to ask June what she had for dinner, and for the second 
 time that day was told it was none of his business 
 the first time being in the morning when he persisted 
 in asking Mary M. why the Brysons had come home 
 so all of a sudden. 
 
 The dinner table that night was like a banquet with 
 everybody trying at once to make the speeches. After 
 the dessert came and the wine had got entirely clear of 
 the ice, the party had settled down to regular story- 
 telling and June, who under a few sips of cham- 
 pagne was nothing if not cheerfully ferocious, asked 
 Jim, behind her chair, to tell how Doctor Kurd had 
 tried after Bryson left to take possession of the College 
 office of the surgeon-in-chief of the eye and what had 
 happened. Under the inspiration of the moment the 
 details at the hands of James lost nothing. He told 
 how carefully Doctor Kurd and the janitor had laid 
 the plot. How Kurd's things had been moved in and 
 Doctor Bryson's effects moved out, and how Doctor 
 Hoxie had one morning accidentally discovered the 
 situation, and without a word personally thrown the 
 strenuous man into the receiving-room and had been 
 prevented only by Jim from casting Kurd's ophthal- 
 
 301
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 mometer and Javal arrangements after him. Doctor 
 Bryson held his head in his hands over the table to 
 laugh. 
 
 " Why, Doctor ! " exclaimed June, leaning forward 
 with an accusing glare, " what in the world's the matter 
 with your head ? " 
 
 " My head ? Nothing, except it's a little congested 
 just at present." 
 
 " Why, you're as gray as a badger ! " declared June, 
 looking around the table amazed. " Look at him ! " 
 Poor June; she hadn't been warned of the proscribed 
 subject. 
 
 Helen took the shock without a sign. She had 
 learned that with confidence final, love over all, she 
 could still be happy even without sight. If more to 
 fill life were needed, the awed happiness of the new 
 mystery, soon to bind her closer to him, supplied it. 
 
 Other concerns, too, were crowding upon her. John 
 and Mary Montague were to be married, and all sorts 
 of doings were to be done in order that the miniature 
 couple, as her husband called them, might be started 
 aright. Ruth was to be put to school, a new home was 
 to be looked up the coming year, and the doctor must 
 be urged back to his work ; that she knew was his only 
 salvation. 
 
 Once, coming in to dinner, her husband found her 
 alone in the dusk of the parlor at the piano. While, 
 unheard by her, he stood listening, the chords she was 
 breaking ran unexpectedly into " The Flatterer." It 
 seemed to him she had never coaxed it so subtly from 
 the keys. When she had done he spoke to her and bent 
 softly on his knee for her kiss and told her surely she 
 
 302
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 never had played so well. Then she laughed and 
 wanted to ask something of him. 
 
 "What is it, darling?" 
 
 " If I should die, I want you to marry again " He 
 groaned a protest. " You know that, dear one," she 
 continued, inflexibly. " But I don't want you ever to 
 ask her," she whispered, " to play ' The Flatterer.' You 
 won't, will you ? Now don't make fun of me ; promise." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I do promise," he laughed, clinging to her 
 fingers. 
 
 " I want you to remember me by that. Never ask 
 for it ; but sometime sometimes you may hear it. I 
 shall be near you then, perhaps, when you hear ' La 
 Lisonjera.' Why not? Couldn't I inspire somebody 
 to play it?" 
 
 " Oh, my darling, you could inspire anything." 
 
 " But you won't ever ask for it. And if I like your 
 second wife real well," she lowered her tone, " I may 
 let her play it once in a while and you will know I'm 
 listening." 
 
 " And if I shouldn't get married what's the matter 
 with the pianola ? " he retorted with an effort. " You 
 might work the pianola. Say, let's go. If you keep 
 on I shall have the jim-jams; honestly I shall. I can 
 stand a good deal, but I'm not all cast iron. You're 
 not going to die for a hundred years, my pet. You 
 haven't begun to live yet. I mean to show you before 
 you die what life is." 
 
 It was more than two months afterward with April 
 opening rainy and shiny soft sometimes and misty, 
 then bleak again; but with the sense and promise of 
 spring in the wind and the sun and the sky that a call 
 
 303
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 reached Doctor Bryson over the telephone. When he 
 got to the house Ruth was in her mother's arms. Her 
 mother was bidding her good-bye for a little while, 
 she said. Mrs. Goddard was waiting to take Ruth to 
 the North Side to spend the day with friends. But 
 there was a strange wistfulness this time in the mother's 
 kiss of good-bye, and little Ruth, all innocent of why 
 mamma's eyes should brim to-day, left her just as Doc- 
 tor Bryson came hastening in. He caught his wife's 
 head close to his breast. 
 
 " I am afraid," she whispered. " I am afraid." 
 
 " No, no ; you need not be." 
 
 " If I could see it would not seem so so terrible, 
 Harry." She clutched his hands convulsively. "If it 
 were not for you I should die of fear." 
 
 Ruth's voice came suddenly from below. " Good- 
 bye, mamma ! " 
 
 " Good-bye," answered her mother, starting up. 
 
 " I will bring you some flowers to-night when I 
 come, mamma." 
 
 " Thank you, darling ; good-bye." 
 
 The door bell rang at intervals during the morning. 
 At noontime those in the house tiptoed about, and up- 
 stairs it was very quiet. At the table June tried to serve 
 Mrs. Allison, but failed miserably and only sat and 
 glared with a troubled look. So Mrs. Allison, helping 
 herself to what was to be eaten, pretended she was eat- 
 ing pretended to sip of her chocolate, but really only 
 talked random-wise at June's unfleshed eyes and empty 
 face. 
 
 The minutes with her of whom they spoke went 
 slow: the hours went sometimes slow, sometimes 
 
 304
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 fast, with a question brooding over her unanswered. 
 Sometimes she called her husband's name , and he 
 silently pressed her hand. Sometimes she asked if it 
 was noon ; and it was noon. Sometimes she asked 
 if it was night; and at last it was night. Ruth 
 came with her flowers for mamma, but they told her, 
 whispering, to give them to Miss June and to eat sup- 
 per quietly and to go up to Miss June's room to bed, 
 because mamma was nervous and could not bear any 
 noise. 
 
 " But mamma must hear my night prayers ; she 
 hears them every night," protested Ruth in alarm. 
 
 " You can say your prayers to me," snapped the 
 venerable sceptic, tart with anxiety. But Ruth was 
 not tart. She was meek and lamblike as June took her 
 to the third floor. And so it came to pass that while 
 her gentle petitions were breathed above, a babe was 
 born into the world a brother to the little girl that 
 prayed a child to her who suffered a son to him who, 
 while the infant wailed in the nurse's lap, kissed its 
 mother's forehead. 
 
 " I thought " he whispered, hushed with a new peni- 
 tence, when at last her eyes opened, " I said brutally 
 once that you did not know what love was; it was I 
 who did not know," and the pressure of one weak hand 
 gave love's forgiveness quick to his heart. 
 
 " You must go and rest now," she murmured. 
 
 "I rest?" 
 
 '"' It is late. Tell me who he looks like, Harry." 
 
 " As like you, my darling, as anything you ever saw 
 who should he look like ? " 
 
 305
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 " Put him beside me, nurse," she said, softly. " He 
 is quiet now. I want to feel him on my arm." 
 
 It was eleven o'clock when the new picture was made. 
 Doctor Bryson, leaving for the first time, went down to 
 Julie's sleepy dinner, then, without undressing, threw 
 himself on a couch in an adjoining room for the night. 
 At daybreak, when the nurse touched his shoulder, he 
 started with the quick perception that follows sleep 
 after anxious strain. 
 
 " Mrs. Bryson wants to see you, doctor." 
 " What's the matter ? " he demanded, throwing back 
 his blanket. 
 
 " Nothing bad, I think ; she wants to see you." 
 He hurried to her. In the east the sun rising out of 
 the lake shot golden dawn under the partly drawn 
 shades. As she lay, the early radiance rested on her 
 face a wan and girlish face now such a face as 
 comes out of suffering; suffering, that sometimes, 
 like death, gives girlhood for a few hours back to 
 womanhood. He saw on her face again the expression 
 that had moved him the first time of all he ever had 
 seen her and it moved him again with a thrill of hap- 
 piness. But was it only this that made her expression 
 strangely sweet? her face all a-flutter of rapturous 
 alarm? her baby again upon her arm and an arm 
 stretched with speaking fingers toward her husband? 
 " Harry," she cried, faintly, " I can see." 
 He staggered. " What is it you say? " 
 " Kiss me, kiss your baby. Oh, there are lines in 
 your face since I saw it, Harry " 
 " Tell me, for God's sake, more." 
 " This morning," she fluttered, " I felt the daylight 
 306
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 through my eyelids so strong, and baby woke crying 
 and I opened my eyes and saw his little face. That 
 was the first thing I saw, right at my side. How 
 could you say he looked like me, flatterer," she faltered. 
 " He is the picture of you." 
 
 He hung faint upon her words, kissed her eyes, 
 looked wondering into them, question and joy broken 
 with thanksgiving. It came back as it had gone out, 
 this light of her deep eyes, without warning they could 
 read, without reason they could know. It was ; it was 
 not ; and again it was to crown at last the dear dignity 
 of her wifehood and motherhood. That was a stormy 
 day, the day that Master Harry little Bryson was one 
 day old, and it was noised abroad that out of the mys- 
 tery and into the world he had brought with him sight 
 to his mother's eyes. 
 
 " Why, John," declared Bryson, with the frank 
 abasement that put conviction behind all his words, 
 " John," he repeated, musing over the baby as he held 
 it up for a first sight to his bewildered friend, " he's 
 a better man at the business this minute than I am. 
 There's nothing in the books that matches this. Here 
 I've been studying the eye all my life, and he comes 
 along and in six hours makes a cure that I've been 
 worrying myself grayheaded over for a year. Shake 
 hands with your uncle, kid. You'll be giving every- 
 body in this house points on ophthalmology before 
 you're a week old. Here, nurse ; by Jove, he seems to 
 be getting ready to tie himself up in a bowknot ; take 
 
 him, won't you please ? " 
 
 ***** 
 
 37
 
 Doctor Bryson 
 
 A new house was opened that year in Kenwood with 
 a baby boy for king. T.here is a sister princess there, 
 Ruth, of eleven years, and to the monarch there are 
 servitors, the chiefest a venerable maid, by courtesy 
 aunt Aunt June who might in a regular way be 
 called housekeeper ; but her principal business is quar- 
 reling with Master Harry Bryson's nurse, who is dis- 
 posed to enforce theories concerning his infantile 
 habits. 
 
 " You might just as well come and live with us," 
 Doctor Bryson had said to June when the Allisons 
 went to homekeeping. " I shall have to run your es- 
 tablishment, anyway ; it's cheaper for me to have you 
 here in the house and besides I don't have the worry of 
 your staying out nights." 
 
 He is, they say, precisely the same Henry Elwood 
 Bryson, M. D., Fellow and Member and everything, 
 save for his very gray hair. But Mrs. Allison, who 
 rather piques herself on being an authority on effects, 
 holds that this is not unbecoming, not in the least; 
 rather, it adds presence, she declares, to the youthful- 
 ness of the Dean of the Laflin faculty. 
 
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