The Greatest Works of Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Charlotte Perkins Gilman
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gets to where he doesn't care a hang for anything. Seeing you again makes a lot of difference, Vivian. I think, perhaps—I could take a new start."
"Oh do! Do!" she said eagerly. "You're young enough, Morton. You can do anything if you'll make up your mind to it."
"And you'll help me?"
"Of course I'll help you—if I can," said she.
A feeling of sincere remorse for wasted opportunities rose in the young man's mind; also, in the presence of this pure-eyed girl, a sense of shame for his previous habits. He walked to the window, his hands in his pockets, and looked out blankly for a moment.
"A fellow does a lot of things he shouldn't," he began, clearing his throat; she met him more than half way with the overflowing generosity of youth and ignorance:
"Never mind what you've done, Morton—you're going to do differently now! Susie'll be so proud of you—and Aunt Orella!"
"And you?" He turned upon her suddenly.
"Oh—I? Of course! I shall be very proud of my old friend."
She met his eyes bravely, with a lovely look of hope and courage, and again his heart smote him.
"I hope you will," he said and straightened his broad shoulders manfully.
"Morton Elder!" cried his aunt, bustling in with deep concern in her voice, "What's this I hear about you're having a sore throat?"
"Nothing, I hope," said he cheerfully.
"Now, Morton"—Vivian showed new solicitude—"you know you have got a sore throat; Susie told me."
"Well, I wish she'd hold her tongue," he protested. "It's nothing at all—be all right in a jiffy. No, I won't take any of your fixings, Auntie."
"I want Dr. Bellair to look at it anyhow," said his aunt, anxiously. "She'll know if it's diphtheritic or anything. She's coming in."
"She can just go out again," he said with real annoyance. "If there's anything I've no use for it's a woman doctor!"
"Oh hush, hush!" cried Vivian, too late.
"Don't apologize," said Dr. Bellair from her doorway. "I'm not in the least offended. Indeed, I had rather surmised that that was your attitude; I didn't come in to prescribe, but to find Mrs. Pettigrew."
"Want me?" inquired the old lady from her doorway. "Who's got a sore throat?"
"Morton has," Vivian explained, "and he won't let Aunt Rella—why where is she?"
Miss Elder had gone out as suddenly as she had entered.
"Camphor's good for sore throat," Mrs. Pettigrew volunteered. "Three or four drops on a piece of sugar. Is it the swelled kind, or the kind that smarts?"
"Oh—Halifax!" exclaimed Morton, disgustedly. "It isn't any kind. I haven't a sore throat."
"Camphor's good for cold sores; you have one of them anyhow," the old lady persisted, producing a little bottle and urging it upon Morton. "Just keep it wet with camphor as often as you think of it, and it'll go away."
Vivian looked on, interested and sympathetic, but Morton put his hand to his lip and backed away.
"If you ladies don't stop trying to doctor me, I'll clear out to-morrow, so there!"
This appalling threat was fortunately unheard by his aunt, who popped in again at this moment, dragging Dr. Hale with her. Dr. Bellair smiled quietly to herself.
"I wouldn't tell him what I wanted him for, or he wouldn't have come, I'm sure—doctors are so funny," said Miss Elder, breathlessly, "but here he is. Now, Dr. Hale, here's a foolish boy who won't listen to reason, and I'm real worried about him. I want you to look at his throat."
Dr. Hale glanced briefly at Morton's angry face.
"The patient seems to be of age, Miss Elder; and, if you'll excuse me, does not seem to have authorized this call."
"My affectionate family are bound to have me an invalid," Morton explained. "I'm in imminent danger of hot baths, cold presses, mustard plasters, aconite, belladonna and quinine—and if I can once reach my hat—"
He sidled to the door and fled in mock terror.
"Thank you for your good intentions, Miss Elder," Dr. Hale remarked drily. "You can bring water to the horse, but you can't make him drink it, you see."
"Now that that young man has gone we might have a game of whist," Mrs. Pettigrew suggested, looking not ill-pleased.
"For which you do not need me in the least," and Dr. Hale was about to leave, but Dr. Bellair stopped him.
"Don't be an everlasting Winter woodchuck, Dick! Sit down and play; do be good. I've got to see old Mrs. Graham yet; she refuses to go to sleep without it—knowing I'm so near. By by."
Mrs. Pettigrew insisted on playing with Miss Elder, so Vivian had the questionable pleasure of Dr. Hale as a partner. He was an expert, used to frequent and scientific play, and by no means patient with the girl's mistakes.
He made no protest at a lost trick, but explained briefly between hands what she should have remembered and how the cards lay, till she grew quite discouraged.
Her game was but mediocre, played only to oblige; and she never could see why people cared so much about a mere pastime. Pride came to her rescue at last; the more he criticised, the more determined she grew to profit by all this advice; but her mind would wander now and then to Morton, to his young life so largely wasted, it appeared, and to what hope might lie before him. Could she be the help and stimulus he seemed to think? How much did he mean by asking her to help him?
"Why waste a thirteenth trump on your partner's thirteenth card?" Dr. Hale was asking.
She flushed a deep rose color and lifted appealing eyes to him.
"Do forgive me; my mind was elsewhere."
"Will you not invite it to return?" he suggested drily.
He excused himself after a few games, and the girl at last was glad to have him go. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts.
Mrs. Pettigrew, sitting unaccountably late at her front window, watched the light burn steadily in the small office at the opposite corner. Presently she saw a familiar figure slip in there, and, after a considerable stay, come out quietly, cross the street, and let himself in at their door.
"Huh!" said Mrs. Pettigrew.
CHAPTER VII. SIDE LIGHTS.
High shines the golden shield in front,
To those who are not blind;
And clear and bright
In all men's sight,
The silver shield behind.
In breadth and sheen each face is seen;
How tall it is, how wide;
But its thinness shows
To only those
Who stand on either side.
Theophile wept aloud in the dining-room, nursing one hand in the other, like a hurt monkey.
Most of the diners had departed, but Professor Toomey and Mr. Cuthbert still lingered about Miss Susie's corner, to the evident displeasure of Mr. Saunders, who lingered also.
Miss Susie smiled upon them all; and Mr. Saunders speculated endlessly as to whether this was due to her general friendliness of disposition, to an interest in pleasing her aunt's boarders, to personal preference, or, as he sometimes imagined, to a desire to