It seemed a long time before Miss Ryan came back, but the delay was
justified. Upon a tray she bore three plates. What there was in two of
them Dr. Joe never knew, but what she set before him was a miracle.
Cheese and eggs and toast were part of it, but there must have been
other things.
His spirits revived, and so did Frankie’s. He made jokes, and Frankie
laughed at them. So did Miss Ryan, but in a different way. Dr. Joe
suspected that something was amiss with her, and later, when he was
helping her on with her coat, he felt sure of it. The light in the hall
was dim, and he bent nearer. It was true--there were tears in her eyes.
He said nothing at the moment. He waited until he had got them snugly
stowed into the car, Miss Ryan beside him, with Frankie on her lap.
“What’s wrong, Miss Ryan?” he asked, in his blunt way.
“Why, nothing!” she answered brightly.
He knew there was, though. She wasn’t the sort of girl to have tears in
her eyes for nothing. He thought about it for awhile, and then he came
to a conclusion.
“Miss Ryan,” he inquired, “what do you do?”
In his wide experience of other people’s troubles, he had learned the
terrible and pitiful importance of jobs, or the lack of them.
“Well, doctor,” she replied, “I play the piano in the music department
of the Novelty Bazaar.”
“In the basement,” said Dr. Joe. “That’s not much of a job.”
He was acquainted with the Novelty Bazaar and its system of ventilation.
“Oh, it might be worse,” she returned cheerfully.
“Not very much,” said Dr. Joe.
Again he was silent, thinking of Miss Ryan at work in the basement of
the Novelty Bazaar.
“I’m going to get you another job,” he announced abruptly.
“I wish you’d get yourself another housekeeper!” she cried, with a
vehemence that startled him. “I never saw--anything so--awful. It’s a
sh-shame!”
“See here!” said he, astounded. “You’re not crying about _that_?”
“I’m not c-crying at all,” replied Miss Ryan, with dignity. “Only--when
I saw that kitchen--and that dinner--it’s cruel!”
This made him laugh.
“Cruel?” he said. “Mrs. MacAdams cruel? Poor old soul! She’s--”
“It is cruel,” said Miss Ryan, “when you’re so busy and so--wonderfully
kind and good.”
He had been called kind and good often enough before in his life, but it
had never sounded like this. He looked at Molly Ryan. The interior of
the little car was well lighted, so that he could see her clearly,
sitting there beside him, with Frankie in her strong young arms, and
those blue eyes of hers misty. Kind? He wasn’t the only one.
“It’s down this street,” she told him. “There--that’s the house--with
the white fence.”
He stopped the car before the house--such a poor, forlorn little house
it was--and Miss Ryan tried to set Frankie on his feet; but Frankie
would not stand. Limp and dazed with sleep, he sank down on the floor of
the car.
“I’ll carry him,” said Dr. Joe. “Come on! We’ll make a dash for it.”
So they did make a dash for it, through the pelting rain, to the veranda
of the poor little house, and Miss Ryan rang the bell. Nothing happened.
She waited a moment, rang again, and then opened the door with a
latchkey.
Dr. Joe followed her inside, still carrying Frankie. She had lighted an
oil lamp on the table, and, as he came in out of the stormy darkness,
there was a picture he did not soon forget. It was a very little room,
and a very humble one; it was not tastefully furnished; indeed, regarded
in detail, it was quite the contrary; but it was a home. It was clean
and neat and blessedly tranquil in the lamplight. It was a house with a
heart--and Molly Ryan was in it.
Frankie came to life now.
“Where’s Katie?” he demanded.
“She’s left a note,” said Molly. “I don’t understand. She’s never gone
out so late before; but perhaps some of the people she works for sent
for her.”
The girl looked perplexed and troubled. Dr. Joe was perplexed, too.
“People she works for?” he repeated. “Thought she was the boy’s nurse.”
“She is,” answered Molly; “only while he’s at school she--she does other
things.”
“What other things?”
For a moment Molly looked dignified, and as if she would not answer, but
she thought better of it. She looked up at Dr. Joe with the
straightforward glance that he liked so well.
“She does day’s work, Dr. Joe--scrubbing and cleaning.”
“But see here--I don’t understand this! Do you mean to tell me that the
boy’s parents have gone off and left him with his nurse, and haven’t
given her any money to look after the child?”
“She does look after him!” cried Miss Ryan hotly. “He goes to the
Lessell Academy. He’s getting the best education and the best care--”
“I’m sure of that,” interrupted Dr. Joe. “What I don’t understand is why
his nurse has to go out scrubbing by the day. Why does the child live
here? Why don’t his parents--”
“They can’t help it!” said Miss Ryan. Her cheeks were flaming, her blue
eyes alight. “They’ve done the best they can. They’re the--the finest,
most splendid people in the world. They--they just are!”
Dr. Joe respected her loyal defense; but he didn’t agree with her. He
felt pretty sure now that Katie and this girl were burdened with the
entire support of the boy, that they went shabby while he was well
dressed, that they worked, scrubbing floors and playing the piano in the
Novelty Bazaar, while Frankie went to an expensive private school. To
his thinking, there was no possible excuse for parents who would do such
a thing.
“See here!” he said. “I’ve got to go now--patients waiting for me. Send
Frankie to me again to-morrow. No trouble to me. Fact is, I rather like
to have him.”
Miss Ryan held out her hand, and Dr. Joe took it. He didn’t know what to
say to her. He couldn’t very well ask her to come to see him, and he
didn’t quite know how to suggest coming to see her; so he only gripped
her little hand and said nothing, and it made him very unhappy. He
wanted to see her, not just some time in the indefinite future, but the
very next day and all other days. Going away from her was going away
from home.
V
The next day was a dismal day by nature, and Mrs. MacAdams did nothing
to make it better. She gave Dr. Joe the worst breakfast he had yet had,
and she presented a curious and disturbing appearance. She had a bandage
around her throat and another around her left wrist, and a plug of
cotton wool in one ear. Time was when Dr. Joe would have made kindly
inquiries about these matters, but not now. He had learned that her
troubles were all due to opening the door for patients, to answering the
telephone, or to going up and down the stairs; and as he couldn’t remove
the cause, he was obliged to ignore the symptoms.
Nevertheless it disturbed him and made him feel guilty, and he set off
to make his rounds in an unusually downcast mood. He did not forget that
he had promised Molly Ryan to find her another job. Indeed, he forgot
nothing at all about Molly--not even the way her dark hair curled above
her ears; but his morning was too busy and hurried, and he had no chance
to serve her. And this made him feel worse.
When he came home at lunch time, he did not run up the steps. He walked,
and this gave him an opportunity to observe that the glass in the door
was grimy and the curtain covering it limp and spotted. He was about to
fling open the door when, to his surprise, it was opened for him. It was
opened by Miss Ryan, hatless, and wearing an apron.
“Lots of people in the waiting room,” she whispered. “Your lunch is all
ready.”
“See here!” he cried, astounded, but she had hurried off down the
passage.
He followed her into the dining room. There was a clean cloth on the
table, and its radiance dazzled him. There was a wonderful aroma in the
air.
“Sit down!” said she, and vanished into the kitchen.
He did sit down, dazed and helpless. In a minute back she came, with a
broiled steak such as no man had ever eaten before, and fried potatoes,
and tomato salad, and other things.
“Please eat it while it’s nice and hot,” she said.
“See here!” cried Dr. Joe again. “What are you doing here?”
“Begin to eat, then!” she insisted sternly. “Well, you see, you must
have dropped your notebook out of your pocket last night. I found it on
the veranda this morning, and I thought I’d better bring it to you. When
I came, that Mrs. MacAdams--well, she marched upstairs and got her hat
and coat, and she said--”
Miss Ryan paused.
“Well, what did she say?” the doctor asked.
“All sorts of nasty, silly things,” answered Molly, growing very red.
“Anyhow, she went out of the house and said she was never coming back
if--”
“If what?”
“Oh, nothing!” said Miss Ryan hastily. “Only--she went. Some one had to
get your lunch, so I stayed.”
“You--stayed!” Dr. Joe repeated, as if stunned. “You--stayed!”
Miss Ryan grew redder than ever.
“It wasn’t anything to do,” she said. “I couldn’t go to work, anyway, on
account of Frankie, because grandma hasn’t come back yet.” Her face
changed. “I can’t help thinking it’s queer,” she went on anxiously. “I
can’t help worrying. She never did such a thing before. She just left a
note.”
The girl hesitated for a moment. Then from the pocket of her apron she
drew out a piece of wrapping paper and handed it to him. On it was
printed, in pencil:
i have to go away a wile--gran.
Miss Ryan watched Dr. Joe while he read it; then their eyes met.
“She’s the finest woman God ever made,” said Molly quietly. “She’s done
everything in the world for me. She’s worked and slaved so that I could
have an education--and all the things she’s never been able to have.”
Dr. Joe understood all that she meant him to understand, and he loved
her for it. Yes, he admitted that he loved her. He knew it wasn’t the
proper time to love her; he had only seen her twice. But he did, just
the same.
“Molly Ryan!” he said.
Even the tips of Miss Ryan’s ears grew red.
“I--I can’t think about anything but grandma just now,” she said.
“I’m--I’m so worried about her!”
“I’ll look after her,” said Dr. Joe. “I’ll see that she doesn’t go out
scrubbing any more. I’ll look after Frankie, too; and if you’ll only let
me--”
“There’s the doorbell!” cried Molly.
“I’ll go!” said Dr. Joe.
“Oh, do please eat your nice hot lunch!” said she.
“Won’t have you waiting on me!” he returned.
They both reached the doorway at the same instant, and there was not
room there for the broad-shouldered doctor and any one else; so he
turned, and they faced each other.
“Won’t you let me help you?” he said. “I don’t know how to explain--it
has come so suddenly. Of course, I know you don’t--of course, you
can’t--but--”
“It’s the lunch,” said Miss Ryan. “You’re so glad to get a decent meal.”
“It’s not!” he denied indignantly. “It’s--if you’d only just come here
twice a day, and stand in the hall and smile when I come in!”
Then they both began to laugh.
“It’s not a joke, though,” said Dr. Joe.
“I know it,” said she. “I didn’t mean to be silly and horrid; only,
until grandma comes back--”
The doorbell rang again. This time Molly got ahead of him, and ran down
the passage.
“Grandma!” she cried, as she opened the door.
Katie entered with a bland smile.
“Good day to ye, doctor!” she said.
Dr. Joe was remarkably glad to see her again.
“Well!” he said, with a smile. “You’ve been causing a good deal of
anxiety--”
“It’s sorry I am for that,” she broke in; “but it couldn’t be helped at
all.”
“But where--” Molly began.
“Whisht now!” said Katie. “It’s about Frankie I’ve come. Ye had the bye
with ye yesterday; and what did ye think of him, doctor dear?”
“I was talking to Miss Ryan about that,” replied Dr. Joe seriously. “I’d
just told her that I’d be glad to look after the boy, and--”
“D’ye mean it, doctor dear? D’ye mean ye’ll make a doctor out of him?”
she cried.
“If that’s what he wants when--”
Katie looked steadily at him for a minute, then she turned toward the
door.
“My work’s done,” she said. “Ye’ve tould me ye’d make a doctor of him,
an’ ye’ll do it. Good day to ye, doctor dear!”
“Here! Wait a minute!” he called. “I’d like to speak to you. Come in and
have lunch with me.”
Katie stopped and faced him again, and he was aware of a fine dignity in
her.
“Ye’d ask an ould woman like me to sit down at the table with ye?” she
inquired gravely.
Dr. Joe flushed a little.
“I have asked you,” he said.
Her keen little eyes were still fixed on his face.
“Then ye’re not one o’ thim that--then ye’d not think the worse of
Frankie if his parents wasn’t the grand, rich people they are?”
“See here!” said Dr. Joe. “You have some mighty queer ideas!”
“It is not myself has the queer ideas,” said she. “It’s others has thim.
I’m an ould woman, an’ I have seen a lot. If Frankie’s parents wasn’t
Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer Depew of New York, he’d niver have been took into
that academy; but they writ a latter, the two o’ thim, and he is there.”
“Granny!” cried Molly.
“Whisht now!” said the other. “I know well what I’m doin’. Didn’t I see
the way it wint with me own bye? If Frankie was to be the greatest
doctor that ever lived, he’d niver be the equal o’ that bye. He come
here from the ould country, and not a penny in his pockets. It was in
his head he’d be a doctor; so he worked in the days and studied in the
nights. Thim that had money had all their time for the studyin’, and
they wint ahead of him. Five years he took for that they’d do in two,
him workin’ in a garage in the days. Thin what does he do but get
married? A fine girl she was, too--a fine girl. ‘She’ll help me,’ says
he, ‘for she’s had a grand education.’ A school-teacher she was, a fine
girl. Thin Molly was born, and the two o’ thim schemin’ and plannin’ the
way she’d be a doctor’s daughter, and the grand time she’d have of it.
Thin the war came and he wint, like the rest o’ thim, and in the end of
it he was kilt; and it wasn’t so long before the poor girl died, too.”
Katie was silent for a moment. “But it’s different with Frankie,” she
said. “He’ll have a grand chance!”
“He will,” said Dr. Joe. “He would, even if his parents weren’t Mr. and
Mrs. Mortimer Depew of New York.”
She gave the doctor a startled, sidelong glance.
“But they are!” she insisted.
“Certainly, if you say so,” agreed Dr. Joe; “but I can’t help thinking
that it’s rather a pity. A father like that boy of yours, for instance,
would be some one he could be proud of.”
“And an ould grandmother that scrubs floors?”
“I couldn’t think of a much better one,” said Dr. Joe, pretending not to
notice that she was hastily wiping her eyes.
“Whatever way it is,” she said, “I had me mind made up Frankie should
get his chance. And now ye’ve promised me, doctor dear, and I can go off
home to me brother in the ould country.”
“Granny!” cried Molly. “But what about me? You can’t--”
The old woman laid her hand on Molly’s shoulder.
“Ye’ll get on, acushla,” she said gently. “I want to go back to the ould
country, and to what frinds is left me there. You’ll get on, you and
Frankie, the both o’ ye. Where is the bye?”
“He’s in the kitchen, eating his lunch. But, granny--”
“Lave him come here,” said she, “so I can have a word with him.”
When Molly had gone, she turned again to the doctor.
“Studyin’ music, she was, and goin’ to be one o’ thim--thim that gives
concerts an’ all,” she told him; “but I couldn’t go on with it.
Frankie’s a bye, and it’s a bye has to have the chance.”
“You may be sure that if there’s anything I can do for her,” said Dr.
Joe, “I will.”
“Well, there might be something,” said Katie judicially. Then Dr. Joe
was astounded to see a grin on the old woman’s face--not a smile, but a
broad grin. “Doctor dear,” she continued, “didn’t I pick ye out, the day
I saw ye in the clinic, an’ me there with Mrs. O’Day? Didn’t I know if
ye once set eyes on the two o’ thim--Frankie and Molly--ye’d be a frind
to thim? I’m an ould woman. I cannot do much more for thim. I wint off
to Mrs. O’Day’s last night, the way ye’d get better acquainted with
thim. Sure, ye’re not angry with me, doctor dear?”
He was not.
* * * * *
On Sunday morning Mrs. Bennett telephoned to Dr. Joe, to remind him that
he had promised to come to dinner that night. She knew by his tone that
he had forgotten all about it.
“But--yes, of course,” he said. “I--yes; but see here! I--I’m sorry, but
I’ll have to ask Molly.”
“Molly, Dr. Joe?”
“Yes,” he answered, with immense pride. “Girl I’m going to marry next
month. Can’t very well make any arrangements without consulting Molly,
you know!”
MUNSEY’S
MAGAZINE
NOVEMBER, 1925
Vol. LXXXVI NUMBER 2