WHICH HOUSE?
The doctor did not share David's opinion. He shook his head gravely,
looked important and said, "It's lucky I got here so soon." Then he
brightened a little. "But it's a lovely clean cut and we'll do what we
can."
So, he stopped the flow of blood, washed out the wound with an antiseptic
solution and took several stitches; which hurt much worse than Smith's
knife had. Then he ordered David to the hospital. But by that time some
one had got Jonathan by telephone and he said, "No, bring him here." And
David protesting in vain, an ambulance took him to Jonathan's house and
gentle hands laid him on the bed of the special guest-room. A nurse was
installed and in time David fell asleep.
Through the night Jonathan watched, stealing every few minutes to David's
bedside. It was not at all necessary; the nurse slept, no fears
disturbing her slumbers. But Jonathan wanted to watch. He kept thinking
that David might have died. He shuddered and went pale at the thought.
For Jonathan had loved David; he loved him even now.
The bitterness of that day was gone; so much could a little letting of
blood accomplish. But the thought of one tragedy, so narrowly escaped,
did not help Jonathan to forget another impending--if it was to be
tragedy. His heart ached for his friends; it was only of them he thought
now. They faced each other across a chasm too wide to be leaped or
bridged; only by a descent into chill dark depths could their
outstretched hands meet. He did not blame them for having strayed to
that brink; not in the impulses of the heart do we sin, only in the
yielding.
But such chasms need not be tragic. There grow the sweetest flowers for
those having the will to see and gather. All his life Jonathan had been
schooled in that lesson, and he had learned to pluck happiness as he
turned his back on desire. He had even been happy in an unrequited love,
he had not sought to cast it out of his heart, he had loved his love--at
least until it had seemed helpless to save her from a hurt. He could be
happy in it still, if instead of tragedy they could find strength and
courage and the greater triumph growing on the brink of their chasm.
It seemed very simple and easy, what he wanted them to learn. He did not
understand that only the Greathearts find it simple and easy. He never
suspected that he was a Greatheart. An odd fish, this Jonathan!
But it was a knowledge that he could not give them. They must win it, if
at all, for themselves.
In the morning the doctor came again, inspected the wound, discovered no
evidence of infection and was mightily pleased with himself.
"Don't look so sad," he adjured David. "You got off lucky. If that
knife--"
"I suppose so," David said querulously. "If you've finished, would you
mind going? I'd like to sleep some more."
The doctor nodded comprehendingly. "Pretty weak yet," he confided to the
nurse in a whisper. "Lost quite a bit of blood before I could get to
him. Must humor him."
David closed his eyes. Not, however, to sleep. Rather to listen to his
tempter, who had returned to stand guard, to keep the victory it had won.
But the imp's words were less plausible this morning, a certain sly
malice had crept into his voice. David remembered shrinkingly the
resolve he had taken.
"It's because I am weak." He tried to stiffen himself. "I have a right
to be happy. Why should two be made to suffer for one who wouldn't
care?" He repeated that over and over to himself and almost achieved
belief.
The nurse came to his bedside. "I'm going out for my walk now. Ring
this bell if you want anything, and one of the maids will come."
He nodded and she left. A minute later he heard other steps coming into
the room.
"David--David!" said a voice over him. A compassionate voice that was
near to breaking.
He opened his eyes and, not easily, met Jonathan's. "I'm making a good
deal of trouble. You should have let them take me to the hospital."
"Hush, David! I wanted you to come here. Is the wound very painful?"
"I've had toothaches that were worse."
"It's like you to make light of it."
"It isn't like me to make light of it. You've seen me and ought to know
that. It's more like me to whine."
"But it's serious." Jonathan shook his head gravely. "The doctor says,
if the knife had gone an eighth of an inch deeper--"
"They always say that, don't they? It didn't go an eighth of an inch
deeper."
"But it might have," Jonathan insisted. "David, why did you do it? Did
you think a little money was worth such a risk?"
David frowned petulantly. "I'm no hero. I didn't mean to take any
risks. I just blundered in and was too stupid to get out. So I got
hurt. It's a habit of mine."
"Ah!" Jonathan understood the allusion. "David, can you forgive me?
Yesterday I was thinking you--what you are not. I was bitter, not quite
myself. I was blaming you for what you couldn't help and thinking you
were going--"
"Don't! Don't talk about that! I--" David turned his face to the wall.
"I wish to God Smith's knife had gone deeper!"
Jonathan started. "Smith! You say it was Smith? Then this happened
because of me. I let myself get at odds with all the world and in that
temper sent him from the shop. You have much to forgive me for, David."
"That's pretty far-fetched, isn't it? If it's any consolation, I
couldn't swear it was Smith. I only had a glimpse of him."
"It is a consolation. Because now, if any one questions you about what
happened, you needn't identify Smith. I hate to think of any man having
to go to jail. Sin is its own punishment--and heavy enough. God knows!
We must find Smith, David, and try to help him. You could help him most.
When he knows that you, whom he hurt, are ready--"
"Do whatever you want with him. I have no wish to send him to jail."
David stirred restlessly; his wound began to throb. Why couldn't the
manikin go away and take his silly exaggerated--and
disturbing--sentimentalities with him? Didn't he know that his very
presence there was a reminder of something David wanted to forget--that
the kingdom of desire was not to be entered without payment?
But Jonathan did not leave, though he saw what the patient wished. He
went without further detours to the thing that lay between them.
"David, what are you going to do?"
David made no answer but stared unwinkingly at the wall.
"What are you going to do, David?"
David had not guessed how hard it would be to give tongue to his desire.
"I don't know that you have any right to ask. But if it will do you any
good to know, I'm going to get free and--"
He turned and looked defiantly into Jonathan's eyes. He saw the
suffering there. But Jonathan's voice was still gentle.
"You would do that?"
"I would do that."
"You mean," Jonathan persisted, "you will get a divorce? And then go to
her?"
How ugly, how sordid, that seemed, spoken aloud in the clear light of
morning!
But David said, "I mean that."
"Have you thought of--your wife?"
"She wouldn't be hurt, wouldn't really care."
"And you have a boy. A beautiful boy, I am told."
"That--that is part of the--price."
"Ah! the price! You have thought of the price then. And you are ready
to pay it. Other people have paid it, I know. I have wondered if they
didn't pay too much. David--" Jonathan looked away. "Have you thought
of--_her_?"
"Can't you understand I am thinking of her? I can't let her be hurt.
And I want her--you can't know--"
He flung an arm over his face. And he was glad of the sharp pain that
shot through his side.
"I know," said Jonathan. "I know."
They were silent for a while. The silence became almost unbearable to
one of them. He let his arm fall slowly to his side.
"Well, say it! If you have anything against it, say it."
"No." Jonathan turned to him once more, sadly. "I have nothing to say
against it. I know it would do no good, if I had. I say only, do it, if
you think she will not be hurt--if you think you can. . . . I must go
now."
He left. Soon the nurse returned. She looked closely at her patient and
took a thermometer from the table.
"No!" he said sharply. "I'm all right. Just go away and leave me alone."
Being a wise nurse, she obeyed. . . .
When Jonathan reached his office a trembling white-faced girl was
awaiting him.
"How is he?"
He told her. "It needn't be serious. But he had a narrow escape."
"Why didn't you let me know last night?"
"It would have done no good." He looked at her searchingly. But neither
shrinking nor shame was in her eyes. "Will you go to him now?"
"Go to him? I-- Why do you ask that?"
"He needs you," he said. "There is no one else who can help him now.
Will you go?"
"Yes." She understood the help that was needed.
"Then come."
Together they went out to the street. He hailed a taxicab and they
entered and drove away. Neither spoke during that ride. When they
reached the house he led her to the parlor.
"If you will wait here," he said, "I will get the nurse away."
In a few minutes he returned.
"You may go up now."
He watched her ascend, heard her quick light tread along the hall above
and the closing of a door.
"Esther!" he whispered. "My poor Esther! Who will help you?"