Journey's End
The rain had ceased, and as they walked down the muddy road the sun came
out even before the final mutterings of the thunder had died away in the
distance, and so they came at last upon a little house which sat well
back among a group of dripping trees.
"Take your coat, Jim," Lou said, breaking a long silence which had
fallen between them. "That porch is so wet now that we can't get it any
wetter an' I'm goin' to ask for a chance to get dry."
But they had scarcely passed through the gate when the front door opened
and a young woman rushed out.
"Oh! Will you run to the next house for me and telephone for the
doctor?" she cried, all in one breath. Her eyes were staring and her
breast heaved convulsively.
Jim quickened his pace.
"Where is the next house, and what doctor shall I send for?" he asked
pleasantly.
"It's just over the ridge there; the Colberts. They know Dr. Blair's
number. My husband would go himself but he can't step on his hurt foot
and I don't dare leave. Tell the Colberts that it's the baby! He's
dying, and I don't know what to do!"
Jim turned, and hurried off over the ridge, but Lou took a step forward.
"Baby! I've been takin' care of babies all my life, seems like. You let
me look at it, ma'am."
"Oh, do you think you could do anything, a little thing like you?"
The young woman eyed the forlornly drenched figure before her rather
doubtfully, but something she read in Lou's steady, confident gaze
seemed to reassure her, and she threw wide the door. "Come in, please!
He's all blue."
Lou unceremoniously pushed past her down the clean little hallway and
paused for a moment upon the threshold of the room at its end. It was a
kitchen, small, but as immaculately clean as the hall, and in a
rocking-chair near the window sat an anxious-eyed young man with his
bandaged foot up on another chair before him, and in his arms a tiny,
rigid little form.
Lou went straight to him and unceremoniously possessed herself of the
baby.
Its small face was waxen, with a bluish tinge about the mouth, and
half-closed, glazing eyes.
"How long's it been like this?" Lou demanded sharply.
"Only just a few minutes. It--it seemed like a sort of fit that he had."
The young woman turned to her husband. "Jack, this little girl stopped
by and said she knew all about babies, and the man with her, he's gone
for----"
"I want some hot water, quick!" Lou interrupted the explanations
brusquely. "Boiling hot, and a tub or a big pan. Have you got the kettle
on?"
"Y-yes, but I'm afraid I've let the fire go out," the woman faltered. "I
was so worried----"
With an exclamation of impatience Lou rewrapped the baby which she had
been examining and thrust it into the man's arms. Then turning to the
woman with exasperation in her eyes and voice she demanded:
"I s'pose you can find some dry chips, somewhere, can't you? If I don't
get this baby into a hot bath right away it'll be all up with him."
The woman gasped, and ran out of the back door while the young man in
the chair groaned:
"It's awful to sit here helpless and watch him suffer! If I could only
put my foot to the floor----"
"How old is he, anyway?" Lou, who was busily searching the shelf of
groceries, asked over her shoulder. "He looks to be under a year."
"Ten months, miss," he answered. "What do you think is the matter with
him?"
"Convulsion," Lou replied succinctly, as the woman rushed in once more
with her apron full of chips. "Git some more, it don't matter how you
clog the stove with wood ashes; we gotta git boilin' water as quick as
we kin."
Meanwhile Jim found the Colbert house, explained his mission, and having
accomplished it, hastened back. He pulled the bell, but no one came, and
knocking, found that the door yielded to his touch. Entering, he went
down the hall and paused at the kitchen door just as the woman
stammered:
"I d-don't think there are any dry kindlings left."
"Then chop some! Ain't you got any old boxes? Oh, Jim!" Lou caught sight
of him in the doorway. "Find a hatchet and some light, dry wood, will
you?"
The fire was roaring in the stove at last, but the water was long in
boiling, and the little figure in the man's arms seemed to be undergoing
a subtle but inevitable change. His lips were still parted, but no
faintest stir of breath emanated from them, and the rigidity had taken
on a marble-like cast.
The mother bent over him, moaning once more, but Lou turned upon her in
swift scorn.
"For goodness' sake, where's that tub or pan I asked you for? He's got a
chance, a _good_ chance if you don't waste any more time! What you
been givin' him, anyway?" she added, as the woman flew to do her
bidding.
"Nothing but a little green corn. He relishes it, and it's so cute to
see him try to chew it----"
"Green corn!" Lou repeated, as she seized the heavy kettle and began
pouring its steaming contents into the tub. "Ain't _nobody_ in your
family ever had any babies before?"
She hastily added to the tub a quantity of yellowish powder from a can
which she had found upon the shelf of groceries, and marched
determinedly over to the man who was seated in the chair.
"Give me that baby!" she demanded.
"But, miss, that water's boiling!" he gasped.
"You're not going to put my baby in that?" The woman came quickly from
her apathy of dismay and sprang forward, while Jim, too, advanced, his
anxiety for another reason.
"Lou! You'll blister yourself horribly----"
"Let me alone, all of you!" Lou turned upon them even as she stripped
the wrappings from the child. "Haven't I done this a hundred times? He
ain't even goin' to feel the heat of the mustard, he's so far gone! I
guess I know what I'm doin'!"
The woman buried her face in her hands with a sob, and even Jim turned
away his eyes, but no one thought to interfere further with the assured
little nurse. There was a splash of water, a little gasp from Lou, and
then after a period which seemed interminable her matter-of-fact voice
remarked:
"He's comin' round."
The tiny body was scarcely tinged with pink, but it had lost its
dreadful rigidity, and a faint cry came from it as Lou wrapped it in a
shawl and laid it in its mother's arms.
"He'll do now, anyway till that doctor comes."
Amid the rejoicing of the parents Jim advanced to Lou and demanded:
"Let me see your arms."
"They're all right--" She tried to put them behind her as she spoke, but
he drew them forward. A network of blisters covered them almost to the
shoulders.
"Oh, Lou! Lou!" he murmured brokenly. "What won't you do next?"
She smiled faintly.
"You said I'd do anything once, but I've done this lots of times
before----"
"Well, well, good people! What's going on here?" A kindly voice sounded
from the doorway, and the woman turned with a little cry.
"Oh, Dr. Blair, she saved the baby! Put him down in that scalding water
and held him right there with her hands, and she's burned herself
something terrible, but she saved him! I never saw a braver----"
"Let me see."
The doctor examined the baby with professional gravity and then looked
up.
"I should say you did save him, young woman! I couldn't have done better
for him myself! Now let me have a look at those arms of yours."
After he had bandaged her blisters the woman prepared food and coffee
for them all and then took Lou upstairs with her, while Jim dried his
soaking clothes by the kitchen fire and the three men talked in a
desultory way of the topics of the countryside.
Dr. Blair had just ascertained that Jim and his "sister" were strangers,
traveling toward New York, and had offered to drive them both to the
trolley line in his little car, when the woman of the house reappeared
with Lou, and Jim stared with all his eyes.
Could this be the little scarecrow of a girl he had met on the road only
five days before; this unbelievably tall, slender young woman in the
dark blue silk gown with filmy ruffles falling about her neck and
wrists, and soft puffs of blond hair over her ears?
"It's me, though I kin hardly believe it myself!" Lou answered his
unspoken thought. Then drawing him aside she added: "Mis' Tooker--that's
her name--gave me a pair of shoes, too, an' a hat an' five whole
dollars! Are we goin' to a place called Pelton?"
Jim nodded.
"That is where I hoped we would be by to-night, but it must be at least
twelve miles away."
"Well, Mis' Tooker says the trolley goes right into Pelton, and she gave
me a letter to a friend of hers there who'll take us in for the
night----"
The doctor interrupted with an intimation of another patient to be
visited, and they bade farewell to the grateful young couple and started
away. The sun was still high, and save for the mud which splashed up
with each turn of the wheels, all traces of the storm had vanished.
"Jennie Tooker always was a fool!" Dr. Blair grumbled. "How many babies
have you taken care of, young woman?"
"More'n twenty, I guess, off an' on," Lou responded. "I--I used to work
in an institootion up-State."
Fearing further revelations, Jim hastily took a hand in the
conversation, and he and the doctor chatted until the trolley line was
reached. There, when they had descended from the little car Lou turned
to Jim and asked a trifle shyly:
"You--you're goin' to let me ask you to ride, aren't you? You bought all
the food in Riverburgh, you know."
"And you seem to have financed all the rest of the trip," he said with a
rueful laugh. "I thought, when you suggested that we should travel
together, I would be the one to take care of you, but it has been the
other way around. Oh, Lou, I've so much to say to you when we reach our
journey's end!"
They arrived at Pelton before dark and found Mrs. Tooker's friend, who
ran a small boarding-house for store employees, and was glad to take
them in at a dollar a head. Lou disappeared after supper, and although
Lou waited long for him on the little porch, he did not return until
through sheer fatigue she was forced to go to bed.
In the morning, however, when they met before breakfast in the lower
hall he jingled a handful of silver in his pocket.
"However did you git it?" she demanded.
"Garage," he responded succinctly. "Didn't know I was a chauffeur, did
you, Lou?"
A peculiar little smile hovered for a moment about her lips, but she
merely remarked:
"I thought you wouldn't only take a quarter----"
"For each job," he interrupted her. "A lot of cars came in that needed
tinkering with after the storm, and they were short of hands. I made
more than two dollars, and we'll ride in state into Hunnikers!"
Lou made no reply, but after breakfast she drew him out on the little
porch.
"Jim, I--I'm not goin' on."
"What!" he exclaimed.
"The woman that runs this place, she--she wants a girl to help her, an'
I guess I'll stay." Lou's tones were none too steady, and she did not
meet his eyes. "I--I don't believe I'd like New York."
"You, a servant here?" He took one of her hands very gently in his. "I
didn't mean to tell you until we were nearly there, and as it is, there
is a lot that I can't tell you even now, but this much I want you to
know. You're not going to work any more, Lou. You're going to a lovely
old lady who lives in a big house all by herself, and there you are
going to study and play until you are really grown up, and know as much
as anybody."
She smiled and shook her head.
"This is the sort of place for me, Jim. I wasn't meant for anythin'
else, an' if I should live to be a hundred I could never know as much as
that lady at the circus who called you 'Jimmie Abbott.'"
"What--" Jim exploded for the second time.
"At least, she said you looked like him, and if she didn't know you were
in Canada----"
"Good Lord! What was she doing there?"
"She was with another lady an' two gentlemen, an' I guess they come in
an ottermobile," Lou explained. "They was in one the next day,
anyway--the one that slammed into the egg-wagon."
She described in detail the two occurrences, and added miserably:
"I didn't mean to tell you, Jim, but as long as I'm not goin' on with
you I might as well. It was me that walked on your note-book back there
on Mrs. Bemis's porch. It had fallen open on the floor, an' when I
picked it up I couldn't help seein' the name that was written across the
page. It was your own business, of course, if you didn't want to give
your real name to anybody----"
"Listen, Lou." He had caught her other hand now and was holding them
both very tightly. "You _are_ going on with me! I can't explain now
about my name, but it doesn't matter; nothing matters except that you
are not going to be a quitter! You said that you would go on to New York
with me, and you're going to keep your word."
"I know better now," she replied quietly. "It's--it's been a wonderful
time, but I've got to work an' earn my keep an' try to learn as I go
along. It isn't just exactly breakin' my word; I didn't realize----"
"Realize what?" he demanded as she hesitated.
"I thought at first that you were kinder like me; it wasn't until I saw
that lady an' found you were a friend of hers, that I knew you were
different."
Her eyes were still downcast, and now a tinge of color mounted in her
cheeks. "I couldn't bear to have you take me to that other lady in the
city and be a-ashamed of me----"
"Ashamed of you!" he repeated, and something in his tone deepened the
color in her cheeks into a crimson tide. "Lou, look at me!"
Obediently she raised her eyes for an instant; then lowered them again
quickly, and after a pause she said in a very small voice:
"All right, Jim. I--I'll go. I guess I wouldn't just want to be a--a
quitter, after all."
It was mid-afternoon when they walked into Hunnikers and although they
had come ten long miles with only a stop for a picnic lunch between,
they bore no traces of fatigue. Rather they appeared to have been
treading on air, and although Jim had scrupulously avoided any further
reference to the future, there was a certain buoyant assurance about him
which indicated that in his own mind, at least, there remained no room
for doubt.
He needed all the assurance he could muster as, after ensconcing Lou at
the soda counter in the drug-store, he approached the telephone booth
farthest from her ears and closed the door carefully behind him. Lou
consumed her soda to its last delectable drop, glanced down anxiously at
the worn, but spotless, little silk gown to see if she had spilled any
upon it, and then wandered over to the showcase.
Jim's voice came to her indistinguishably once or twice, but it was a
full half-hour before he emerged from the booth. He looked wilted but
triumphant, and he beamed blissfully as he came toward her, mopping his
brow. He suspected that at the other end of the wire a certain
gray-haired, aristocratic old lady was having violent hysterics to the
immediate concern of three maids and an asthmatic Pekinese, but it did
not disturb his equanimity.
"It's all right," he announced. "Aunt Emmy expects you; I didn't tell
you, did I, that the lady I'm taking you to is my aunt? No matter. She's
awfully easy if you get on the right side of her; I've always managed
her beautifully ever since I was a kid, and you'll have her rolling over
and playing dead in no time. Fifteen miles more to go, Lou, and we'll
be----"
"Hello, there, Jim." An oil-soaked and greasy glove clapped his shoulder
and as he turned, the same voice, suddenly altered, stammered: "Oh, I
beg your pardon----"
"'Lo, Harry!" Jim turned to greet a tall, lean individual more tanned
than himself, with little, fine, weather lines about his eyes and an
abrupt quickness of gesture which denoted his hair-triggered nerves.
"What are you doing in this man's town?"
"Motoring down from the Hilton's," the other responded. "Pete was coming
with me, but at the last minute he decided to stay over the week-end.
I'm off to Washington to-night to see about my passport; sailing next
Wednesday for Labrador, you know."
"Then you're alone?" Jim turned. "Miss Lacey, let me present Mr. Van
Ness; he spends his time trailing all over the earth to find something
to kill. Miss Lacey is a young friend of my aunt's; I'm taking her down
to her for a visit."
The explanation sounded somewhat involved, but Mr. Van Ness seemed to
grasp it, and bowed.
"You're motoring, too?" he asked.
"No. I--The fact is--" Jim stammered in his turn. "We were thinking of
taking the train----"
"Why not let me take you both down in the car?" The other rose to the
occasion with evident alacrity. "Miss Lacy will like it better than the
train, I'm sure, and I haven't seen you for an age, old man."
Jim accepted with a promptitude which proclaimed a mind relieved of its
final burden, and he turned to Lou. Mr. Van Ness had gone out to see to
his car, and they were alone at a far corner of the counter.
"How about it, Lou? The last lap! The last fifteen miles. It's been a
long pull sometimes, and we've had some rough going, but it was worth
it, wasn't it?"
Her eyes all unconsciously gave him answer even before she repeated
softly:
"'The last lap.' Oh, Jim, shall I see you some time, at this lady's
house where you are takin' me?"
"Every day," he promised, adding with cheerful mendacity: "I dine with
her nearly all the time; have for years. Come on, Lou. Harry's waving at
us."
Through the village and the pleasant rolling country beyond; past huge,
wide-spreading estates and tiny cottages, and clusters of small shops
with the trolley winding like a thread between, the big maroon car sped,
while the two men talked together of many things, and the girl sat back
in her corner of the roomy tonneau and gave herself up to vague dreams.
Then the cottages gave place to sporadic growths of brick and mortar
with more open lots between, but even these gaps finally closed, and Lou
found herself being borne swiftly through street after street of
towering houses out upon a broad avenue with palaces such as she had
never dreamed of on one side, and on the other the seared, drooping
green of a city park in late summer.
It was still light when the big car swept into an exclusive street of
brownstone houses of an earlier and still more exclusive period, and
stopped before the proudest of these.
Jim alighted and held out his hand.
"Come, Lou," he said. "Journey's end."