The House of Martin during the next few hours was the scene of much
anxiety and despair.
A white-capped nurse was passing in and out of the sick-room, while
Westy and his sister sat on the stairway, apprehensive each time that
she had come to tell them the worst.
Mrs. Martin, sitting faithfully by her husband’s side, dry-eyed, seemed
shaken with grief inwardly and her white face looked haunted with lost
hope.
Four hours had passed and still he had not regained consciousness. The
doctor was standing, silently gazing down into the darkened street. He
turned back toward the bedside and Mrs. Martin, watching his mobile face
intently, thought she detected the faintest glimmer of hope pass across
his features.
“Another half hour will tell,” he told her, “and if he lives he’ll have
his son to thank not only for his life, but for the half-dozen others he
saved from being dashed to pieces.”
The doctor, it seems, had witnessed the accident, and sang Westy’s
praises for many a long day after.
Archie had left to go home two hours before, saying he was too upset
from the ordeal to stand the suspense of waiting. They couldn’t seem to
get a coherent account from him as to how Mr. Martin injured his head.
He said he couldn’t seem to remember, he was so excited, except that he
saw him fall just as Westy jumped on the steps of the runaway bus.
So Archie went and no one cared to detain him.
Twenty minutes, then a half hour, went by that seemed to the waiting
trio like years.
The nurse, reëntering the room, took the sick man’s pulse and nodded to
the doctor who was standing close by.
Slowly but surely Mr. Martin opened his eyes, smiling rather wanly at
his wife, who was now bending eagerly over him. She was afraid to speak
lest he should fall back again into that coma.
The doctor, suspecting her fear, spoke softly. “He’ll be all right now,
providing he has nothing to excite him. Perfect quiet and rest will do
the trick. I’ll be back in a few hours!”
The nurse went out of the room with him and Mrs. Martin clasped her
husband’s hand in hers, fighting back the fears of joy that were
continually overflowing. The door opened once again, but this time it
was Doris and Westy whose youthful figures were framed in the doorway.
Mrs. Martin put her finger to her lips and motioned for them to come.
“That’s all right,” Mr. Martin spoke weakly. “I want to talk to that boy
of mine!”
“Not now, dear,” Mrs. Martin said almost pleadingly. “I’m afraid you’re
not quite up to it just yet.”
“Rats!” he replied firmly this time. “Takes a whole lot to kill me, I
guess. Westy, come here!”
“Yes, Father,” said Westy, with tears brimming in his large eyes as he
knelt once more by his father’s side.
“My boy, you’re a real he-man, do you know that?” he said, raising his
hand from under the coverlet and placing it on Westy’s bowed head. “I’m
no end proud of you, lad!”
“M-mm,” was all Westy could say.
“After what I witnessed to-day--is it still to-day?” he asked, turning
his head toward the window where the shades were now drawn.
His wife nodded.
“After what I witnessed to-day,” he continued, sheer gratitude
inflecting his voice, “I’m quite sure that there isn’t a boy alive who
is any better able to take care of himself than our boy. Isn’t that
right, Mother?”
Mrs. Martin smiled her assent.
“And so,” he went on, “the only way I can repay this modern hero of ours
is to grant him the wish of his heart’s desire.”
“I don’t wish to be repaid, Father. It was no more than I should have
done,” Westy said, vainly trying to conceal his embarrassment.
“Oh, no, son, that wasn’t any mere duty you performed on my behalf and
also the others; it was true courage, the stuff that one rarely sees
displayed so splendidly. I wouldn’t have believed it was in you really!”
“I’ve always tried to tell you that!” Mrs. Martin exclaimed with a touch
of maternal pride.
“But, Father,” chimed in Doris, clasping her father’s other hand, “just
what was it that happened to you?”
“It’s not much to tell, Dorrie, it all happened so quick. Archie and I
were sitting together in the back seat of the bus chatting, after we
left the station. We had gone but a few blocks when I happened to notice
that the driver didn’t stop as we passed by River Street, and I thought
it was strange, as a lady waiting there had hailed to him, but he seemed
to take no notice of her. Suddenly, as I was just about to mention it to
Archie, the poor fellow collapsed, and of course we were all thrown into
a panic. No one seemed to know what to do to stop it, and by that time
we were running wild. Then, I chanced to look ahead and there was Westy
standing in the middle of the street waving his arms frantically.
Naturally I forgot all else and got up out of the seat intending to
start for the front of the bus. Previously we had all been seated, as
the car, swerving from one side of the street to the other, prevented us
from keeping on our feet. Archie, meanwhile, had been quaking with fear
and I did my best to calm him, but, as I was saying, when I saw Westy I
got up and Archie evidently misinterpreted my intention for he arose
also. I suppose he didn’t know what he was doing--panic-stricken, I
guess, but he pushed me aside to try and get to the front of the bus
first and in doing so knocked me backwards, throwing me against the rear
window. My head must have gone clear through it, for I could hear the
crash of glass and then I seemed to strike something sharp. I don’t
remember anything after that.”
“Miss Doris Martin, a Mr. Captroop is downstairs and wishes to see you!”
the nurse said, entering the room.
“If you’ll be so kind, Miss Treat, will you tell him I’m not at home and
that my father is doing nicely?”
“Surely, I’m only too glad to,” the nurse replied, “and now if you will
let Mr. Martin rest for a while, you can see him again in the morning.”
“Before you go,” Mr. Martin said, “I want to tell Westy that he can do
as he wants to, providing he comes back next fall determined to get
through school as quick as he can and get to business instead of wasting
his summers hereafter.”
“Do you mean, Father,” Westy asked breathlessly, “that I can ask Artie?
Do you mean that?”
“Something like that,” Mr. Martin answered.
Westy grasped his father’s hand and impetuously stooped and kissed him.
Rushing out of the room and down the stairs he flung his coat and hat on
in the hall and hurried to tell the news to Artie!