HERBERT IS PATIENT
On the second morning after the accident, Herbert, lying stiffly
swathed in bandages, opened his eyes in a partly darkened room. A
nurse was standing near a table, and when the injured man painfully
turned his head, the doctor, who had been speaking to her, came toward
him.
"I think we can let you talk a little now," he said. "How do you feel?"
Herbert's face relaxed into a feeble smile.
"Very far from happy. I suppose I've been badly knocked about?"
"I've treated more serious cases, and you'll get over it. But you'll
have to reconcile yourself to lying quiet for a long while."
Herbert made no reply to this, but his expression suggested that he was
trying to think.
"Has the thing got into the papers?" he asked.
The doctor was a little surprised; it seemed a curious point for his
patient to take an interest in, but he was willing to indulge him.
"It's early yet, but one of the _Courier_ people stopped me as I was
driving out and I gave him a few particulars. You can't hush the
matter up."
"No," said Herbert. "You did quite right. Hadn't you better mention
exactly what's the matter with me?"
"If I did, you wouldn't understand it," said the doctor, who generally
adopted a cheerful, half-humorous tone. "In plain English, you have
two ribs broken, besides a number of contusions, and I'm inclined to
suspect your nervous system has received a nasty shock."
"And the cure?"
"Complete rest, patience, and perhaps a change of scene when you're
able to get about."
"That means I'll have to drop all active interest in my business for
some time?"
"I'm afraid so; by and by we'll consider when you can resume it."
It struck the doctor that Herbert was not displeased with the
information; and that seemed strange, considering that he was a busy,
energetic man. He lay silent a while with an undisturbed expression.
"I wonder if you would write a telegram and a letter for me?" he asked
at length.
"With pleasure, if you don't think you have talked enough. Can't you
wait until to-morrow?"
"I'll feel easier when I've got it off my mind."
The doctor thought this likely. He made a sign of acquiescence and
took out his notebook; and Herbert give him the rubber company's London
address and then dictated:
"_Regret I am incapacitated for business for indefinite period by motor
accident. If advisable appoint new director in my place before
shareholders' meeting, which cannot attend. Compelled to remain in
strict quietness_."
"You might send these people a short note," he added, "stating that I'm
submitting to your advice, and giving them a few particulars about my
injuries."
"I'll be glad to do so."
"Then there's only another thing. I'd like some notice of the accident
put into a leading London paper--it will explain my retirement to
people who would soon begin to wonder why I wasn't at my post."
"It shall be attended to; but I scarcely think Mr. Phillips and his
motoring friend will appreciate the notoriety you will confer on them."
Herbert smiled.
"There's no reason why I should consider Phillips. If he will drive
furiously in the dark and run over people--this isn't his first
accident--he must take the consequences. But you can tell him, with my
compliments, that I'll let him off, if he'll be more cautious in
future. Now I feel that I'd like to rest or go to sleep again."
The doctor went out somewhat puzzled--his patient seemed singularly
resigned to inaction and glad to escape from commercial affairs,
instead of chafing at his misfortune. After exchanging a few words
with Mrs. Lansing, he met Sylvia in the hall.
"How is he this morning?" she asked.
"Better than I expected, able to take an interest in things. I was
glad to find him so acquiescent--it isn't usual. He didn't seem
disturbed when he asked me to write a telegram expressing his
willingness to give up his director's post."
He had not mentioned this matter to Mrs. Lansing. In several ways
Sylvia struck him as being the more capable woman, though this was not
the impression her appearance had upon the less practised observers.
She looked thoughtful at his news.
"I suppose such a course is necessary," she remarked.
"I believe it's advisable; that is, if there's any likelihood that his
duties will make much demand on him for some time to come."
Sylvia changed the subject.
"Have you any particular instructions?"
"None beyond those I've given the nurse. Quietness is the great thing;
but it doesn't look as if he'll cause you much trouble."
The prediction was justified. With the exception of a few complaints
about his physical discomfort, Herbert displayed an exemplary patience
and soon began to improve, for his recovery was assisted by the
tranquil state of his mind. The accident had happened at a very
opportune time: it furnished an excellent excuse for withdrawing from
an embarrassing situation and it would save his credit, if, as seemed
probable, difficulties shortly threatened the rubber company. It would
look as if any trouble that might fall upon the concern was the result
of his having been forced to relinquish control, and nobody could
rationally blame him for being run over.
He was lying in a sunny room one afternoon when two gentlemen were
shown in. One was the caller with whom he had an interview in his
office before the accident. They inquired about his progress with
rather forced courtesy; and then one of them said:
"We looked in on the doctor who wrote to us about your injury before we
came here, and he told us you were strong enough for a little quiet
conversation. We haven't appointed another director yet."
"Then you had better do so," Herbert advised.
"You mean to stick to your withdrawal? You're the only person who can
pull the company out of its difficulties."
"Has it got into any difficulties?" Herbert inquired. "You see, I've
been compelled to give orders for all correspondence to be dealt with
at the London office, and I'm advised not to read the financial papers
or anything that might have a disturbing effect."
The man who had not yet spoken betrayed some impatience.
"We're up to the eyes in trouble, as you must have guessed. Have you
asked yourself what the body of the shareholders are likely to think?"
"It's fairly obvious. They'll consider it a misfortune that I was
knocked over shortly before a critical time; possibly they'll attribute
everything unsatisfactory in the company's affairs to my not being in
charge."
One of the visitors glanced meaningly at his companion. There was
truth in what Lansing said. The angry shareholders would not
discriminate carefully; they would blame the present directors, who
would have to face a serious loss while Lansing had made a profit. It
was a galling situation; and what made it worse was that Lansing's
expression hinted that he found it somewhat humorous.
"The fact that you sold out so soon before the fall will have its
significance," said the first man. "The thing has a suspicious look."
"I must risk a certain amount of misconception," Herbert replied
languidly. "I may as well point out that I still hold the shares
required as a director's qualification, which is all it was necessary
for me to do. Was it your intention to keep the stock you hold
permanently?"
They could not answer him, and he smiled.
"As a matter of fact, we all intended to sell off a good portion as
soon as the premium justified it; the only difference of opinion was
about the point it must reach, and that, of course, was a matter of
temperament. Well, I was lucky enough to get rid of part of my stock
at a profit; and there was nothing to prevent your doing the same.
Instead of that, you held on until the drop came; it was an imprudence
for which you can't blame me."
"Our complaint is that you foresaw the fall and never said a word."
"Granted. Why didn't you foresee it? You had the right of access to
all the information in my hands; you could inspect accounts in the
London office; I suppose you read the financial papers. It would have
been presumptuous if I'd recommended you to sell, and my forecast might
have proved incorrect. In that case you would have blamed me for
losing your money."
This was incontestable. Though they knew he had betrayed them,
Lansing's position was too strong to be assailed.
"You might have mentioned that you contemplated retiring from the
board," one remarked. "Then we would have known what to expect."
"A little reflection will show the futility of your suggestion. How
could I contemplate being run over by a motor-car?"
"Well," said the second man in a grim tone, "you can't deny the
accident was in some respects a fortunate one for you."
"I'm doubtful whether you would have appreciated it, in my place. But
you don't seem to realize that I'm withdrawing from the board because
I'm incapacitated for the duties."
Then the nurse, to whom Herbert had given a hint, came in; and he made
a sign of resignation, quite as though overpowered by regret.
"I'm sorry I'm not allowed to talk very much yet. Will you have a
cigar and some refreshment before you leave?"
His visitors rose, and one of them turned to him with a curious
expression.
"No, thanks," he said pointedly. "Considering everything, I don't
think we'll give you the trouble."
With a few conventional words they withdrew, and Herbert smiled at the
nurse.
"I believe Dr. Ballin was most concerned about the injury to my
nerves," he said. "Have you noticed anything wrong with them?"
"Not lately. They seem to be in a normal state."
"That," said Herbert, "is my own opinion. You wouldn't imagine that I
had just finished a rather trying interview?"
"No; you look more amused than upset."
"There was something humorous in the situation; that's often the case
when you see greedy people wasting effort and ingenuity. Perhaps you
heard my visitors expressing their anxiety about my health, though I've
a suspicion that they felt more like wishing the car had made an end of
me."
The nurse laughed and told him that he had better rest; and Herbert lay
back upon the cushions she arranged, with calm content.
During the evening, Sylvia entered the room, dressed a little more
carefully than usual, and Herbert glanced at her with appreciation.
"You look charming, though that's your normal state," he said. "Where
are you going?"
"With Muriel, to dine with the Wests; have you forgotten? But I came
in because Muriel told me you had a letter from George by the last
post."
"So you're still interested in his doings," Herbert rejoined.
"Of course. Does that surprise you?"
"I was beginning to think there was some risk of your forgetting him,
which, perhaps, wouldn't be altogether unnatural. He's a long way off,
which has often its effect, and there's no denying the fact that in
many respects you and he are different."
"Doesn't the same thing apply to you and Muriel? Everybody knows you
get on excellently in spite of it."
Herbert laughed. He was aware that his friends had wondered why he had
married Muriel, and suspected that some of them believed her money had
tempted him. Nevertheless, he made her an affectionate as well as a
considerate husband. In business matters he practised the easy
morality of a hungry beast of prey, but he had his virtues.
"Yes," he said, "that's true. Do you find it encouraging?"
Sylvia had felt a little angry, though she had known that it was seldom
wise to provoke her host.
Without waiting for her answer he continued, half seriously: "There's
often one person who thinks better of us than we deserve, and I dare
say I'm fortunate in that respect. In such a case, one feels it an
obligation not to abuse that person's confidence."
A slight flush crept into Sylvia's face. George believed in her and
she was very shabbily rewarding his trust.
"I'm surprised to hear you moralizing. It's not a habit of yours," she
remarked.
"No," said Herbert, pointedly; "though it may now and then make one
feel a little uncomfortable, it seldom does much good. But we were
talking about George. He tells me that winter's beginning unusually
soon; they've had what he calls a severe cold snap and the prairie's
deep with snow. He bought some more stock and young horses as an
offset to the bad harvest, and he's doubtful whether he has put up hay
enough. West and he are busy hauling stove-wood home from a bluff; and
he has had a little trouble with some shady characters as a result of
his taking part in a temperance campaign. I think that's all he has to
say."
Sylvia broke into half-incredulous merriment.
"It's hard to imagine George as a temperance reformer. Think of him,
making speeches!"
"Speeches aren't much in George's line," Herbert admitted. "Still, in
one way, I wasn't greatly astonished at the news. He's just the man to
be drawn into difficulties he might avoid, provided that somebody could
convince him the thing needed doing."
"Then you think he has been convinced?"
"I can hardly imagine George's setting out on a work of the kind he
mentioned without some persuasion," said Herbert with a smile. "The
subject's not one he ever took much interest in, and he's by no means
original."
Sylvia agreed with him, but she was silent a few moments, reclining in
an easy chair before the cheerful fire, while she glanced round the
room. It was comfortably furnished, warm, and brightly lighted; a
strong contrast to the lonely Canadian homestead to which her thoughts
wandered. She could recall the unpolished stove, filling the place
with its curious, unpleasant smell, and the icy draughts that eddied
about it. She could imagine the swish of driving snow about the
quivering wooden building when the dreaded blizzards raged; the
strange, oppressive silence when the prairie lay still in the grip of
the Arctic frost; and George coming in with half-frozen limbs and
snow-dust on his furs, to spend the dreary evening in trying to keep
warm. The picture her memory painted was vivid and it had a disturbing
effect. It was in her service that the man was toiling in western
Canada.
"Well," she said, rising with some abruptness, "it's time we got off.
I'd better see if Muriel is ready."