RATHER A BIG THING
Black was standing in the vestibule of a train which was bringing him
back, at a late hour, from the city where he had spent the day at a
conference of clergymen. He was somewhat weary, for the day had been
filled with long debate over a certain question which had seemed to him
vital indeed but not debatable. He had not hesitated to say so, and had
been delayed after the evening session was over by men who still wanted
to talk it out interminably with him. He had missed his trolley and had
therefore taken the train.
As the train drew in Black found himself crowded next to a young man
who seemed to be suffering from an excessive nervousness. He was tall
and thin, rather handsome of face, but with eyes so deeply shadowed
that they suggested extreme and recent illness. His manner was so
shaky, as he went down the steps ahead of Black, and he set down his
bag upon the platform with such a gesture of supreme fatigue, that
Black stopped to find out if he were indeed ill, and if he needed
help. At the same moment the stranger looked round at him, and put a
question in a quick, breathless voice which indicated both anxiety and
difficulty at self-control.
“Can you tell me,” he jerked out, “where Miss Ray’s shop is--antique
shop--Jane Ray? I ought to know--forgotten the street.”
Black hesitated. Send this unknown and unnatural young man to Jane at
this late hour? He looked both dissipated and irresponsible, and Black
thought he caught the odour of alcohol upon his breath.
“It’s late. The shop will be closed,” Black suggested. “Hadn’t you
better go to a hotel to-night, and look it up in the morning?”
The stranger frowned, and answered irritably--almost angrily:
“I should say not. Miss Ray’s my sister. Will you tell me where the
shop is, or have I got to find somebody who will?”
Black made a quick decision. “I’ll show you the way. It’s not far out
of my course.”
His eyes searched the stranger’s face, to find there confirmation
of the statement which otherwise he would not have been inclined to
believe. The resemblance, taking into account the difference between
Jane’s look of vitality and radiant energy, and this young man’s whole
aspect of broken health and overwrought nerves, was very apparent. And
as the stranger looked down the platform, and his profile was presented
to Black’s scrutiny, he saw that the same definite outlines of beauty
and distinction were there, not to be mistaken. On this basis he could
have no hesitation in guiding the markedly feeble footsteps to her
door, though he was wondering, rather anxiously, just what his arrival,
evidently unexpected by her, would mean to her. Black had never heard
anybody mention her having a brother--he had understood she was quite
alone in the world.
The two set out down the street. The young man walked so falteringly
that after a minute Black took his well-worn leather bag away from him,
saying pleasantly: “Let me carry it. You’re not quite fit, I’m sure.”
The other glowered. “Not fit! What do you mean by that? I’m fit
enough--I’m just worn out, that’s all. Overwork--illness--nerves--I’m
all in. But if you mean to imply----”
“I don’t mean to imply anything, Mr. Ray--if that is your name. I can
see you have been ill. Let me put my hand under your arm, won’t you?
I’d call a cab if there were any to be had--I’m afraid there aren’t.”
“Don’t want a cab--can walk. Walk faster, that’s all. I’m liable to go
to pieces pretty soon--haven’t eaten a mouthful to-day--couldn’t look
at it. These confounded nerves----”
There was no doubt but his nerves were confounded, and badly, at that.
As they walked the few squares necessary to get to Jane’s little
street, Black felt his companion becoming more and more desperately
shaken in body and mind. Several times he said something which struck
Black as all but irrational. More than once he would have wavered far
away from the straight course if Black’s arm had not held him steady. A
policeman looked sharply at the pair as they passed under the light at
a corner, and Black was aware that but one inference was likely--one he
was not at all sure was untrue.
The shop was dark when they reached it, and Black rang the bell. Just
as a light appeared, and he saw Jane coming through from her rooms in
the rear, the stranger suddenly sank against Black’s shoulder, and he
was forced to drop the bag and hold him supported in both arms. So when
Jane opened the door, it was to this singular and somewhat startling
apparition.
“Don’t be frightened, Miss Ray,” said Black’s quietly assured voice.
“He’s only faint, I think. This is--your brother? He’s been ill, and
wasn’t quite strong enough to make the journey. We’ll get him lying
down as fast as we can.”
“Oh, Cary!” Jane was out of the door in an instant, and her strong
young arm was around her brother from the opposite side. “Can you walk,
dear?”
He hardly had to walk, so nearly did they carry him. They had him
through the shop and into the little living room in no time at all,
and Jane had run for a stimulant. The glass she held to his lips and
the prostrate position revived him quickly. He made a wry face at the
tumbler she had set down upon a table.
“Can’t you do better than that?” he questioned, weakly. “For God’s
sake give me the real thing--I need it. I’m dying for it--yes, dying
literally, if you want to know.”
Jane shook her head. “No, dear--I haven’t any--and I’m sure you don’t
need it. I’ll make you some strong tea. Oh, I’m so glad you came, Cary!”
The young man seemed to try to smile--but the smile looked more like
tears. He held up a shaking hand.
“Nerves--Jane--nerves. I’m all in--I’m a wreck. I’m----” His look
wavered around at Black, who stood above and behind him. “We’ll excuse
you, sir,” he said, with an effort at dignity. “I’m very much obliged
to you--and now--please go!”
Jane looked up at Black with a face into which the quick and lovely
colour poured in a flood. “My brother isn’t himself,” she said under
her breath. “Do forgive him. I’m so grateful to you. I can get on with
him nicely now.”
“I can surely be of service to you yet, Miss Ray,” Black said with
decision. “Your brother needs care, and I can help you make him
comfortable.”
She shook her head. “I can do all he needs,” she said, “and it’s late.
I can’t----”
And then Cary Ray decided things for himself by sitting up and pointing
with a shaking finger and a voice of fright toward a shadowy corner.
“What’s that!” he whispered. “What’s that? You haven’t got ’em here,
too, have you? I thought _you_ wouldn’t have ’em--not _you_!”
There was nothing in the corner. Black laid young Ray gently but firmly
down upon the couch again. “No, you’re mistaken,” he said quietly. “We
haven’t got them here--and we’re not going to have them. Trust me for
that--I know all about it.”
Across the dark head, again fallen weakly upon the couch pillow,
Black’s eyes met Jane’s. “Please let me stay awhile?” he urged.
She knew then that he knew, and that it was of no use to try to hide
the pitiful, shameful thing from him. She nodded and turned away, and
he saw her clench one hand tight as she went to Cary’s bag and opened
it. He saw her search through the bag, and take from it something which
he did not see, because she went out of the room with it. She was gone
some time. While she was away, he occupied himself with keeping Cary’s
attention from concentrating on that corner of which his suspicions
became now and then acute.
When she returned, her brother was talking fast and disconnectedly.
“I haven’t slept--” he was saying, in a tone that was half a wail--“I
haven’t slept for a week--haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in months.
I---- How can you expect--I tell you a fellow can’t keep going--work’s
all gone to pot----”
Jane came close to him. “You shall stay here and rest up, Cary,”
she said gently, with her hand on his hot head. “And I’ll feed you
wonderfully and get you strong again. Could you take just a little
something now?--A glass of milk--a tiny sandwich----”
He shook his head, with a gesture of distaste. “Don’t say food to
me--don’t bring any in my sight. There’s just one thing I want--and
I know you won’t give it to me. Jane----” he caught at her hand--“it
would make me sleep, and God knows I need that--I shall die without
it. I--that thing in the corner--oh, I didn’t think it would track me
here----”
“It isn’t here. Forget it!” Black spoke sternly. “You’re going to
bed, and to sleep--I’m going to see to that. Miss Ray--you’ll let me
get your brother into his bed, won’t you? Once there, I’ll put him to
sleep--I know I can--and that’s what he needs more than anything.”
“I’ll go and make his room ready,” said Jane Ray. She had to yield. She
knew Cary needed a man’s hand, a man’s will. Strong and resourceful
though she was, she understood that at this pass no woman could control
the disordered nerves as a man could. She could only be thankful that
she had this man at her service at this hour, though perhaps he was the
last man she would have picked out, or have been willing to have know
of her unhappy situation. But he knew it now, and somehow, as her eyes
met his, she could not be quite sorry, after all, that it was he who
was to help her. At least, whether he could deal with Cary or not, she
could be absolutely sure that she could trust him. And this was not
because of his profession--rather, to Jane, it was in spite of it.
So, presently, Black found himself putting Cary Ray to bed--in a room
he didn’t in the least deserve to have, for it was unquestionably
Jane’s own. Every detail of its furnishing told him that, though he
did not allow himself to study it much from this point of view. It was
rather a large room, and as simply outfitted as could be imagined,
and yet somehow its whole aspect gave the impression of character and
charm. And Black had never in his life hated to see a man installed in
a place which didn’t belong to him as he hated to see Cary Ray made
comfortable in this exquisitely chaste room of Jane’s. Yet he couldn’t
very well protest. He knew as well as if he had been told that it was
the only room of adequate size and comfort which she had to put at her
brother’s service, and that, since he was ill and in need, she wouldn’t
dream of tucking him up on a couch somewhere as a substitute. For one
bad moment Black was astonished to discover that he was longing to
pitch this dissipated young man out of the house, and tell his sister
to keep her white sheets clean from his contaminated body.
But then, of course, he settled to his task, sternly putting such
thoughts away from him. Having got Cary stretched between those same
sheets, the lights extinguished--except that from an amber-shaded
reading light beside the bed--instead of taking a chair he sat down
on the foot of the bed in a friendly sort of way, and remarked in the
most matter-of-fact tone in the world--“This reminds me of a night I
spent once down in Virginia----” And from that he was off, by degrees,
and not at all as if he had set himself to entertain his patient, into
a recital that presently captured Cary’s hitherto fitful attention
and held it until the sense of strangeness in the whole situation had
somewhat gone by for the invalid--if not for the nurse.
The night was not spent, however, in telling stories. It is true that
Cary himself told one or two--and lurid tales they were, with more
than a suspicion of nightmare in them, the nightmare of drugs or of a
disordered brain. There were intervals--though few of them--when the
young man sank into a brief sleep, as if from profound exhaustion, but
he invariably awoke with a start and a cry to a condition which became,
as the hours went on, more and more difficult to control. Black did
succeed in controlling it, by sheer force of will; he seemed to have a
peculiar power to do this. His hand upon Cary’s, his voice in his ear,
and time and again the strained nerves and muscles would relax, and the
crisis would pass. But more than once, so wild was the almost delirium
of the sufferer, that it took all Black’s physical strength to keep
command.
Jane was there only a part of the time. It was during the periods of
repose and half slumber that she would slip noiselessly into the room,
stand watching her brother silently, or sit down upon the foot of the
bed opposite Black, to look at the thin face on the pillow with her
unhappy heart in her eyes. Black had never seen much of Jane’s heart
before; he couldn’t help seeing something of it now. It was beyond
his power to refrain, now and then, as the two sat in the hush of the
night, so strangely thrown together in a situation which neither could
ever have foreseen, from looking across at Jane’s clear-cut profile
in the subdued light, and studying it as if he had never seen it
before. His pity for her grew as the hours went by, and with his pity
a tenderness grew also, until, quite suddenly, he was startled by a
consciousness that he wanted to go around to her and take her hands in
his and tell her--that he would stand by her to the last limit of his
power.
On one of her trips into the room, when Cary happened to be quiet for
a little, Jane whispered to Black that she would take his place and he
must go downstairs and eat the lunch she had prepared for him. When he
told her that he didn’t need it she only pointed, quite imperiously, to
the door, and he obediently left the room and went to do her bidding.
It was as he was finishing the delicious viands he found on the table
in the room below that his ear, alert for any signs of trouble above,
caught the sinister sound he was listening for. He ran up, three steps
at a time, to find Jane struggling in the grip of her half-crazed
brother, who was demanding in language so profane that it seemed to
burn the air, the instant production of the one thing in the world he
wanted.
“You’ve got it--you’re hiding it--you little fool! Do you want to
see me dead before morning--you----” Then came the oaths, this time
but half uttered before a strong, smothering hand descended upon the
twisting mouth, and a stern voice said commandingly: “Not another word
like that, Ray, or I’ll choke you till you’re still!” At the same
moment a jerk of Black’s head toward the door and his fiery glance at
Jane told her that he wanted her out of the room and out of hearing as
fast as she could get away.
It was a long tussle this time, but it was over at last, and once
more, worn out by the violence of his own efforts, Cary lay quiet for
a little. Confident that though not asleep he would not at once find
strength to fight again, Black stole out of the room. In the narrow
hall outside he found Jane, sitting on the top stair, her head buried
in her arms.
Thus far he had known Jane only as a finely practical young business
woman, as independent as she was capable. He had seen that adorable
head of hers, with its smooth crown of chestnut hair, always held
high, with a suggestion of indomitable courage. Now--it looked as if
it had been brought low--incredibly low. She had long before exchanged
the dress in which she had spent the day in the shop for a plain white
skirt and blouse such as nurses wear, and in this costume she looked
much younger and more girlish than in the more conventional dress. Her
white-shod feet were crossed as a girl crosses them; and altogether, in
the dim light from the half-open door, she seemed to Black more like
Cary’s dependent young sister than one older than himself to whom he
had come as to a refuge. He didn’t know, as yet, that after all it was
Cary who was the older.
At the sound of the light footstep, however, Jane instantly lifted
her head, and then rose quickly to her feet, and he saw her smile--an
undoubtedly forced little smile, but full of pluck.
“You must be desperately tired,” she whispered. “But I don’t know what
I should have done without you this night.”
“You couldn’t have done without me. I can’t tell you how glad I am to
be here. And I’m not half as tired as you are. Won’t you go now and lie
down? You can’t do a bit of good by staying on guard here, and you’ll
need your strength to-morrow. This isn’t going to be a short siege, I’m
afraid.”
“I know it’s not. But I’ve been through it all before. I shall call
Doctor Burns to-morrow. I tried to to-night, so I could release you,
but he was away for the night. And--I didn’t want to call anybody else.
Nobody else--here--knows, and--I can’t have them know.”
“Nobody knows you have a brother?”
“Oh, they’ve seen Cary--but only when he was--himself. He is--Cary is
a genius, Mr. Black; he just has--the defects of his temperament. He--I
can show you----”
And then, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, the tears leaped into her
eyes. Like a small boy, abashed at having shown emotion, she threw back
her head, smiling again, and drawing the back of her hand across the
tell-tale eyes. “Oh, I’m ashamed of myself,” she breathed. “Believe me,
I’m not so weak as this looks.”
“You’re not in the least weak. And it’s three o’clock in the morning,
the hour when things take hold. See here----” And he looked her
straight in the eyes. “Jane Ray,” he said, not too gently, but as a man
might say it to a man, though he spoke low, on account of that open
door--“I want you to know that, whatever comes, I’ll see you through.
I won’t add--‘if you’ll let me’--for you’re going to let me. You can’t
help it--after to-night.” And he held out his hand. “Shall we make a
pledge of it?” he added, smiling gravely.
She looked straight back at him. “You can’t--see me through,” she said.
“You--I’ve no claim on you. You have your church----”
“I have. Is that a reason why I can’t stand by you? If it is--it’s not
the church I gave myself to. And--I think you need another brother.
I’m sure Cary does.” His hand was waiting. He looked down at it. “Are
you going to make me take it back?” he asked. “That would--feel very
strange. I didn’t offer it--to take back.”
She put her own into it then. He gave it a long, strong clasp and let
it go. Without looking at him she turned and ran downstairs, and he
went back into the room where Cary was beginning to stir restlessly
again.
He was conscious, in every fibre, that something had happened to him.
He had not had the least idea, when he had begun his vigils that night,
that before morning he should be thrilled as he never had been thrilled
before, by a simple handclasp, and a few spoken words, offering only
what he had offered many a man or woman in trouble before now, his
sympathy and help. But somehow--this had been different. He was acutely
aware that the wish to see Jane Ray through whatever difficulties and
problems might lie before her in connection with this brother of hers
was a mighty different sort of wish from any that he had experienced
before. And the fact that she had tacitly accepted his help--proud
Jane--for he knew she was proud--gave him a satisfaction out of all
proportion to any ordinary significance attached to so obvious and
natural a suggestion. There was now a bond between them--that was the
thing that took hold of him; a bond which made possible--well, what
did it make possible? What did he want it to make possible? He didn’t
try to go into that. One thing was sure: he had, by an accident, come
into her life in a way he had never dreamed of, and once in--he wanted
to stay. This touch of intimate comradeship had been something new in
his experience. It might never happen again; certainly he could not
continue to take care of Cary Ray through nights such as this one had
been. Doubtless Doctor Burns, once called, would take care of that;
Black knew that under the proper treatment the following night might
be one of comparative calm. But he could come to see him often; could
cultivate his friendship--gain as much influence over him as possible.
And if others found out about it, criticized him for giving time
and thought to people outside his parish--well--they might. Black’s
decision on this head was one which brooked no interference. Where he
could help he would help, in his parish or out of it....
It was at five o’clock in the morning that he fell asleep. He had not
meant to go to sleep, and had been caught unawares. For an hour Cary
had been quiet. Black, sitting on the edge of his bed, had found a
new way to keep hold of his man--and that was by keeping hold of him
literally. In a moment of desperation he had seized the thin, restless
fingers and forced them to remain still in his own. The firm contact
had produced a remarkable effect. After a little Cary’s hand had laid
hold of Black’s and clung to it, while the invalid himself had sunk
almost immediately away into something more resembling real slumber
than anything in the past night. Finding this expedient so successful
Black had allowed it to continue, for each time he tried to release
himself Cary took a fresh grip, like a child who will not let go his
hold upon his mother, even in unconsciousness. Finally, Black had made
himself as comfortable as he could by slipping down upon the floor,
where he could rest his head upon the bed without withdrawing his hand.
And in this posture, one eloquent of his own fatigue from the long
vigil, he went soundly to sleep.
So when, with the approach of daylight, Jane came in to tell her
assistant that he must go home now, while the streets were empty of
observant eyes, she found what she had not expected. She stood looking
at the two figures the one stretched so comfortably in the bed, the
other propped in so strained an attitude outside of it. As she looked
something very womanly and beautiful came into her eyes.
“Is it possible--” this was her thought--“that _you_ have done
this--for _me_? I didn’t know men of your profession ever did things
like this. But if I had known any of them ever did, I should have known
it would be you!”
He looked like a tall and fine-featured boy as he slept in his twisted
position, did Robert McPherson Black. He had taken off his coat while
he wrestled with Cary, and the white shirt-sleeves rolled to the
elbows, showing a sinewy forearm, added to the boyish effect. Suddenly
Jane’s eyes caught sight of something on one bare arm which made her
stoop lower, and then flush with chagrin. It was the unmistakable
mark upon the fair flesh of gripping fingers with nails which had
torn--already turning dark, as such deep bruises do. It was a little
thing enough--Jane knew already how her new friend would make light of
it if she mentioned it--and yet somehow it was rather a big thing, too.
It gave emphasis to the service he had done her; how could she have
dealt, alone, with wild brutality like that?
Then, as she looked, Cary roused, turned, opened his eyes, withdrew his
hand with a jerk, and Black woke also. And Cary was sane again, and
very weak, and spoke querulously:
“What the devil----” he began. “Who are you--and what are you doing
here?” Then, to Jane,--“Is this a cheap lodging house, and do you take
in every vagrant that comes along?”
“I took you in, dear,” said Jane, quietly. “And Mr. Black has stayed by
you all night. He must be very tired.”
Black laughed. “I’ve had quite a sleep, anyhow,” he said, attempting
with considerable difficulty to get upon his feet. “Certain areas seem
to have been more asleep than others, though. My arm--” and he began
to pinch and pound it--“looks to be all here, but it feels rather
absent.” It was absent indeed, and hanging by his side, quite numb.
Cary’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean--why, you’re the chap
that--that----” His weak voice took on a tension.
“Never mind about the identification. I’m glad you’re feeling better
this morning.”
“I don’t feel better. I feet like the devil. But I--I’m certainly
obliged to you. I--have you been here all--night?”
“Of course. Oh, thank you, Miss Ray--it’ll come back in a minute,” for
Jane had come up and was applying a vigorous massage with her own hands
to the inert arm.
“Well, I’ll be----” but Cary left the exclamation unfinished, and began
another. “I say--I’m not worth it!” he groaned, and buried his head in
the crumpled white pillow.
Downstairs, presently, Black, ready to go, spoke authoritatively.
“Please promise me you will call the Doctor early.”
“I will,” Jane agreed. “He has seen Cary before. If I could only have
had him last night, and spared you--I shouldn’t feel so guilty this
morning. Why----” and at this moment, for the first time, a recognition
came to her. It left her a little stunned. “Mr. Black,” she said,
unhappily, “I’m just realizing what day this is. It’s----”
“Yes, it’s Sunday,” admitted Black, smiling, “And none the worse for
that, is it?”
“But--you have to preach--and you’ve been up all night!”
“I suppose it’s because I’m a Scot, but--I’ve seldom left my sermons
till Saturday and Sunday to prepare. I’m all armed and equipped, Miss
Ray--you’ve nothing to regret.”
“But you haven’t slept--you’re frightfully tired----”
“Do I look as haggard as that? If I do, it’s only because I need a
clean shave. Come--if you weren’t tied up I’d challenge you to go to
church and see if I can’t hit from the shoulder, in spite of my lusty
right arm’s getting numb for ten minutes in your service. Good-by, for
the present, Miss Ray. I shall call you up, later, to learn if the
Doctor’s been here. And I shall--make friends with your brother the
very best I know how.”
He looked straight down into her uplifted eyes as he shook hands--with
no lingering or extra pressure this time, just the hard, comradely
grasp it was his nature to give. Then he was gone, out into the early
morning twilight, without a glance to right or left to see if any saw
him go.
An hour later Red came in, looked the situation over, and commented
brusquely:
“You must have had a--an Inferno--of a night with him.”
“I didn’t--because I wasn’t alone. Mr. Black stayed all night and took
care of him.”
“What?” The quick question spoke incredulity. Red stared at her.
“He brought Cary from the station, and then stayed--because--he thought
he was needed. I don’t know quite what I should have done without him.”
Red whistled. “You bet you don’t. Well, well--the minister certainly is
game. Didn’t worry about what some old lady of the parish might think,
eh?”
Jane drew herself up. “You don’t mean that, Doctor Burns.”
He laughed. “No, I don’t mean that. There was every reason why he
should ignore any such possibility--I understand the situation
exactly. But I think it was rather game of him, just the same. A
case like Cary’s isn’t exactly a joke to take care of, and the
average outsider gets out from under--and sends flowers to show his
sympathy--or a bottle of whisky, according to his lights. Well--to go
back to this precious brother of yours----”
“That is the right adjective,” said Jane Ray, steadily. “You know
perfectly well, Doctor Burns, he’s all I have.”
“Yes, I know.” He returned the look. “And I’ll do my best to put him
on his feet again. But he needs something neither you nor I can give
him. I’m inclined to think--and this is something of a concession for
me to make, Jane--I’m inclined to think Robert Black could. Cary’s a
dreamer--and a weak one. Bob Black’s a dreamer--but a strong one. If he
could get Cary to--well--to dream the right sort of dream---- You see,
it’s a case where a knowledge of psychology might take a hand where a
knowledge of pathology falls down. Do you get me?”
“I think I do. You want me to--encourage an acquaintance between them?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. I know you’re no church-goer, my dear--and
I admit I’ve never been much of a one myself. I feel a bit differently
of late--perhaps you can guess why. If you could get Cary under the
influence of this man Black--a friendship between them might do the
trick. Anyhow, don’t lay any stones in the way out of fear of putting
yourself under obligations to Black. I’ve discovered that he’s happiest
when he’s doing some absolutely impossible thing for somebody to
whom he’s under no obligation to do it. People take advantage of a
disposition like that--but he can’t exactly be trampled on, either--so
you’re pretty safe. Now--to come down to brass tacks----” And he fell
to giving her precise directions as to the line of treatment he wished
carried out.
“He’ll sleep to-night,” he prophesied. “He’s got to. I’ll come around
this evening and put him under for you. Good-bye for now, and remember
I’m on the job.”
She was feeling, as she went back to her difficult task, more hopeful
about Cary than she had ever felt hitherto. Well she might. She had now
enlisted in his behalf the whole power of a reconstructing force of
which until now she had hardly recognized the existence.