Dr. Ferris smiled tolerantly, and said to the footman who had brought
the card: "I shall be very glad to see Mr. Allen." And he kept on
smiling after the footman had gone. The interview which he foresaw was
of that kind which not only did him honor but amused him. Wilmot Allen
would not be the first young man to whom the rich surgeon had had the
pleasure of putting embarrassing questions: "What can you tell me of
your past life and habits?" "Can you support my daughter in the way to
which she has always been accustomed?" etc., etc.
But Wilmot Allen did not at once ask permission to address Barbara. He
entered with that good-natured air of easy laziness which was rather
attractive in him, and without looking in the least troubled announced
that what he had come to say embarrassed him greatly.
"And furthermore," he said, "if Barbara hears of it, she'll be furious.
She would take the natural and even correct point of view that it's none
of my business, and she would select one of the thousand ruthless and
brutal methods which young women have at their disposition for the
disciplining of young men. So, please, will you consider my visit
professional and, if you like," he grinned mischievously, "charge me the
regular fee for consultation?"
Dr. Ferris laughed. "I shall be delighted to play father confessor," he
said, "if you'll sit down, and smoke a cigar."
Mr. Allen would. He lighted one of Dr. Ferris's cigars with the care due
to a thing of value, settled himself in a deep chair, and appeared by
slightly pausing to be gathering scattered thoughts into a focus.
"Yes," he said at last, "there's no doubt about it. I am about to be
very impertinent. If you like you shall turn me out of your house, with
or without kicks, as seems best to you. Barbara needs a nurse, and it
seems to me you ought to know it; because in a way it's a reflection
on you."
"Quite so," said Dr. Ferris. "I am not at all pleased with Barbara. What
has she done?"
"Do you suppose it would be possible to get her interested in anything
besides this sculpture business--before it's too late?"
"Too late?"
"Before she gets a taste of success."
"But will she--ever?"
Wilmot Allen nodded eagerly. "She will," he said. "She is doing a head.
It's far from finished; but even now, in the rough state, it's quite the
most exceptional inspired thing you ever saw. She will exhibit it and
become famous overnight. I can't bet much--as you may perhaps
suspect--but I'll bet all I've got. And of course, once she gets
recognition and everybody begins to kow-tow to her--why,
good-by, Barbara."
"Still," said Dr. Ferris, "if she's developing a real talent, I don't
know that I ought to stand in her way. And, besides, we've fought that
all out, and," he laughed grimly, "I took my licking like a man."
"Of course," said Allen. "When a girl that ought to go in for marriage
and that sort of thing takes to being talented--I call it a tragedy.
But, passing that, the model for the head she's doing isn't a proper
person. That's what I'm driving at. He's one of the wickedest and most
unscrupulous persons in the world. Barbara ought not to speak to him,
let alone give him the run of her studio and hobnob with him same as
with one of her friends. He's a man too busy with villainy to sit as a
model for the fun of sitting. The pay doesn't interest him. And if he
shows up every morning at nine and stays all morning, it's only because
he's got an axe to grind. He talks. He lays down the law. He appeals to
Barbara's mind and imagination; and it's all rather horrible--one of
those poison snakes that look like an old rubber boot, and a bird all
prettiness, bright colors, innocence, and admiration of how the world is
made. Look at it in this way. She makes a great hit with the bust. Who's
responsible? Well, the creature that supplied the inspiration, largely.
She'll feel gratitude. He'll take advantage of anything that comes his
way. And frankly, Dr. Ferris, I may be making a mountain out of a
mole-hill, but I'm worried to death. Suppose I told you that, say, Duane
Carter spent hours every day in Barbara's studio?"
Dr. Ferris jumped to his feet, white with anger. "Do you mean to tell
me that my daughter is friendly with that person?"
"Oh, no," said Allen calmly. "I think Barbara's new friend is a very
much more dangerous person for her to know. Whatever Duane Carter is he
wouldn't dare. This other man--"
"Look here, Wilmot"--Dr. Ferris began to pace the room in considerable
agitation--"you're an old friend of Barbara's. Is friendliness at the
root of your worry, or is it some other feeling, not so disinterested as
friendship?"
Wilmot Allen rose to his full height, and Dr. Ferris paused in his
pacings. They faced each other.
"If I was any good," said the young man slowly, "if I had any money, if
Barbara would have me, I'd marry her to-morrow. But I'm not any
good--never was. I haven't any money, hardly ever have had, and Barbara
would no more have me of her own free will than she'd take a hammer and
smash the bust she's making. So much for motives. Have I disposed of
jealousy?"
Dr. Ferris nodded.
"The man," said Allen, "isn't a man. He's a gutter-dog, a gargoyle, half
a man. And his position in the city--in the whole country, I think--is
so fortified that with the best will in the world the law cannot touch
him. Duane Carter--well, he's been a gay boy with the ladies--a bad man
if you like--but at least he is not accused by gossip of murder, arson,
abduction, and crimes infinitely worse than these. He may have beguiled
women, but at least his worst enemy would never suppose that he had
trafficked in them. Barbara's model is all the things that you can
imagine. And all of them are written in his horrible face. To see them
together, friendly, reparteeing, chummy, would turn your
stomach--Barbara so exquisite and high-born, and the man, his eyes full
of evil fires, sitting like a great toad on the model's chair. And at
that--good God, you might stand it, if he was a whole man! But he isn't.
It's horrible! He has no legs--and you want to stamp on him till
he's dead."
Dr. Ferris had turned white as a sheet. "To me," he said quietly, "that
is the most horrible form of mutilation. I can't tell you why. It is so.
And you will believe that in my practice I have encountered all sorts.
But who is he?"
"He's a man named Blizzard--he passes for a beggar, grinds an organ,
sells shoe-laces and that sort of thing. As a matter of fact, he's very
well off, if not rich. Why don't you visit Barbara's studio to-morrow,
look things over, and put a stop to it? You can say things to Barbara
that I can't, that no young man can say to a girl. Go as far as you
like. Whatever you tell her about him will be true even if you can't
prove it. You can make her see what thin ice she's skating on. Or if you
can't nobody can."
"I'll go to the studio to-morrow," said the surgeon. "I am very much
disturbed by what you have told me: the more so because as a physician
I have learned how many impossible things are true. Have you told me all
you wish to? Or is there more? Do you think," he spoke very steadily,
"that Barbara _cares_ for this beast? Such things happen in the world,
I know."
"God forbid," said Allen, "but I think he has a sort of fascination for
her, and that she doesn't realize it. You'll let your visit appear
casual and accidental, won't you? You won't let Barbara suspect that I
had anything to do with it?"
Dr. Ferris promised, and the two parted with mutual good-will; but
neither the next morning, nor the morning after that, was Dr. Ferris at
liberty to pay a visit to Barbara in her studio. Nominally retired from
active practice, and devoting whatever of life should remain to surgical
experimentation and theory, the sudden and acute jeopardy of an old
friend caused him to put all other considerations aside for the time
being, and once more to don the white harness of his profession. For two
days Dr. Ferris hardly left his friend's side; on the morning of the
third day, quite worn out, his jumping nerves soothed by a small dose of
morphine, he called a taxicab, gave Barbara's number in McBurney Place,
leaned back against the leather cushions, relaxed his muscles, and
fell asleep.
The taxicab and the legless man reached the curb in front of Barbara's
studio at the same moment. The driver of the cab lifted one finger to
his hat. The legless man nodded, and peering into the cab recognized
the handsome features of the sleeping doctor. He smiled, and said to
the driver:
"Take him back to his house."