LOLA TELLS FALSEHOODS
"I thought I heard the elevator stop!" John exclaimed nervously as he
went to the door and looked anxiously down the hall.
"She knew we were to have dinner at seven," Dr. Barnhelm said as he
stepped to the window and peered out into the gathering darkness.
They had been waiting now for a long time, patiently at first, but as
the hours passed, and the lights began to come out along the Drive and
in the windows of the apartment opposite, John and Barnhelm began to
show the anxiety they had at first attempted to conceal. The chess
game had ended long ago, and they had sat together in the twilight
talking, until Maria had brought in the evening papers and switched on
the light. John, remembering the coldness Lola had shown to him
earlier in the day, was hurt and offended. "Surely," he thought, "she
should have forgiven me before now, but she is staying away purposely
to show me that she is still angry."
Dr. Barnhelm was anxious because he felt a host's responsibility and
knew that Maria and Jane, the cook, were depending upon Lola for final
instructions about the rather elaborate dinner he had demanded in
honor of his old friend's arrival. Of the three Dr. Crossett alone was
calm and unruffled and rather inclined to be amused by the others'
obvious impatience.
"She was detained, no doubt," he remarked easily, glancing up from his
paper. "Are your subways never blocked? Your cars never stalled? La! a
thousand things!"
"Almost five hours," exclaimed John impatiently. "Even our subway can
hardly be accused of that. I think I had better go there, Doctor. I
know where Mrs. Mooney lives."
"It would take you at least an hour," responded the Doctor, "and if
there had been anything unusually wrong with Nellie, Lola would have
telephoned."
"Who is this Nellie Mooney?" inquired Dr. Crossett.
"A poor little girl," explained Dr. Barnhelm, "the daughter of a
hard-working Irish woman. The child has suffered for years with a
tubercular disease of the bone of her arm; before we moved I used to
see her almost every day, but I had not been able to do much for her."
"So. She is young?"
"About twelve."
"These cases are, to me, most interesting. I have had success in their
treatment. If this child is dear to you I will see her. I do not mean
that I can do more than you have done, but my treatment has often been
successful."
"It would make Lola very happy, Paul," replied Dr. Barnhelm. "She met
the child in the Park over a year ago and brought her to me. Of all
her protegees Nellie has always been the one she seemed to care the
most about. I have been glad to see that she still thinks of her."
"And now," said Dr. Crossett smilingly, "you two are both out of
patience because Lola is doing the very thing you wanted her to do."
"I want her to be charitable," broke in John. "It was her almost
divine pity for this very child that first showed me the sort of girl
she was. But she has spent three whole afternoons there this week.
Surely that is overdoing it."
"Ah! The selfishness of the young," remarked Dr. Crossett, turning the
pages of his paper and carelessly looking over the headlines. "Because
she loves you, she must love no one else? Is that it? Because she is
going to give her whole life to you, she must not take any little
minutes for herself?"
"Oh, I know!" John spoke regretfully, uneasily conscious of the
jealousy that for some time had been creeping into all his thoughts of
her. "I am getting to be a beast. I am sure I don't know why. I was
never jealous before or nervous, never in my life! There must be
something wrong with me."
"There is," replied the Doctor in his best professional manner. "Will
you allow me," and he took John's unresisting hand and put his finger
to his pulse. "You are suffering from an ailment that requires the
most careful nursing. For most ailments we nurse the patient, but this
particular disease, commonly called love, must itself be nursed or it
will die!"
"You are laughing at me, Doctor, and I don't at all blame you," said
John as the Doctor dropped his hand and started to resume his reading
of the paper. "I can't think what can have detained Lola, but it is
absurd of me to be out of patience with her about it."
"Doctor." Maria stood in the doorway, and spoke rather timidly. "Jane
says that you won't have any dinner at all unless you take it now."
"Ah!" exclaimed Dr. Crossett. "Now matters are growing serious. I
find, Martin, that our long walk has given me an appetite."
"I could keep something hot for Miss Lola," suggested Maria, who had
come to the end of her powers of persuasion with the indignant Jane,
and knew that unless dinner could be served at once there was a strong
probability of her having to serve it alone, without the help of this
haughty stranger who had been engaged by Lola soon after they had
given up their old simple manner of living. "It was such a nice
dinner, Doctor, but there won't be anything fit to eat left; it's been
ready over an hour."
"You are right, Maria, I think," said Dr. Barnhelm; "perhaps it
would----" As he spoke the bell rang.
"There she is now!" exclaimed Maria joyfully. "She never remembers to
take her key."
She left the room hurriedly and went down the hall to the door as John
sighed with relief and even Dr. Crossett beamed gratefully as he rose
from his chair.
"You see! You two gloomy ones! Everything is all right. At least she
has left her little Nellie, and at last we dine."
As he spoke Maria reentered the room looking startled, perhaps a
little frightened.
"Mrs. Mooney, Doctor," she announced. "Mrs. Mooney and Nellie!"
Mrs. Mooney and Nellie had followed Maria, and as she saw the three
gentlemen, all of them now thoroughly alarmed, Mrs. Mooney hesitated,
and put her arm about Nellie, who drew closer to her, awed by the
magnificence of the brilliantly lighted room, and vaguely troubled by
the unspoken question in the faces turned to her.
"Miss Lola?" inquired Dr. Barnhelm quietly.
"I made bold to come, sir," she answered, "because the child's arm is
that bad she can't seem to stand it."
"Where is my daughter?"
"Your daughter, Doctor? Miss Lola?"
"Why did she not come with you?"
"I--I don't understand you, sir."
"She was with you this afternoon."
"No, sir," replied Mrs. Mooney in surprise. "I haven't seen Miss Lola
since you folks moved away from Eighth Avenue."
It was impossible to doubt the truth of the woman's statement, and as
impossible to forget that day after day Lola had left them with the
intention of going to her. John and Dr. Barnhelm had often asked her,
on her return, how Nellie was getting on, and Lola had answered them,
seemingly much grieved over the child's condition. Dr. Crossett felt
some of their amazement, and the three stood there, for a moment
unable to speak until another sharp ring at the bell sent Maria
hurrying to the door.
No one spoke--what was there to say? They stood there waiting until
they heard the door open, and heard Lola's gay laugh as she brushed
past Maria, calling out to them cheerfully as she hurried down the
hall:
"Here I am at last. Did you think I was never coming?"
There was something in their manner that made her hesitate as she
stepped into the room and, glancing about for an explanation, her eyes
fell upon Mrs. Mooney and Nellie. For a moment, as she turned on Mrs.
Mooney, a look of such fierce rage and hatred flashed over her face,
that the poor woman stepped back in terror, throwing her arms about
her child instinctively, as though to shield her from danger.
What was it? Why did this girl who had done so much for them, who had
been the good angel of their lives, look at them like that? Mrs.
Mooney looked at her in return, and as she looked she saw Lola smiling
sweetly, lovingly. No trace of anything on her calm, happy face but
tenderness and sympathy, and she was bitterly ashamed of her folly,
and humbly grateful as Lola came and put her arms about Nellie in
eager welcome.
"Why, Nellie," she exclaimed, "I am so glad to see you!"
"You--you have not seen her before then?" inquired her father gravely.
"Oh, dear, no," answered Lola lightly. "Hasn't she told you that?"
John stepped forward impatiently. There must be some good reason for
her deceit of them. Surely she should give it, and as Lola turned to
speak to Dr. Crossett, he stepped in front of her. "Lola, why did
you----"
"Now, John," she interrupted him, "please don't be silly. I see that
there is nothing for me to do but confess. I had not meant to tell you
until after dinner. I have been very selfish. I have been riding, in
an automobile."
"With whom?"
"With nobody dreadful, I assure you." She turned to her father,
laughing at John's frowning face. "With the wife of one of your old
friends, Mrs. Dr. Rupert."
"You see," Dr. Crossett sighed with perfect relief. "Why make
mountains out of nothing? Surely we do not begrudge our girl a ride."
"Of course you don't. I met her as I went out of the house. I fully
meant to call on you, Nellie dear, but Mrs. Rupert wanted me very
much, and besides, I knew that she could help me."
The others were smiling now, quite satisfied, but John's face had not
changed, and as he spoke to her, his voice was hard, suspicious.
"Mrs. Mooney says that you have never been to her house. Not once of
all the times you have left me to go there."
"If you don't stop interrupting me, John, I will never be able to
finish my story. I was just trying to tell you that I had been
deceiving you. But now Mrs. Rupert has promised to help me, so I don't
mind telling you all about it."
She looked at them, her face slightly flushed, a little embarrassed;
but calm and earnest. To Dr. Crossett she seemed like a child, about
to confess some little fault, a fault it knows to be already forgiven.
"I am not quite the heartless, selfish girl you seem to think me."
There were tears in her eyes now, and her voice trembled. The last
trace of displeasure had gone from her father's face. John alone was
still standing out against her.
"I know," she continued, "that I have been extravagant, and I am going
to make up for it. I have been trying to get pupils for a private
kindergarten. I have called upon hundreds of wealthy mothers, and, at
last, I think that I have the promise of children enough for a start.
That is why I wanted to postpone our marriage, John." She turned to
him appealingly: "I could not marry you, dear, before I had earned
back the money I had spent so foolishly."
"My dear." Her father stepped forward, but John was before him. "Can
you forgive me, Lola?" Shame and regret made his voice low and husky.
"My friends!" Dr. Crossett's cheerful tone broke in upon them. "The
man who has a jewel, and does not know its value is an ass. Now that
you two can make no more trouble for yourselves, in mercy's name give
me my dinner."
"I am ashamed, Lola," said her father remorsefully.
"But you shall not work any more. After to-morrow night there will be
no need for it."
He put his arm about her lovingly, thinking proudly of how much his
approaching triumph would allow him to do for her. Dr. Crossett turned
from them delighted at her triumph, but as he turned the look of
suffering on little Nellie's face sobered him.
"This child is in pain, Martin!"
He stepped quickly to where she sat, forgotten all this time, and
bravely trying to conceal her suffering.
"My dear Nellie." Dr. Barnhelm went to her remorsefully. "Is it so
bad?"
"It is bad enough, sir." The child's lip trembled as his kind tone did
what the pain could not do, and tears came to her eyes, and she began
to sob.
"Them dispensary doctors have made it worse," said the mother
bitterly. "They say it's no use at all. They--they say her arm's got
to go."
"When did they tell you this?"
"This afternoon, sir; that's why I had to come to you. I can't stand
it, Doctor. I've stood a lot, but I can't, can't let 'em do that to
her. She's all that's left, and it seems like some one must be able to
help her."
"Paul, will you look at this child? You say that you have worked on
these cases. Can't you and I together help this little girl?"
"Yes, Martin," Dr. Crossett exclaimed with resolution. "Yes! Come! I
will examine her!"
"Let her wait until after dinner," interrupted Lola impatiently. They
all looked at her astounded, the agony in the mother's voice had moved
them deeply. Dr. Crossett's kind eyes were full of tears. Dr. Barnhelm
was more surprised at her tone than indignant at her heartlessness,
but he responded rather sharply:
"Lola! The child is suffering."
"Naturally, I am very sorry for her," replied Lola, "but you can't
stop all the suffering in the world, and I'm sure Jane will be furious
if we keep her waiting much longer."
"Come, Nellie," said Dr. Barnhelm, replying to Lola only with a look
of reproach. "We will use the library, Paul. You can be making us a
cocktail, John; we won't be long." He turned kindly to Mrs. Mooney.
"It would be better for you to remain here. This gentleman is Dr.
Crossett, one of the leading surgeons of Paris. He will do his best to
help us."
"God bless you, sir," cried the grateful woman to Dr. Crossett,
impressed, as all whom he met were, by his air of quiet confidence. "I
think you would help her, if you could."
"I am going to try, very earnestly, very hopefully. She is young; that
is in our favor. Very shortly now I shall tell you, quite frankly,
just what our chances are."
He left the room with Dr. Barnhelm and Nellie. John had stepped into
the dining-room to mix the cocktail. Mrs. Mooney stood watching Nellie
until she had passed out of sight, then turned and crossed to where
Lola stood looking indolently out of the window.
"You say you can't stop all the suffering in the world," she began,
trying hard to control herself. "No, you can't! That child of mine was
born to it. She's had it every hour of her life. Don't think I am
forgetting what I owe to your father, and to you. But I never thought
to hear you speak like that!"
"Why did you come here?" Lola turned on her with a fierceness that
made her own seem tame. "How dared you and your sickly child put me in
a false position? Do you think that my father has nothing to do but
devote his skill to you? For what?" She hissed the question at her,
her voice shrill with scorn and contempt. "You won't pay him. You know
that! His time is his wealth, and you rob him of it. Do you know what
they call a person who robs another of his wealth? A thief!"
Mrs. Mooney drew back, almost cowering before the flashing brilliancy
in Lola's eyes, heart-sick at the bitter insult of her words. But she
was proud, with the decent pride of a woman who has lived a hard life
blamelessly, and there was a trace of Lola's own bitterness in her
voice as she answered.
"I've been an honest woman always, but if it would bring health to her
I'd be a thief. Maybe it's just as hard for me to take your charity as
it is for you to give it. After what you've said I'd rather cut my own
arm off than come here, but it ain't my arm that's in danger, it's
Nellie's, and she's got to have her chance. God knows best what's come
over you, Miss, but your heart ain't the same as it used to be."
She turned and left the room, waiting patiently, humbly in the hall
outside the library door, straining her ears to catch a sentence here
and there from the murmurs of the doctors' voices, and as she waited
she prayed, over and over and over again. "Don't take her from me,
God! Don't! Don't! Don't take her! Don't take her!"
They found her there when at last the door opened and the two
physicians stepped into the hall with Nellie between them. At the
sound of the opening door she turned and looked straight into Dr.
Crossett's eyes. Judges on the bench have seen such a look on the face
of poor, desperate creatures, waiting for the words that would mean
life or death.
From one face to the other her eyes turned, at first not daring to
read, not daring to credit what she seemed to see.
"You tell the doctor at the dispensary," Dr. Crossett's voice was
husky, but his face beamed with triumph, "that he happens to be a
jackass. You tell him that I, Dr. Paul Crossett, will make this
child's arm as good as new!"
"Oh, no! I don't ask that, Doctor. Just help her a little."
"I will cure her. I give you my word."
"Is it true?" She turned to Dr. Barnhelm, not daring to believe.
"Yes. It is true."
"Gentlemen!" She was not without dignity as she faced them, her arms
about her daughter. "You can't expect a woman like me to know how to
thank you. I can't ever pay you, not with money, or with words. All I
can ever do is--is to pray for you."
"That," replied Dr. Crossett, with the bow he usually reserved for the
greatest ladies of his own brilliant world, "that is not often done.
It is enough."