DOODLES KEEPS ON
THE first days of Doodles’s home─coming were full of a mild excitement.
Besides there being so much to talk about when the little family was
alone, almost everybody in The Flatiron was eager to give a personal
welcome to the small traveler, as well as to hear about his visit to the
great city. But after all the tenants had come and gone, and the boy was
left to himself for the most of the long day, his disappointment
returned to haunt and torture him. There were times when even his violin
had no power to drive away the bitter thoughts.
Blue perceived that something was wrong. His brother’s merry laugh had
dropped to a wan smile, and occasionally there was the sound of a wee
sigh. The matter came to a climax, one day, when school was closed at an
unexpected hour, and Doodles was caught crying.
At first the little lad refused to give any reason for his tears; but
Blue would not let him off, and the direct cause of his sorrow was
finally disclosed.
“I don’t know—what to do!” he sobbed. A gush of tears halted his speech,
but he went on quickly. “It doesn’t do any good! I thought ’twas going
to—in New York—and now it hasn’t! But it seems so mean not to keep on!”
“Keep on what?” Blue burst out.
“Why, asking God to let me walk!” Doodles answered. “You know I’ve been
asking and asking for so long.”
“Yes,” Blue assented. “But if I were you I wouldn’t bother any more—”
He was sorry it was out, for a look came over his brother’s face that he
had never seen there before,—horror and anguish blended in one.
“No, I guess I’d keep on!” Blue quickly amended.
“Oh! would you?” It was like sunshine bursting from a storm cloud. “I
want to—oh, how I want to! But I didn’t know. God says if we ask for
_anything_ He will give it to us, and why do you s’pose He doesn’t let
me walk?”
“I do’ know,” sighed Blue. His knowledge did not extend to such deep
problems.
“It seems awfully mean to give right up,” Doodles went on, “but,” his
voice dropped mournfully, “I s’pose that doctor knows. Still, God could
cure me if all the doctors in the world should say I couldn’t ever walk,
couldn’t He?”
“I guess so,” answered Blue gloomily.
“And I can’t see why He doesn’t when I want to so much.”
Blue was silent. His thoughts just then would scarcely have helped
matters.
“What do you think?”
“I do’ know noth’n’ ’bout it. Why don’t you ask mother?”
“I did begin one day; but she feels so bad about what the New York
doctor said—no, I can’t ask her!”
“Try Miss Fleming, when she comes to give you your lesson,” shirked
Blue.
“Oh, I don’t think she knows! I’d rather you’d tell me.”
“Tell you what?” parried the elder boy.
“If God wants me to keep on. Seems as if I couldn’t stop! I’ve been
stopping, and it’s ’most killed me!”
“Well, for pity’s sake, keep on then!” Blue advised.
“Would you really? And you don’t think it’ll be wicked?”
“Wicked! no!”
“And He must answer me sometime, if I keep right on, and don’t give up a
single bit, mustn’t He? ’Cause the Bible says ‘anything,’ you know, and
that must mean _walking_. If it said ‘except to walk,’ of course I
couldn’t; but there isn’t a single ‘except’ anywhere, is there?”
“I never saw one,” admitted the other.
“So you do b’lieve He will let me sometime?” insisted Doodles.
“Sure!” nodded Blue recklessly, and the next minute called himself a
fool, seeing the joy leap in his brother’s face.
On his way downtown he went over the talk bitterly.
“Now he’ll think he’s goin’ to walk!” he muttered. “And he can’t,—ever,
ever, ever!” hammering out the words with passionate force. “O God,
why?” The old, old question clamored in his heart.
On one end of the Courant Building advertisements were posted. For a
week, almost on the very corner, had stood the picture of a man, a tall,
handsome man in gallant uniform of blue and red and gold. Every day the
boy had seen it, but seen it indifferently; his eyes had never gone
further. Now, suddenly, they took in the words that accompanied the
figure. They were in big, bold type.
=THE LAME WALK!
THE DEAF HEAR!
THE BLIND SEE!=
That was what Blue read, and involuntarily stopped to read more.
The announcement stated that Doctor Emmanuel de Vendôme, the celebrated
healer, recently a famous surgeon in the French army, would be at Hotel
Royal for a few weeks, where he would give examinations absolutely free
to all.
“I wonder—” began Blue, and thereby started a train of thought which
raced through his mind for the next busy hour. How he succeeded in
delivering his papers on the proper doorsteps is surprising, considering
what air castles he builded during that time. But he was free at last to
rush home to Doodles, whom in a few minutes he managed to work up to an
excitement far exceeding his own.
It was decided, long before Mrs. Stickney came, that Doodles should go
for a free examination, and although the mother could not feel as
sanguine of success as the boys did, still she gave a ready permission,
Blue arguing that it was not going to cost “a lonesome cent.”
The next day Blue hastened home from the afternoon session, bringing
Joseph with him, and the trio started without delay. At the hotel,
however, they found a crowd ahead of them, and they were forced to wait
until nearly six o’clock before being admitted to the imposing presence
of the uniformed physician.
To their surprise the examination was slight, consisting only of a few
questions and a superficial fingering of the lad’s back. It was over so
quickly that the boys left the room in rather a dazed whirl, realizing
only that the epauleted stranger had asserted that Doodles could be
helped and probably cured, and that he was to have his first treatment
on the morrow at a charge of five dollars.
The mother looked grave over the doctor’s fee; but she finally yielded
to Blue’s urging, and Doodles went to bed to dream of marching, actually
marching, in line with gayly─uniformed soldiers. Thomas Fitzpatrick and
Joseph, and Christarchus were there, with epaulets upon their
shoulders,—and then, just as he was screwing his head round to see his
own shoulders, came the order, “Forward!” and he awoke.
The following afternoon, in the hour before school─closing, just as the
small boy was feeling the slow progress of the moments before it would
be time for Blue, who should knock at the door but Thomas Fitzpatrick!
Presently Doodles was talking of the hopes that were thronging his
heart.
“Wouldn’t it be beautiful if I could walk again?” Doodles went on
enthusiastically, his fair face pink with excitement, and his brown eyes
luminous with hope.
The policeman’s lips parted—and came together. Then he said quietly:—
“It would, sure!”
“I guess I shall,” Doodles smiled. “The doctor thinks so. It is going to
cost a good deal, five dollars a time; but mother says she doesn’t
begrudge the money, if he can do me a bit of good. Oh, I’ve wondered and
wondered what it would feel like to jump right up and run across the
room, as Blue does—and to think I shall _know_!” His voice dropped
almost to a whisper, as if the thought were too precious to speak.
The officer pulled out his watch with a hand that trembled.
“I must be going, little man,” he said. “I had an hour off duty, so I
thought I’d just drop in and say, ‘How d’ ye do?’ and, ‘Good─bye!’”
He held the small hand in a tight squeeze, and then, for Thomas
Fitzpatrick, he did a most remarkable thing, he bent over and kissed the
uplifted face.
“Good─bye!” called Doodles, as the tall man strode towards the door.
And from out the depths of a husky throat came the answering,
“Good─bye!”
Once more the policeman’s watch told him that it still lacked fifteen
minutes of school─closing. The intervening time was spent in street
chats with acquaintances, and some of them appeared to be absorbing; but
promptly on the appointed moment Fitzpatrick was in front of the
Franklin School, his keen eye on the lookout for Blue.
In the center of a troupe of jostling, shouting boys the officer spied
him, and presently the lad was caught on the run by a strong arm.
“Oh!” he laughed, “it’s you! I was goin’ to give it to whoever was
grabbin’ me that style!”
“Come over here! I’ve got something to tell you.”
“Won’t it keep?” objected Blue. “I’ve important business on hand and
can’t stop—”
“Yes, you can! Come on!” He started across the street, away from the
crowd of grinning boys.
“What is it? You see, I’m due at Hotel Royal at quarter past four,
and—Hold on there, Joseph! I’ll be back in a jiffy!”
“You’ll have time for anything when I’m through with ye,” said the
officer grimly.
“What do you mean?” cried Blue, startled by Fitzpatrick’s manner. “Is
Doodles—?”
“He’s all right, poor little kid!” The officer shook his head sadly.
“I’ve just been up to see him.”
“Oh! then he told you—”
“He did! And it broke me all up! Blue Stickney, you’ve got to take my
word for it, without any explanation! Don’t ye waste a cent on that
_doctor_ up at the hotel!”
“Wh—what?” Blue stammered.
“I mean what I say! Give him a wide berth, and keep whist! Tom
Fitzpatrick knows what he’s talking about! I started to tell the kid,
but it was too much for me—I couldn’t do it!”
“Why, I’m—was going to take him up there this afternoon for the first
treatment!”
“I know! It’s a shame! But it’s lucky you haven’t thrown away any five
dollars!”
“Are you sure he ain’t all right?” Blue scowled. “Why he was in the
French army, and he wears epaulets!”
The policeman gave a short laugh.
“I’m not saying he isn’t all right, am I? I’m telling you to let him
alone, and not to breathe a syllable outside—that’s all!”
“It’s too bad!” Blue’s forehead puckered into deep lines and ridges.
“It is that!” agreed the officer, shaking his head sorrowfully, thinking
of Doodles.
The boy went home in a frenzy. What should he tell his brother? How
would he take it?
“Blue Stickney! where _have_ you been? What makes you so late? Did you
have to stay after school? Where’s Joseph?” The eager questions popped
out in a breath.
“We ain’t goin’!” Blue threw his cap on the floor, and himself into the
rocker.
“_Why not?_”
“Tom Fitzpatrick told me not to—and that’s all I know!” The words came
with a fierce snap.
“But he’s been here—he didn’t say anything! Why—?”
“I tell you, I don’t know! He said to keep away from that doctor, and
not to blab. I s’pose he’s a crook, and the police have got on to it.”
He had been talking to the floor; now he glanced up.
The little white face, all the eager joy gone out of it; the big,
startled eyes that looked past his brother, into the long, helpless
years ahead;—it overpowered Blue’s self─command. He put his hands to his
face and broke into sobs.
“Why, Blue, don’t! Don’t cry!” pleaded Doodles. “See! I’m not crying! If
that doctor isn’t a nice man, God wouldn’t have let him cure me anyway,
so it is better to know it before I began. Don’t cry, please don’t! I’m
not going to give up! I am going to _keep on_!”
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