Herman Medfield sat in the spacious sitting-room of Suite A, his paper
spread out before him and his breakfast on the invalid table that had
been wheeled up to the window. He had found the table with its tray of
coffee and eggs and toast, an easy chair drawn up beside it, and the
morning paper by his plate, ready for him when he came from his
comfortable bath.
He had opened the paper, but not the eggs.... He read a few lines in the
paper and glanced down at the table with a little scowl and pushed it
from him.
Dr. Carmon had insisted on his being at the hospital for three or four
days before the operation. He wanted to watch him and control
conditions, he had said. It would make his decision easier.
The millionaire sitting in the window frowned a little and drummed with
his fingers on the arm of the chair.
He took up the paper and glanced at it again and threw it down.
One of the conditions had been that he should have no cigars. He had
understood and agreed to it.
But this morning he was impatient with himself and annoyed with Dr.
Carmon. These doctors had no end of theories--useless theories--that did
more harm than good. He should be in no shape for an operation--if he
could not keep his nerve better than this. He really needed a cigar.
He pressed the knob of the electric cord that reached to his chair and
took up the paper again.
When the nurse came in, he glanced up and motioned courteously to the
table.
"You may take it away, please."
She looked at the untouched food and lifted the tray without comment. At
the door she paused, at a word from the window.
The man had turned over his paper, and he glanced down another column as
he said carelessly:
"And--ah--would you be kind enough to telephone to my house for a box
of cigars. I seem to have forgotten to bring any."
The nurse waited the merest fraction of a second. "I will see if they
are on your order," she said quietly, and went out.
He lifted his eyes a trifle and returned to his paper.
The nurse closed the two doors of Suite A noiselessly behind her. She
went down the corridor, bearing the rejected tray.
Half-way down the corridor she encountered a plump figure.
Aunt Jane's mild glance rested on the tray. "Anything the matter with
it?" she asked.
"He doesn't want it," said the nurse. "He said, 'take it away.'" Her
lips smiled, ever so little, as she watched the round face in its cap.
The cap strings did not exactly bristle; but there was a look of
firmness in the plump chin.
"Take it back," said Aunt Jane. "Tell him it is what was ordered for
him. He is to eat it--eat all of it."
She spoke back over her shoulder, half turned away. "I've got a good
many things on my hands this morning. I can't be bothered with fussy
folks and notions." She passed on and disappeared in the door of Room
18.
The nurse, with her tray, returned to Suite A. She opened the door
softly and went in.
Two minutes later, she emerged, still with her tray--and a high, clear
color in her face.
Aunt Jane coming out of Room 18, caught a glimpse of her and stopped.
The nurse shook her head, the color in her cheeks mounting. "He doesn't
want it." Her eyes twinkled a little in spite of the color that flooded
up.
Aunt Jane reached out her hands for the tray. She gave a half-impatient
click. "More bother'n they worth!" she said. "Always are in that room!"
She bore the tray before like a charger, and entered Suite A without
parley.
Herman Medfield looked up and saw her, and rose instinctively.
Aunt Jane set the tray on the table and pushed the table gently toward
him. "Sit down," she said.
He sat down in his chair by the window, looking up at her inquiringly.
"Everything's there," said Aunt Jane. She glanced over the tray. "You're
to eat it all--all there is on the tray."
The man laid down his paper and smiled at her quizzically.
"But, madam, I have no appetite," he said courteously.
Aunt Jane regarded him mildly over her spectacles. "Folks that come here
don't generally have appetites," she said. "They come here to get 'em."
Something crossed in the air between them and the millionaire's eyes
dropped first. He drew his chair toward the table.
A half smile hovered on Aunt Jane's lips. She took up the coffee-pot and
reached to the sugar. "How many lumps?" she asked pleasantly.
"Two, please," responded Herman Medfield.
She placed them in the cup and poured in cream and filled the cup with
coffee. "Looks like good coffee, this morning," she said quietly. "You
got everything you want?"
"I think so, yes." He looked at the tray with a little more interest and
pecked at an egg.
Aunt Jane nodded shrewdly and kindly and went out.
It was only after she had gone that Herman Medfield remembered he had
not spoken of the cigars. On the whole, he decided to wait until
to-morrow for his cigar.