"Mr. Medfield is asking for you again," said Miss Canfield.
Aunt Jane, coming out of the Children's Ward, stopped and looked at the
nurse and smiled. "I suppose he's fussing and tewing a good deal?" she
asked.
"He is," admitted Miss Canfield.
"Well, I'll be in by and by. You can tell him I'm coming."
She went leisurely on. When she had made the rounds of the top floor and
had descended to the office and entered a few items in her day-book and
given directions for linen and had a conference with the cook, she
turned toward Suite A.
She knocked on the outer door, and bent her head a little to listen--and
as she listened she had a sudden sense of the room on the other side of
the door--she saw it lying in the darkness, and she heard the rooster's
clear, shrill call through the window, and saw the straight form on the
bed. It all came before her and vanished as she put her hand on the door
and knocked.
"Come in!" The voice was sharp and a little imperious.
Aunt Jane opened the door.
A burst of light and color greeted her. The shades were rolled to the
tops of the windows. And there were flowers everywhere.... Roses on the
table, a great bunch of carnations on the desk, violets on the stand at
the head of Herman Medfield's bed, foxgloves and snapdragons filling the
window-sill and spilling over into the room. It was a riot of color; and
in the midst of it, propped on his pillows on the high white bed, the
millionaire looked out with a scowl.
He wore an embroidered Chinese shoulder coat of blue and gold; and his
hair, carefully combed, stood up a little on his forehead. The Vandyke
beard was clipped to a point.
"You look pretty as a picture," said Aunt Jane cheerfully.
The scowl deepened a little--then it broke. "Will you sit down?" said
Medfield politely.
Aunt Jane drew up a chair.
He watched her descend into it and his brow cleared. "I have been
wanting to see you."
Aunt Jane nodded. "I've been meaning to come. There's a good many things
to do in a hospital." The chair adjusted itself--"Was it anything in
particular you wanted to ask me about?"
The millionaire's eyes had been resting on the quiet face. They turned
away, a little startled. "Why--um--yes! I was thinking--I was
thinking--" His eyes fell on the roses and he swept a hand toward them.
"These flowers--all of them!" he said.
Aunt Jane turned a little in her chair and beamed. "They look nice,
don't they?"
"They're well enough," said Medfield grudgingly. Then--with petulance:
"I'm tired of them. I want them taken away--all of them!"
"Sick folks get notions," said Aunt Jane placidly. "Where shall I take
'em to?"
"Why, take them--" He looked about impatiently. "Take them where you
usually take flowers!"
"We generally take them to the folks they're sent to." She leaned
forward to the violets and touched them with cool, gentle fingers,
looking at them kindly.
"There's something about violets makes me think of home places," she
said.
"Would you like them?" said Herman Medfield. He was watching the cool,
firm fingers with a quiet look--almost a pleasant look.
"Me?--Mercy, no!" The fingers withdrew to her lap. "You couldn't _send_
'em to me. I'm here."
"Yes, you are here--that's so!" He almost smiled at her. His eyes
returned to the fingers resting in her lap. "I have not had a chance to
thank you--for your great kindness the other night."
"You are welcome," said Aunt Jane.
"It wasn't any great kindness," she added after a minute, "I always do
for folks that need me."
"I suppose you know--" He stopped a moment, as if he could not quite
speak of the thing that was in his mind. "I think you _made_ me--come
back," he said slowly.
"It makes a difference whether somebody cares," admitted Aunt Jane.
"Did you care?" The sharp, pointed face was turned to her. "Did you
care--!"
"Yes, I cared," said Aunt Jane.
"But--" He looked at her, bewildered, and was silent--looking before
him.
Aunt Jane regarded him and smiled. "There didn't seem to be anybody
_but_ me--to care," she said cheerfully.
"No--there wasn't."
"But I see now that there's a good many of them--" She motioned to the
flowers. "I don't know as I ever see anybody have more flowers the first
week."
"Flowers don't care--the people those came from don't care!"
The tone was scornful, almost bitter.
"Don't they!" She beamed on the flowers. "Somehow I can't ever believe
flowers don't mean what they look," she said thoughtfully.
"These don't!" His little cynical smile rested on them. "Those roses
there--They must have cost ten dollars at least----"
"I never saw bigger ones," assented Aunt Jane.
"My partner's widow sent them.... She sent them for business."
"_Did_ she!" Aunt Jane looked at the roses with interest.
"Mere business!" said Medfield. "And the carnations on the desk
there--are from the men in the office----"
"There's always something fresh about carnations." She got up leisurely
and went over to them and lifted the vase and brought it to him.
"Just smell of those!" She held them out. "Aren't they just about the
freshest things you ever smelled!"
He sniffed at them reluctantly and motioned them aside.
"And those foxgloves there----"
He was talking out all the bitterness that had been in him as he had
lain and watched the great boxes opened and the flowers ranged about
him--"exactly as if I were a funeral!" he finished up at last.
Aunt Jane smiled to him. "What would you like me to do with them for
you?" she asked tranquilly.
"Do whatever you like. _I_ don't care!" His indifference had returned
and he looked tired.
She leaned forward a little. "I'm going to take out that head-rest," she
said, "so's you can lie down."
She removed the frame from behind the pillows and shook them a little
and let them gently back. "There--now you can lie down and have a good
rest; and pretty quick now you're going to have some broth and then
you'll go to sleep.... It don't do any good to get stirred up over
folks' flowers," she said quietly.
"No." There was a little smile on his lips. He looked up at her, almost
like a boy, from his pillow. "But it did me good to tell you!"
"I reckoned it would," said Aunt Jane. "Now I'll go get your broth for
you."
She disappeared from the room and Herman Medfield's eyes closed--and
opened again to find her standing beside him, the cup of broth in her
hand.
She gave it to him through the crooked tube and watched the liquid lower
in the cup with benignant eye.
"Just a little mite more," she said as he turned away his head--"Just a
mite. There! You've done first-rate!"
She set the cup on the stand.
"Now I'm going to take all these flowers--" she gathered the carnations
in her hands as she spoke: "I was thinking about it whilst I was heating
your broth for you--I'm going to take them up to the Children's Ward.
They'll be happy enough--when they see 'em!" She held the flowers at
arm's length and looked at them with pleased eyes. He watched her with a
faint smile and a look almost of interest.
"And I'm going to tell them that Mr. Medfield sent them----"