Doctor Joe’s usually jovial face had suddenly become drawn and tired.
He had not answered Thomas’s question, “How, now, can we ever get th’
money t’ pay th’ lad’s way t’ have th’ great doctor cure him?” How,
indeed, could they get the necessary money? What could they do to save
Jamie’s eyes without money? And he was thinking of the years before he
came to The Labrador--of what he had once been--of the years that he
had spent on The Labrador as a hunter and fisherman. Had his life been
wasted? he asked himself.
“We’re in a tight pinch, but hard luck is bound to come now and
again,” said Thomas, at length, startling Doctor Joe out of his
reveries, “and we’ll try not to worry about un. If ’tweren’t for
Jamie’s eyes needin’ t’ be cured ’twouldn’t be so bad.”
“No, if ’tweren’t for Jamie’s eyes it wouldn’t be so bad. If ’tweren’t
for Jamie’s eyes,” said Doctor Joe.
And then he turned and went out of doors and down to the beach, and
for a little while paced up and down, with his head bent in thought.
There is no regret in life so bitter as regret for indiscretions that
have ruined a career and ended life’s hopes and ambitions. The world
is a desolate place indeed for a man to live in when he has no
ambition and no goal of attainment. He is simply existing--a clog in
the moving throng of doers. The man who does not go forward must of
necessity go backward. There is no room in the hustle and bustle and
jostle along the trail of life for one to stand still.
Now, as Doctor Joe paced the beach, he was thinking of these things
and looking in retrospection upon his own life. What a wreck he had
made of it! Once he had all but gained his life’s ambition, and a
noble ambition it was. Through years of toil and tireless effort he
had ascended the ladder of attainment. He had reached a high place in
the world. In those days he was strong and able and self-reliant. The
top round of the high ladder which he had climbed so tediously was
within his grasp. Then came a day when he lost his balance and slipped
and fell to the very bottom. In an hour all that he had worked for and
hoped for and won was lost, and with it his courage and ambition.
Doctor Joe, contemplating his past and reviewing the train of
circumstances which had ended his career, showered upon himself bitter
denunciation and condemnation. He had indulged in appetites which had
seemed innocent and harmless enough at first, but which had gradually
and insidiously wormed their way into his soul until they had gained
possession of him and had become his master. Then they had mercilessly
ruined him and wrecked his life. Even the little fortune he had
accumulated was lost. If he had only clung to that, at least, he would
now be in position to meet the expense of Jamie’s necessary surgical
operation.
“Oh God!” he moaned. “This boy’s future and happiness are in my hands!
What can I do? What can the impotent wreck that I am, do?”
What, indeed, could Doctor Joe do? He was so indifferent a trapper
that his earnings barely served to supply him with the ordinary
comforts and necessities of life. The journey to New York would be an
expensive one, and there appeared to him no other way by which Jamie’s
sight could be saved.
Through the mist of departed years Doctor Joe turned back in fancy to
his own boyhood home. He saw his father’s house, where he had grown to
young manhood, and had planned the great things he was to do in the
world. That was when life and the world with all their possibilities
lay before him. Now they were behind him. There were no hopes or
prospects for the future beyond a hand-to-mouth living from day to
day, with a gray shadow upon the past.
He saw the path leading up from the village street to the door of his
father’s cottage, and the green, well-kept lawn on either side, and
his mother’s flower beds which she loved so well and nurtured with her
own dear hands. He was there again in fancy. An odor of roses and
sweet peas and honeysuckles came to his nostrils. He could see the
fat, saucy robins hopping about upon the grass. And there was his
mother at the door! How gentle and loving she always was. How she used
to tuck him into bed and kiss him good night, when he was little. What
plans she built for him, and how she always told him that he must be a
generous and noble man when he grew up.
And then he passed on to the years when he helped his father, after
school hours, in the little store around the corner, and the terrible
day when his father died quickly, to be soon followed by his mother.
How desolate the world seemed then! What a lonely struggle lay before
him!
And when his father’s estate was settled, and the store and the home
were sold, and he left the village, he had barely enough money in his
pocket to meet his first year’s expenses at college. But he had vowed
to make his way, as his mother had wished, and also to be her ideal of
a man.
The years that followed were years of struggle, for it was not easy
with bare hands to finish his education. But in those days he had
brains and hope and courage, and the basic tenacity that will not
surrender. And he was inspired in those early years by a profound
belief that his mother was near him. He could not see her, but her
spirit walked with him and watched over him. It gave him courage to
feel her near him, and kept him straight when he was tempted to do
wrong, for he would permit himself then to do nothing of which his
mother would disapprove.
But somehow, later on in life, he had drifted away from her. He did
not think of her so often, and with passing years her memory dimmed,
and sometimes he forgot to be true to himself and to her ideals.
Doctor Joe’s thoughts dwelt for a time on the thing which had caused
his downfall. What a friend it had seemed at first, but how, when it
gained possession of him it tortured and finally ruined him. And here
he was now--just a bit of human driftwood, cast up by the tide of
events upon a far shore.
“Well,” said Doctor Joe, finally, lifting his head and looking about
him, “there’s one consolation. Driftwood in this land may be used as
firewood, to help warm freezing fingers. It’s a better fate than
falling into a city sewer, or being cast upon a city’s garbage heap.”
And so Doctor Joe recalled himself to the present, and its necessities
and obligations. What could he do? There was Thomas up in the cabin
lying helpless with a broken leg, and Jamie going blind.
“If I were only the man I once was! If I were only the man I should
be!” he mused. “Then I might help them. But I’m a pretty useless stick
here, or anywhere. I’ve lost courage and ability. I’m not even an
ordinary trapper.”
It was a hard problem to solve. The breaking of Thomas’s leg would not
ordinarily have been so serious a matter. But Jamie’s eyes were at
stake. If Jamie were to go to New York to be operated upon there must
be money. If Thomas could not hunt, where possibly could the money be
had?
“Well,” said he finally, “I don’t see any way just at present, but
there’s no use worrying. If I worry they’ll all worry, and it will do
them no good. I’ll do my level best, and put a cheerful face on
things, and keep smiling. That seems to be all there is to do just
now.”
With this decision Doctor Joe turned sharply upon his heel and strode
briskly back to the cabin, singing as he went and as he entered:
“Old Worry’s my foe, and he always brings woe,
And he follows about wherever I go.
He’s always on hand, and he makes the world blue,
And all about troubles that never come true.
“The worst of my foes are worries and woes,
And all about troubles that never come true--
And all about troubles that never come true.
The worst of my foes are worries and woes,
And all about troubles that never come true.
“I’ll put them behind me and be a real man,
And I’ll smile and be cheerful, as any one can;
For it’s foolish to fret, and worry, and stew,
And all about troubles that never come true.”
“I likes that song,” said Thomas as Doctor Joe came in. “It kind of
makes me feel better.”
“There is something cheering about it,” agreed Doctor Joe, “and the
best of it is, it’s true that the most of the things we worry about
never happen.”
“I think you’re right about that,” said Thomas.
“And now,” continued Doctor Joe, “I’ve decided to stop here and look
after you and things generally, while David and Andy take the fish to
the post, if Margaret won’t find me in the way,” and Doctor Joe turned
to Margaret.
“Oh, sir, you’re _never_ in the way!” Margaret protested. “’Tis
wonderful kind of you to stop with us. ’Tis fine of you!”
“’Tis that,” agreed Thomas heartily.
“Then I’ll stay,” said Doctor Joe, “until the lads get back. Unless
there’s a contrary wind tomorrow they’ll be back tomorrow evening, and
I can go home then, and make things snug for winter over at Break
Cove. Then I’ll come back here now and again and spend Saturdays with
you if you like.”
“Will you, now? Will you do that?” asked Thomas eagerly.
“Yes,” assured Doctor Joe, “you’re likely to get contrary, and if I’m
around I’ll make you behave and do as you’re told.”
“I’m thinkin’ ’twill get tiresome layin’ here, and,” grinned Thomas,
“I’m like t’ get cross and want t’ get up and stretch, and if I
does--if I does, Doctor Joe, you’re like t’ have _your_ hands full o’
business if you tries t’ stop me.”
“I’ll take care of you!” laughed Doctor Joe. “Just let’s agree, if
things get tedious, we’ll keep cheerful and not let anything we can’t
help worry us.”
“Aye,” said Thomas, “we’ll agree to that, though I’m not doubtin’
’twill be a bit hard now and again to be cheery with a broken leg all
lashed up like mine is, and me on my back.”
And so it was agreed that they were to look misfortune squarely in the
face, as brave men should, without flinching. And need enough they
were to have, in the months to come, for all the courage and fortitude
they possessed.