A WIRELESS MESSAGE
Before Mary Louise went to bed that night, she wrote a long letter
to Danny, a letter full of love and trust, a letter explaining the
whole thing and taking all the blame for the misunderstanding that had
arisen. She told him of her grandfather’s mental condition, but did
not tell him of the possibility of its becoming more and more serious.
She wanted Danny to have no fears concerning her welfare during his
absence. She wished him God-speed and assured him of her undying
devotion. The letter took her hours to write and when it was completed
she slipped on a cloak and quietly letting herself out the front door,
ran to the corner to put it safely in the mail box. It would have gone
just as soon if she had waited to give it to the postman in the morning
but she felt she must let nothing interfere with its safe departure.
Now Danny would be sure to receive it before sailing for China. At
least, he would start with the knowledge that she loved him as much as
ever and the cloud would be between them no longer.
Mary Louise had never been on the street alone at midnight and even to
run the one block to the corner seemed quite an adventure for her.
“What would Danny say?” was in her thoughts as she crept back into the
house and up the stairs to her room.
The weeks that followed were anxious ones for her. The condition of
Colonel Hathaway became more serious. He was determined to accomplish
certain things in regard to his property and that meant many trips to
the business end of the town and more exercise and excitement than
was good for him. Danny’s absence seemed to put him entirely out of
the Colonel’s mind. He rarely mentioned him and then only in the most
casual way. His obsession became that his dear old friend Peter Conant
was trying to make him change his will and leave all of his property to
Irene Macfarlane. He became very indignant at the mention of Peter’s
name and reviled him constantly. This grieved Mary Louise exceedingly,
but she could not but confess that she was glad Grandpa Jim was
picking on some one besides her Danny.
The day of Danny’s sailing came and went. She had received a letter
from him every day since he left Dorfield, sometimes written on the
train, sometimes at a wayside station. On the day of sailing, came a
telegram saying he had received her letter and was happier than he had
been for a long time. She then resigned herself to the fact that she
could not hear from him for weeks and weeks. It takes a long time to
get to China and a long time for letters to come from there.
The girls were lovely to her. All of them knew the trials under which
she was living, but they respected her silence in regard to her
suffering and nobody said a word. All the time she could spare from her
grandfather she spent at the Higgledy Piggledy Shop.
“It is so nice and cheerful and busy here,” she said to Josie one day.
“I used to think my home was beautiful, but now it seems kind of like a
great mausoleum. Any more bonnets for me to trim?”
Josie nodded cheerfully.
“Yes, two more! You seem to have the knack of making mourning bonnets
look cheerful. How’s Colonel Hathaway feeling these days, Mary Louise?”
Josie was the one person to whom Mary Louise could talk concerning
her affairs. She had wanted to take Irene into her confidence too
but, since her grandfather had made the absurd charges against his
old friend Peter Conant, she had hesitated to bring the subject up
with Irene. Irene felt a certain estrangement, but her faith in Mary
Louise was strong and true and she was sure it would all come right in
the end. She could not help seeing the burden her little friend was
bearing and was determined not to add to it one iota with foolish hurt
feelings and small jealousies, although her feelings were a little hurt
and she was a tiny bit jealous that Josie should be the one to share
the troubles of Mary Louise. She knew it was the case because often
she found the two girls whispering together in a corner of the shop
and always, when there was an errand to be done, Mary Louise and Josie
would go together to attend to it. Irene only hoped she could keep her
hurt feelings from the knowledge of Mary Louise and never let anyone
know that the green-eyed monster, Jealousy, had her in his clutch.
At home it was dismal enough.
It was plain to see that Colonel Hathaway was failing, failing not
only in mind but in body. His step had become slow and faltering and
his once steady hand shook with palsy. Still, he made his way to the
business part of town every day and was occupied constantly with his
affairs. Peter Conant had offered repeatedly to help him in any way,
but had been rebuffed so decidedly that he had become offended.
“James Hathaway can’t speak to me as he did and not hurt me,” he had
declared to his wife.
“But, Peter, you and Irene both said he was evidently not quite
himself. You should remember that.”
“That’s all very well to say, but he is smart enough to go down town
every day and sell stocks and bonds. He ought to be smart enough to
know he can’t keep his friends if he is going to abuse them as he
abused me. I didn’t even know what he was talking about.”
“Neither did he, goose!” insisted Aunt Hannah, but Uncle Peter still
refused to allow James Hathaway to revile him without making a protest.
“You thought and freely said that Danny Dexter was too quick to get
angry with the Colonel,” Aunt Hannah continued. “You said he should
have sense enough to see that the old gentleman was not quite himself,
and now here you are raising Cain about a slight rudeness on his part.”
“Rudeness indeed! He said he could attend to his affairs without
interference from me. I call that more than a slight rudeness. I’ll see
myself offering my services to him again. He is presuming on his age to
behave as he is doing.”
“Well! Well! You are behaving as though you were no age at all--not
even six years old,” declared Aunt Hannah, removing her ear trumpet and
laughing at her husband. When Aunt Hannah considered an argument had
gone far enough she simply removed her trumpet from her ear and that
ended the matter as far as she was concerned.
In spite of Mr. Peter Conant’s stern remarks about never offering
his services to Jim Hathaway again, that very night he was not only
offering them but they were being accepted and that most gratefully, if
not by the Colonel, at least by Mary Louise.
The old gentleman had come home from his daily visit to the broker’s
offices and had seemed a little steadier on his legs than of late, a
little more cheerful and less inclined to hunt for trouble than had
been the case for the last few months. He sat down in his big chair and
Mary Louise took her accustomed place on the stool at his feet. She had
brought home from the Higgledy Piggledy a little crêpe bonnet which she
had been unable to finish that afternoon and, since it was promised for
the following day, she determined to work on it a while at home. There
were only a few stitches to be put in and a bit of ruching to be tacked
across the front.
The old man and the young girl sat thus for a long time. Mary Louise
was busily plying her needle and the Colonel dozed and waked and dozed
again.
“Is that a bonnet for yourself, my dear?” he asked, breaking the
silence.
“Oh no, Grandpa Jim! This is a widow’s bonnet.”
“Yes, I know! I remember your mother wore one, although I did not
approve, not at all--but, my dear, you are a widow now.”
“Oh no!” cried Mary Louise hastily. “I’m not a widow, Grandpa Jim. My
husband is just away for a little while, not for all time.”
“You are mistaken. He will never come back.” The old man spoke with
curt precision.
Mary Louise hesitated. She could not decide whether it would be better
to combat her grandfather’s statement or whether, perhaps, it was just
as well to let him have his way in the matter.
Suddenly the bell pealed forth.
“Callers! Do you want to see anyone, Grandpa Jim?”
“Yes! Yes! Let them come in, just so it is not that old reprobate Peter
Conant.”
“Oh, Grandpa Jim. You can’t mean dear Uncle Peter!”
“Of course I do. I was never so fooled by anybody in my life as that
man. He is underhanded and sly, and--”
As Peter Conant was famed far and near for his honesty, this made Mary
Louise smile in spite of herself. As well accuse Irene Macfarlane
herself of dishonesty or even Grandpa Jim.
“A telespatch, missy,” said Eben, limping into the room. “A telespatch
collect fer Mrs. D. Dexter, an’ the boy say sign right thar.”
Mary Louise scrambled to her feet.
“In a minute, Uncle Eben! The boy will have to wait until I read my
telegram. Why it’s a wireless!” she cried excitedly. “A wireless from
Danny! Just think, Uncle Eben, a message from way out in the middle of
the Pacific Ocean. It just says: ‘Love, Danny.’ But that is enough. Oh,
Grandpa Jim, do you know this is a wireless from Danny?”
“You mean your husband? A message from the spirit world! Because he is
dead, you know--as dead as dead----”
The old man stood up, looking wildly in the eyes of his granddaughter.
“I know he is dead--drowned, I think--because, last night while I
slept, I saw him in the water--and if he is not dead why are you making
a widow’s bonnet for yourself?”
Suddenly Colonel Hathaway crumpled up and lay in a pitiful heap on the
floor. Mary Louise, her nerves overwrought by the long strain under
which she had been living, gave a shrill scream, but immediately
controlled herself.
“Run quick for Mr. Conant, Uncle Eben, and get Miss Irene too--tell her
I need her. I’ll telephone the doctor myself. Call Aunt Sally to come
to Grandpa Jim.”
Colonel Hathaway was stretched out on the rug in front of the fire with
Mary Louise doing what she could to restore consciousness to the tired
brain, when Dr. Coles arrived.
The old man was carried to his room and placed in his large old tester
bed.
“I rather thought this might happen but did not think it would be so
soon,” the doctor told Mary Louise. “Was there anything to excite him
especially?” he asked.
Mary Louise told him of the wireless message she had just received from
her husband and of the statement her grandfather had made that it was a
message from the spirit world.
“Of course, it was proof that my husband was well and thinking of me.
That was all--but Grandpa Jim takes such strange notions lately and
there is no turning him from them. He said he had dreamed he saw Danny
in the water but that is no indication of an accident.”
“Certainly not!” assured Dr. Coles. “When did your husband sail?”
“Ten days ago!”
“What was the name of his boat?”
“The Spokane!”
Dr. Coles said nothing but in his kind eyes there was a depth of
concern for the girl. He looked at her a moment and then turned to the
inert form of the old man.
“His pulse is fairly good and I fancy he will be coming around pretty
soon,” he said briskly. “I am going to send you a nurse immediately.”
“Oh, don’t send a nurse! Please let me attend to him. I am as strong as
can be. You don’t know how much I can do.”
“Ah, yes, I do, but we don’t want to have you doing all you can do. I
really think a nurse for a few days will be best.”
“And Irene Macfarlane is here to help me. You don’t know what a help
Irene is although she can’t get out of her chair. She answers the
telephone and she does more little odd jobs and Grandpa Jim has always
liked her more than anybody--until--until--but perhaps she had better
not try to help in his room because he has had a strange obsession of
late about Irene and dear Uncle Peter Conant.”
“Is Miss Macfarlane here now?”
“Yes, Dr. Coles! Uncle Peter Conant and Irene are both in the dining
room waiting to see what I need.”
“The telephone is in the dining room?”
“Yes!”
“Well, Mrs. Dexter, I’ll get you to sit here a moment by your
grandfather while I go telephone. He is coming around soon I think, but
there is nothing for you to do except sit near him. Call me if you need
me.”