Sally Miller was able to walk a little now--a very little--but firmly,
and without the effort and the pain that the journey around the table
had cost her in the old days. She was living with Miss Whimple, who
had insisted on it from the day the doctors had declared the girl fit
to be removed from the hospital. There was no certainty of an absolute
cure: the doctors could not promise that, but, with every month, the
hope of ultimate recovery strengthened. She had been a long time in
the hospital, nearly two years, before the signs of improvement were
marked enough to admit of encouragement. She was a good patient,
Sally: her cheerfulness and animation, her belief and trust in the
doctors and the nurses won their hearts. There were many black hours
for her; home-sickness, pain, doubt, these were hard things to bear.
In the still of the night she often lay sleepless, fighting with the
sorrow and longing that oppresses, and striving to repress the
exclamations that pain brought to her lips. And she won. "She always
was a winner," William used to say, "and always will be."
There were no lack of visitors to Sally during her stay in the
hospital. Her own relations made frequent trips to the city to see
her. Miss Whimple was her most constant caller, and the next was--not
William. He did manage to call often, but not so often as Lucien, and,
somehow, Sally began to look forward to Lucien's visits with delightful
thrills of anticipation. Miss Whimple smiled about it, and William
laughed. Sally smiled, too, but, such a smile! She enjoyed William's
visits immensely. He was seldom serious with her, and he always had
funny stories to tell. In fact, he clothed the most commonplace
incidents of the day with humour when he spoke of them, and shamelessly
invented stories when he had no actual foundations on which to build
them. And Sally always knew when he was spinning yarns, and William
knew that she did. Miss Whimple was rather disappointed over William's
attitude toward the girl, and so expressed herself to Epstein one day.
The old comedian displayed unwonted heat in his answer. "Such
foolishness," he said sharply, "give the lad a chance. There is a
great career before William. If he begins thinking of love, or thinks
he is thinking seriously of love now, it will be the end for him. I
hope you have not been trying to put any such nonsensical ideas into
his head."
Miss Whimple did not answer. The gruffness of the old man hurt a
little. He was quick to understand her silence, and after a while said
gently, "I beg your pardon: I did not mean to be angry, I--I--the boy
and his future are very dear to me--you--I----"
She laid a hand on his arm. "I know--I know," she said. "I'm a
foolish old maid. You are right about William, but, sometimes, those
who have lost much dream pleasant dreams and build fairy castles for
those who help to make their sorrow easier to bear." And then they
talked of other things, of William's future, of Epstein's success, of
Tommy Watson's boy.
Meanwhile, Sally was sitting on the verandah of Miss Whimple's home,
going over again to herself all the memories of her first meeting with
Lucien. She had been three months in the hospital when William had
brought him to her, and was sitting up in bed dressing dolls for a
Christmas-tree for the infant patients in the institution. William
came to the bedside with his usual easy air. Lucien hung back a
little, shy, embarrassed, and blushing. William took hold of his
sleeve and dragged him forward. "Allow me, Miss Sally Miller," he
said, with a smile, "to introduce to you Lucien Torrance--Lucien
Wellington Torrance, to give him his full name. Mister Torrance--Miss
Miller."
They shook hands gravely, and eyed each other in silence.
"This," went on William, in a more serious tone, "this, Sally, is the
chap I used to think was a mutt--honest--until I woke up one day and
found that I was it. I was the M-U-T-T," he spelled out the word, "and
Lucien had me beaten a mile for brains and bravery."
Lucien was blushing furiously now. "Don't," he pleaded.
William ignored the remark, and smiling, again proceeded, "Honest,
Sally, he's a pippin, is Lucien. Why, first thing we know he'll be the
boss architect of Canada, and the real thing in inventions too. He's
always trying his hand at something; and he'll come out ahead, will
Lucien."
Sally murmured a hope that he would.
"Oh, you needn't be afraid to speak up, Sally," said William, gaily.
"You can't phase Lucien. He'll listen to you until the cows come
home--he's a good listener, and," he laid one arm affectionately on
Lucien's shoulder, "he's a good doer, too, is my friend Lucien."
Lucien came frequently after that, and often alone. He never had much
to say, and yet Sally felt after his visits as though he had said a
great deal. He thought much of her, and the first practical outcome of
his thinking was the invention of an ingenious little table that could
be mounted on the bed, and moved easily by the patient, so that she
could use it as a book support, or a table on which to lay the trifles
she made for the little children. William saw it the first day Sally
used it, questioned her closely, took the table back to Lucien, and
gave him no rest until there had been a consultation with Whimple and
the first steps had been taken toward patenting the invention. It is
in use by every hospital almost in the world now, but few recall that a
boy then barely seventeen years of age invented it.
And as Sally thought of the past, she saw Lucien coming steadily up the
pathway toward her. He greeted her with a quiet, "How are you?" and
sat beside her on the verandah. It was almost dark, but warm, and a
gentle breeze tempered the atmosphere that throughout the day had been
oppressive. From the verandah the central portion of the city to the
Bay was stretched out in long regular streets, marked by the glimmering
of electric lights. Beyond the wharves the lights of the Island,
sentinel like, marked the indented shore facing the city, and beyond
that again there flickered faintly from Lake Ontario the lights of a
few steamers, some of them pleasure craft, others bearing burdens of
freight from, or toward, the sea-ports.
In silence they watched for a long time. It was Lucien who spoke
first. "Toronto is growing fast," he said, "it will soon be all built
up around here: and it is a fine city--I--I love it--I love it. Some
day--I'm foolish, though----"
"Some day," she echoed.
"Some day--I--I--hope I may do something to help to make it a greater
city still. Work for one's self isn't everything. Father often talks
to me of 'the public good.' 'Every man,' he says, 'should take an
intelligent interest in the affairs of his own municipality, and any
man who can serve his city in even a humble capacity should be proud to
do it.'"
"And you will, Lucien--I know you will." He took one of her hands and
held it in his own, and again they sat silent.
"I must go," he said, at last. "Good-night, Sally."
"Good-night," she said, gently.
He rose, and, looking down at her, he said abruptly, "William's going
soon; did you know?"
"Mr. Epstein said he thought it would be soon."
"He told me to-day that Mr. Epstein had found a place for him in a good
company that will go on the road this fall, after a two weeks'
engagement here. He has only a small part, of course, but he regards
it as his chance, and he's quite delighted. Next summer he'll come
back to give all his time to study again. Good-night."
"Good-night, Lucien."
He turned after he reached the pathway, and called, "It'll be slow
without William, won't it?"
"Yes," she answered, and to herself, "but it would be slower without
you, Lucien."
On his way to the street car he passed Miss Whimple and Epstein and
exchanged greetings with them. When they resumed their walk toward
Miss Whimple's house, the old comedian asked her, "Did you notice what
he was whistling as he came along?"
"Not particularly."
"Listen: there he is again." And faint, but clear and sweet, she heard
it.
"'Sally in our Alley,'" she said, laughingly.
"Yes," answered Epstein with a chuckle.
"The dear lad," said Miss Whimple, "he's a fine fellow. And the dear
girl, the dear girl, God help her to a perfect cure."