RUTH INTERCEDES
The two girls did not see Roberto that day, nor for several days
following. The hospital authorities did not think it best to allow him
to be excited even in a mild way.
They sent in such delicacies as the nurse said he could have, and Tony
Foyle was bribed by Helen to get a report from the hospital every day
about the young Gypsy.
The girls kept very quiet about the patient in the hospital. Their mates
knew only that Helen and Ruth had been driving with Mr. Cameron when the
boy fell out of the tree. They did not dream that the victim of the
accident had any possible connection with the pearl necklace that Nettie
Parsons' aunt had lost!
Helen kept her father informed of the progress of Roberto's case, and in
return he wrote Helen that the detectives were confident of reaching old
Queen Zelaya and her tribe.
"But if we could only get Roberto to talk!" sighed Ruth.
"Why, Ruth Fielding! if the poor fellow has been made speechless by
that fall, how _can_ he talk?"
"I know, but----"
"Don't you believe it is _so_?"
"Why--yes," admitted Ruth. "Of course, he would have no reason for
refusing to speak. And they say he has a hard time making them
understand what he wants, for he doesn't know how to write. Poor fellow!
I suppose he never realized before, that the art of writing was of any
use to _him_."
In a week or so the girls were allowed to go to the ward where Roberto
lay. Helen carried an armful of good things for the Gypsy lad to eat,
but Ruth remembered that he had not cared much for delicacies, and she
carried picture papers and a great armful of brilliant fall
flowers--some picked by herself in the woods, and the others begged from
Tony Foyle.
"Taking flowers to a boy--pshaw!" scoffed Helen. "Why, that shows you
have no brother, Ruthie. Tom wouldn't look at flowers when he's sick."
Ruth believed she had made no mistake. When they approached the bed in
which Roberto lay, he looked very pale indeed, and the expression of
weariness on his face as he stared out of the distant window, made
Ruth's heart ache for the captive wild-boy.
"Here are visitors for you, Robert," said the kindly nurse.
The big, black eyes of the Gypsy boy rolled toward the two girls. Then
his face lit up and his eyes sparkled. They were fixed eagerly on the
mass of brilliant blossoms Ruth carried. She scattered the flowers over
the coverlet, and Roberto seized some of them, fairly pressing them to
his lips. He nodded and smiled at the display of Helen's offerings, too,
but he could not keep his eyes away from the flowers. He had been
homesick for his beloved woodlands.
He was still in plaster and could not move much. He did his best to make
the girls understand how welcome they were, but not a sound came from
his lips.
"A very strange case, indeed," said the doctor in charge, when the girls
came down from the ward. "There seems to be absolutely no reason why he
does not speak. Apparently no paralysis of the vocal cords. But
speechless he is. And as he cannot read or write, it is a nuisance."
"It isn't possible that for some reason he doesn't _wish_ to speak?"
queried Ruth, doubtfully.
"Why, Ruth! there you go again!" exclaimed Helen. "I never knew you to
be so suspicious."
The doctor laughed. "I think not," he said. "Of course, he might, but he
must be a wonderfully good actor. The next time you come, we shall try
him."
So on a subsequent call of the two girls at the hospital, the doctor
entered the ward at the same time they did and likewise approached
Roberto's bed, only on the opposite side. Ruth had brought more flowers,
and the boy was evidently delighted.
"Are you sure you can't speak to me, Roberto?" asked Ruth, softly, as he
nodded and smiled and clasped the flowers to his breast with his one
good hand.
Roberto shook his head sadly, and his black eyes showed every indication
of sorrow. But of a sudden he jumped, and a spasm of pain crossed his
face. The doctor straightened up and Roberto scowled at him wrathfully.
The boy had not uttered a sound.
"I jabbed him with this needle," said the doctor, with disgust. "You
see, either he has perfect control over himself; or he absolutely cannot
speak. While I was setting his arm and fixing up his smashed ribs, he
only moaned a little."
"Oh!" Helen had gasped, looking at the medical man in some wrath.
"Don't do it again--not for _me_," urged Ruth. "I am sorry I said
anything about it."
"Oh, he isn't seriously injured by _that_," said the surgeon, holding up
the needle. "But I do not think he is 'playing possum.'"
"It isn't possible!" exclaimed Helen, confidently.
"And how long must he lie here?" Ruth asked.
"Oh, in a fortnight he'll be as fine as a fiddle. Of course, he won't be
able to use his arm much for several weeks. But the ribs will knit all
right. Maybe he can find some light job----"
"We'll see about _that_," Helen interrupted.
"I can see you young ladies are much interested in him," chuckled the
doctor. "And not entirely because he is a handsome, black-eyed rascal,
eh?"
Ruth knew that old Tony Foyle, the gardener at Briarwood Hall, was
interested in the lad. He had gone up to the ward to see Roberto several
times, and came away enthusiastic in the Gypsy's praise.
"Sure," said Tony, to Ruth, "he's jist the bye after me hear-r-t.
Herself would like him, he's that doomb!"
"Herself" was Tony's wife, who was the cook at Briarwood Hall.
"And the way that boy do be lovin' flowers! Sure, his bed in the
horspital is jest covered wid 'em. He'd be a handy lad to have here ter
give me aid, so he would. An' I been tellin' Mis' Tellingham that I need
another helper."
"We'll get him the job, Tony!" cried Ruth, in delight. "I believe he
would like to help around your hothouse and the beds. I'll see."
She interceded with the principal for Roberto, and obtained her promise
that the Gypsy boy should have the job. Then she sounded Roberto
himself, and by the way his eyes lit up and he smiled and nodded, Ruth
knew he would be delighted to be Tony Foyle's assistant.
"At least," thought Ruth, "I can keep in sight of him for a time.
Perhaps he couldn't tell us, anyway, where Queen Zelaya has hidden
herself. But I believe he knows, and I haven't much faith in the results
those detectives get."
Roberto mended rapidly. He was soon up and about the ward, when the
girls called. He was less restless than Ruth expected him to be, and he
still signified his intention of coming to help the little old Irish
gardener at Briarwood Hall.
"When he recovers his powers of speech," said the doctor, "it will be as
suddenly as he lost them. No doubt of that. But it is a most puzzling
case. I am glad he is not going far from Lumberton. I want to watch the
progress of the affair."
The next day Roberto came to Briarwood.