"By-the-way, Grace," said Trescott, looking into the dining-room from
his office door, "I wish you would send Jimmie to me before
school-time."
When Jimmie came, he advanced so quietly that Trescott did not at
first note him. "Oh," he said, wheeling from a cabinet, "here you are,
young man."
"Yes, sir."
Trescott dropped into his chair and tapped the desk with a thoughtful
finger. "Jimmie, what were you doing in the back garden yesterday--you
and the other boys--to Henry?"
"We weren't doing anything, pa."
Trescott looked sternly into the raised eyes of his son. "Are you sure
you were not annoying him in any way? Now what were you doing,
exactly?"
"Why, we--why, we--now--Willie Dalzel said I dassent go right up to
him, and I did; and then he did; and then--the other boys were 'fraid;
and then--you comed."
Trescott groaned deeply. His countenance was so clouded in sorrow that
the lad, bewildered by the mystery of it, burst suddenly forth in
dismal lamentations. "There, there. Don't cry, Jim," said Trescott,
going round the desk. "Only--" He sat in a great leather
reading-chair, and took the boy on his knee. "Only I want to explain
to you--"
After Jimmie had gone to school, and as Trescott was about to start on
his round of morning calls, a message arrived from Doctor Moser. It
set forth that the latter's sister was dying in the old homestead,
twenty miles away up the valley, and asked Trescott to care for his
patients for the day at least. There was also in the envelope a little
history of each case and of what had already been done. Trescott
replied to the messenger that he would gladly assent to the
arrangement.
He noted that the first name on Moser's list was Winter, but this did
not seem to strike him as an important fact. When its turn came, he
rang the Winter bell. "Good-morning, Mrs. Winter," he said,
cheerfully, as the door was opened. "Doctor Moser has been obliged to
leave town to-day, and he has asked me to come in his stead. How is
the little girl this morning?"
Mrs. Winter had regarded him in stony surprise. At last she said:
"Come in! I'll see my husband." She bolted into the house. Trescott
entered the hall, and turned to the left into the sitting-room.
Presently Winter shuffled through the door. His eyes flashed towards
Trescott. He did not betray any desire to advance far into the room.
"What do you want?" he said.
"What do I want? What do I want?" repeated Trescott, lifting his head
suddenly. He had heard an utterly new challenge in the night of the
jungle.
"Yes, that's what I want to know," snapped Winter. "What do you
want?"
Trescott was silent for a moment. He consulted Moser's memoranda. "I
see that your little girl's case is a trifle serious," he remarked. "I
would advise you to call a physician soon. I will leave you a copy of
Dr. Moser's record to give to any one you may call." He paused to
transcribe the record on a page of his note-book. Tearing out the
leaf, he extended it to Winter as he moved towards the door. The
latter shrunk against the wall. His head was hanging as he reached for
the paper. This caused him to grasp air, and so Trescott simply let
the paper flutter to the feet of the other man.
"Good-morning," said Trescott from the hall. This placid retreat
seemed to suddenly arouse Winter to ferocity. It was as if he had then
recalled all the truths which he had formulated to hurl at Trescott.
So he followed him into the hall, and down the hall to the door, and
through the door to the porch, barking in fiery rage from a respectful
distance. As Trescott imperturbably turned the mare's head down the
road, Winter stood on the porch, still yelping. He was like a little
dog.