DR. WRIGHT TO THE RESCUE
Nan went sadly off. What should she do? Dr. Wright was expected at the
camp that afternoon and she determined to speak to him and ask him once
more to interfere in the Carters' affairs. Even if the young physician
did bore her mother, it was necessary now for him to step in. If only
she would not carry out her threat of speaking to her husband!
Dr. Wright treated the matter quite seriously when Nan told him of the
mix-up.
"Certainly your father must not be worried. It is quite necessary that
he shall be kept out of the city for many months yet and no one must
talk money to him. Can't your mother see this?"
"She doesn't seem to."
"But Helen understands, surely!"
"I--I--think Helen thinks father is so much better that we can--we
can--kind of begin to spend again," faltered Nan, whose heart misgave
her, fearing she might be saying something to obstruct the course of
true love which her romantic little soul told her was going on between
Helen and Dr. Wright. At least she could not help seeing that he was
casting sheep's eyes at Helen, and that while Helen was not casting
them back at him she was certainly not averse to his attentions.
"Begin to spend again! Ye gods and little fishes! Why, if bills begin to
be showered in again on Robert Carter I will not answer for his reason.
He is immensely improved, but it is only because he has had no worries.
Where is your mother?" His face looked quite stern and his kind blue
eyes were not kind at all but flashed scornfully.
"She is in bed."
"Is she ill?"
"Well, not exactly--she--she--is kind of depressed."
"Depressed! Depressed over what?"
"Oh, Dr. Wright, I hate to be telling you these things! It looks as
though I did not love my mother to be talking about her, but indeed I
do. Douglas and I are so miserable about it, but we--we--somehow we
feel that we are a great deal older than mumsy. We know it is hard on
her--all of this----"
"All of what?"
"This living such a rough life--and having to give up society and our
pretty house and everything."
"Of course it is hard, but then aren't all of you giving up things,
too?"
"But we don't mind--at least we don't mind much. It is harder on Helen
and mother because--because they--they are kind of different. And they
don't understand money."
"And do you understand it?" laughed the young doctor.
"Well, Douglas and I understand it better. We know that when you spend
a dollar you haven't got a dollar, but Helen and mother seem to think
if you haven't got it you can charge it. I think they are suffering
with a kind of disease--chargitis."
George Wright was looking quite solemn as he made his way to the cabin
where Mrs. Carter had taken to her bed. He was not relishing the idea of
having to speak to the wife of his patient, but speak he must. He knew
very well that Nan would never have come to him if matters had not
reached a crisis. How would Helen take his interference? He could not
fool himself into the belief that what Helen said and thought made no
difference to him. It made all the difference in the world. But duty was
duty and since he was ministering to a mind diseased, he must guard that
mind from all things that were harmful to it, just as much as a doctor
who is treating an open wound must see that it is kept aseptic. If
Robert Carter's wife was contemplating upsetting the good that had been
done her husband, why, it was his duty as that husband's physician to
warn her of the result.
Mrs. Carter was looking very lovely and pathetic, acting the invalid.
An extremely dainty and costly negligee accentuated her beauty. Her
cabin room, while certainly not elegant, was perfectly comfortable and
kept in spotless condition by the devoted Susan. There were no evidences
of rough living in her surroundings and the hand which she extended
feebly to welcome the physician could not have been smoother or whiter
had it belonged to pampered royalty.
"Ah, Dr. Wright, it is kind of you to come in to see me." She smiled a
wan smile.
"I am sorry you are ill. What is troubling you?" He felt her pulse, and
finding it quite regular, he smiled, but did not let her see his
amusement.
"I think it is my heart. I can make no exertion without great effort."
"Any appetite?"
"Oh, very little--I never eat much, and I am so tired of chicken! Fried
chicken, broiled chicken, stewed chicken!"
"Yes, spring chicken is a great hardship, no doubt," he said rather
grimly.
"I like broiled chicken very much in the spring, but I never did care
very much for chicken in the summer. People seem to have chicken so much
in the summer. I never could see why."
"It might be because it is cheaper when they are plentiful," he
suggested, finding it difficult to keep the scorn he felt for this
foolish little butterfly out of his voice.
"Perhaps it is, I never thought of that."
Helen came in just then, bringing a bouquet of garden flowers that Mr.
McRae had sent to the ladies of the camp.
"I might as well tackle them together," he thought, taking a long
breath.
"Ahem--are your plans for the winter made yet?" he asked Mrs. Carter.
"Why, the girls--at least Douglas and Nan, have some ridiculous scheme
about taking a cottage in the suburbs and letting those people keep my
house. I don't see why I need call it my house, however, as I seem to
have no say-so in the matter," she answered complainingly. "Helen and I
both think it would be much more sensible to go into our own house and
be comfortable. Douglas is very unreasonable and headstrong. The paltry
sum that these tenants pay is the only argument she has against our
occupying the house ourselves."
"Excuse me, Mrs. Carter, but as your husband's physician, I may perhaps
be able to point out the relation of the steady, if small, income from
the house and his very serious condition."
"I--I thought he was almost well."
"No, madam, much better but not almost well! Do you think that if he
were almost well he would sit passively down and let his daughters
decide for him as he is doing now? Has he not always been a man of
action, one to take the initiative? Look at him now, not even asking
what the plans are when you leave the camp, which you will have to
do in the course of a few weeks. Can't you see that he is still in a
very nervous state and the least little worry might upset his reason?
No troubles must be taken to him. He must not be consulted about
arrangements any more than Bobby would be. His tired brain is beginning
to recover and a few more months may make him almost himself again,
but," and Dr. Wright looked so stern and uncompromising that Helen and
her mother felt that the accusing angel had them on the last day, the
day of judgment, "if he is worried by all kinds of foolish little
things, there will be nothing for him but a sanitarium. I am hoping
that he will be spared this, and it rests entirely with his family
whether he is spared it or not."
"Oh, Doctor, I shall try!" and poor little Mrs. Carter looked very like
Bobby and not much older. "I have been very remiss. I did not know."
"Another thing," and the accusing angel went on in a stern voice. He had
heard all of this before from this little butterfly woman and he felt
that he must impress upon her even more the importance of guarding her
husband from all financial worries. "If when he's well he finds bills to
be paid and obligations to be met, he will drop right back into the
condition in which I found him last May when I was called to the case.
You remember," and he turned to Helen, "his troubled talk about lamb
chops and silk stockings, do you not?"
Helen dropped the gay bouquet and covered her face with her hands. Great
sobs shook her frame. Remember! Could she ever forget it? And yet she
had been behaving as though she had forgotten it, only that morning
insisting she must have a new suit before she could get a job. What was
Dr. Wright thinking of her? He had spoken so sternly and looked so
scornful.
His scorn was all turned to concern now. He had not meant to distress
Helen so much, only to impress upon her the importance of not letting
financial worries reach her father. He looked at the poor stricken
little woman who seemed to have shrivelled up into a wizened little
child who had just been punished. Had he been too severe in his
harangue? Well, nothing short of severity would reach the selfish heart
of Mrs. Carter. But Helen--Helen was not selfish, only thoughtless and
young. He had not meant to grieve her like this.
"I'm sorry," was all he could say.
"It seems awful that we should be so blind that you should have to say
such things to us," said Helen, trying to control her voice.
"I know I am a worthless woman," said the poor little mother
plaintively. "Nobody ever expected me to be anything else and I have
never been anything else. I don't understand finance--I don't understand
life. Please call Douglas and Nan here, Helen. I want to speak to them."
"Let me do it," said the young doctor eagerly. He felt that running away
from the scene of disaster would be about the most graceful thing he
could do just then.
"I believe I should like you to be here if you don't mind."
Nan and Douglas were quickly summoned, indeed they were near the cabin,
eagerly waiting to hear the outcome of the interview that they well knew
Dr. Wright was having with their mother.
"My daughters," began the little lady solemnly, "I have just come to the
realization of my worthlessness. I want all of you to know that I do
realize it, and with Dr. Wright as witness I want to resign in a way
as--as--as a guardian to you. Your judgment is better than mine and
after this I am going to trust to it rather than to my own. I know
nothing about money, nothing about economy. Douglas, you will have to be
head of the family until your poor father can take up his burdens again.
Whatever you think best to do, I will do. Treat me about as you treat
Bobby and Lucy--no, not Lucy--even Lucy's judgment is better than mine."
Douglas was on her knees by the bedside, holding her mother in her arms.
"Oh, mumsy! Mumsy! Don't talk that way about yourself. It 'most kills
me."
Nan buried her face in her hands. She was sure she felt worse than any
of them because she had given voice to exactly the same truth concerning
her mother in her conversation with Douglas and Helen.
Dr. Wright would have been glad if he had never been born, but since he
had been he would have welcomed with joy an earthquake if it had only
come at that moment and swallowed him up. Would Helen ever forgive him?
He had no idea he was having such an effect on Mrs. Carter. She had
seemed to him heartless and selfish and stubborn. She was in reality
nothing but a child. She was no more responsible than Bobby himself.
Mrs. Carter, childlike, was in a way enjoying herself very much. Had she
not been punished and now were not all the grownups sorry for her and
petting her? She had announced her policy for ever after and now nothing
more was ever to be expected of her. Life was not to be so hard after
all. Her Robert was still in a way ill, but he would get well finally,
and now Douglas would take hold and think for her. Her girls would look
after her and take care of her. She regretted not having a debutante
daughter, as she well knew that society was one thing she could do, but
since that was to be denied her, she would be the last person in the
world to make herself disagreeable over her disappointment. A saccharine
policy was to be hers on and after this date. Unselfishness and
sweetness were to be synonymous with her name.
All of the daughters kissed her tenderly and Dr. Wright bent over her
fair hand with knightly contrition.
How pleasant life was!
A tray, more daintily arranged than usual, was brought in at supper
time, and under a covered dish there reposed the coveted sweetbreads.