"Heaps! Heaps! Leave it to me. I'll make them as pretty as pictures.
When--er--when I was young, I was fond of dress. I was considered to
have good taste."
He smiled at me in the kind, forbearing manner in which people do smile
at elderly women who exploit their own youth, and said vaguely:--
"Yes, I am sure--I am quite sure. Well, I must be off. Thank you for
all your kindness."
He departed, but the very next night the maid brought a message to ask
if Miss Harding had a thermometer. If so, would she be so very kind as
to take Billie's temperature, as he seemed restless and feverish? I
draped myself in the Paisley shawl in which I flatter myself I look my
plainest and most ancient, ran upstairs, and was shown into Billie's
bedroom. He was sitting up in his cot, looking so pretty with his
dishevelled golden curls, his big bright eyes, and the fever flush on
his cheeks. I guessed 102 at sight; but it was worse than that--close
on 103. I gave the thermometer the professional shake, looking, as I
felt, pretty serious and troubled, whereupon Miss Brown took alarm at
once, being evidently the useful kind of woman who loses her head in
illness.
"Is he going to be ill? I don't understand poultices and fomentations;
couldn't take the responsibility! As things are, there is more work
than I can get through. I hope you will tell Mr Thorold that if Billie
is going to be ill, it is absolutely necessary to have help."
I calmed her, and went into the dining-room to report. The air was full
of smoke, and Mr Thorold was sitting at one side of the fireplace,
talking to another man who was facing him from another big leather
chair. They both sprang up at my entrance, and Mr Thorold said:--
"This is my friend, Mr Hallett, of whom I spoke to you lately. We are
discussing the possibility of a short trip. Edgar, this is Miss
Harding, a very kind neighbour. She has come up on an errand of mercy
to see one of the babies, who is a bit off colour. How do you find the
small man, Miss Harding?"
He was not a bit anxious. In the interest of the talk with an old
friend, the baby ailment had faded from his mind. I hated to bring the
shadow to his face, but it had to be done.
"Billie has a high temperature, Mr Thorold. I think a doctor ought to
see him."
He looked shocked--incredulous.
"To-night! Wouldn't to-morrow morning--?"
"I should advise you to see him to-night. It may be nothing but a
feverish cold, but it is half the battle to start treatment in time. He
is nearly 103."
"I will telephone at once," he said shortly, and marched out of the
room.
The tenants of Heath Mansions do not, as a rule, run to the extravagance
of possessing a private telephone, but down in the basement there is a
species of ice cupboard, where, in surroundings of abject dreariness, we
deposit our pence and shout messages, to the entertainment and
enlightenment of the maids at "Well" windows. Mr Thorold was bound for
this haunt, and the nice Mr Hallett and I sat down to entertain one
another during his absence.
He is nice! I liked him the moment I saw him, and I went on liking him
more and more. He is a big, powerfully-built man, but his face is thin,
the fine moulding of the bones showing distinctly beneath their slight
covering. The clean line of his jaw is a joy to behold; his eyes are
dark and unusually deep-set--I would say "cavernous," if I had not a
particular dislike to the word. He has large, expressive hands, and a
low-pitched, unusually deliberate way of talking.
"I hope the youngster is not going to develop anything serious!"
"I hope not. He is a dear little fellow. It is so sad to see a child
ill."
"It is; but--frankly!" he said, with a slow, grave glance, "I was
thinking more of my friend. He has had more than his share of trouble,
and another spell of anxiety would be hard luck. It's a big strain on a
man to play father _and_ mother to a growing family."
"There is one thing which would be harder! To have no growing family to
look after, and to take his mind off himself."
He looked at me sharply, and as sharply looked away. I had a lightning
impression that I had touched a tender spot, but it passed the next
moment at sound of the perfectly calm, perfectly controlled voice:--
"You think that is so? I should be glad to agree, but Frank has lost an
ideal companion. I did not imagine that such young children could fill
the gap--"
"In a sense they never can, but they fill so many smaller gaps that it
is impossible to think of the big one all the time. If you had any idea
what it is to live in a flat this size, with five small children
tumbling over each other all day long, laughing and quarrelling and
getting into mischief on every conceivable occasion, behaving like
perfect little fiends one hour and angels straight from heaven the
next--well, you would realise that there isn't much time left over to
sit down and nurse a private woe!"
He smiled. He smiles, as the Scotch say, "with deefficulty". The lines
of his face are all set for gravity and reserve.
"That is so. But at night? After such a tornado the solitary evenings
must seem lonelier than ever."
"I don't imagine there is much time for reflection. There is generally
some work to keep him going. Rupert has a weakness for dropping things
down the sinks. Last week, for a change, he drove a nail into a
gas-pipe. And there are the bills to pay, and new things to order, and
endless notes of inquiry and arrangements to be written. His evenings
are well filled up."
"I see you are a believer in counter-irritants." The deep-set eyes
rested on me with a speculative glance. A practical, unimaginative
woman, who has neither understanding nor sympathy for romance--that was
obviously the verdict. If he only knew! If he only knew!
Presently Mr Thorold came back and said the doctor would come round
almost at once. Would I be so very good as to stay to hear his verdict?
Miss Brown was not much use in cases of illness. She lost her head.
The trouble to me seems to be that she has lost her heart--if she ever
had one to lose!
The doctor said that Billie had bronchitis, and that his lungs were not
quite clear. Someone must sit up with him, keep a bronchitis kettle
going, and see that he did not kick off the clothes. His temperature
must be taken at certain hours. A great deal might depend upon the next
few hours. He was afraid it might be difficult to get in a nurse before
morning. Was there anyone who could--
Miss Brown promptly put herself out of the running, so what was there
left for me to do but modestly to confess that I had passed two Red
Cross examinations, could flick a thermometer with the best, and baffle
the tricks of the most obstinate bronchitis kettle that ever
overbalanced itself, or spat hot water instead of steam.
The three men stood round looking at me with big, grateful eyes, and
though I was honestly sorry about Billie, deep down at the bottom of my
heart I _glowed_. This was in very deed being of use! Here was real
work lying ready at my hand!