fingers move feebly, trying to take hold of one another. Then he said in
a slow, frightened whisper, "I--can't--make--them--hold!" and his arms
slipped down, one of them swinging helplessly by his side, until nurse
laid it in his lap.
"Never mind, don't worry about that, Fee; I can get you up," Phil said
cheerfully. "Why, don't you remember I took you almost up to your room
the other night?"
Nora and I looked at each other. I know we were both thinking of the
same thing,--that happy evening when we heard of aunt Lindsay's plan for
Fee, and when Phil had picked Felix up and run so gaily up the stairs
with him, singing. Was it possible that was only three or four evenings
ago! It seemed _years_.
"Run for the doctor, Master Jack--_don't_ loiter," nurse said, as she
fell in with the procession that was moving so slowly up the stairs;
Phil was going one step at a time, and sometimes sliding himself along
against the banister to rest the weight he was carrying.
I rushed out and up to Dr. Archard's as fast as I could go. The streets
through which I went were very lonely,--I scarcely met a creature,--but
I didn't mind; in fact, the stillness, and the stars shining so clear
and bright in the quiet sky, seemed to do me good. I knew Who was up
there above those shining stars; I thought of the poor lame man that He
had healed long ago, and as I raced along, I just _prayed_ that He would
help our Fee.
Dr. Archard was away, out of town, the sleepy boy who answered the bell
told me; but Dr. Gordon, his assistant, was in,--would he do?
I didn't know him at all,--he'd come since papa's illness; but of course
I said yes, and in a few minutes the doctor was ready and we started.
He had a nice face,--he was years younger than Dr. Archard,--and as we
hurried toward home and began talking of Felix, I suddenly made up my
mind that I would tell him about the attack Fee had had when papa was so
ill. That promise of mine not to speak of it had always worried me, and
now, all at once, a feeling came over me that I just _ought_ to tell Dr.
Gordon everything about it,--and I did.
He asked a lot of questions, and when I finished he said gravely, "You
have done very right in telling me of this; the knowledge of this former
attack and his symptoms will help me in treating your brother's case."
"Is it the same trouble?" I asked eagerly.
"Certain symptoms which you have described point that way," he answered;
"but of course I can say nothing until I have seen and examined him."
"Could such an accident"--I'd told him that Fee had struck his back
against a chair and then fallen--"do anybody--_harm_?" My heart was
thumping as I put the question.
"Under some circumstances, serious harm," the doctor said. And just
then--before I could say anything more--we came to our stoop, and there
was Hannah holding the door open for us to go in.
* * * * *
The doctor turned every one out of Fee's room but Phil and nurse; and he
was in there an awful long time. And while Nonie and I sat on the upper
stairs waiting for news, what did I do but fall _asleep_! and I didn't
wake up until the next morning, when I found myself in my own bed. It
seems that Phil had undressed and put me to bed, though I didn't
remember a thing about it. I felt dreadfully ashamed to have gone to
sleep without hearing how Fee was, but you see I was so dead tired, that
I suppose I really _couldn't_ keep awake.
Did you ever wake up in the morning with a strange sort of feeling as if
there was a weight on your heart, and then remember that something
dreadful had happened the night before? Well, then you know just how I
felt the morning after Fee got hurt. For a moment or two I tried to make
myself believe it was all a bad dream; but there sat Phil on the edge of
our bed, and the sight of his wretched white face brought back the
whole thing only too plainly.
"Oh! how is Fee?" I exclaimed, sitting up in bed. "What does the doctor
say about him?"
Phil's elbow was resting on his knee, his chin in his palm. "The doctor
says," he answered, with, oh! such a look of misery in his tired eyes,
"that Felix is not in danger of death, but it looks now as if he _might
not be able to walk again_!"
[Illustration: "THERE SAT PHIL ON THE EDGE OF OUR BED."]
"Oh, Phil, _Phil_!" I cried out; then I sat and stared at him, and
wondered if I were really awake, or if this were some dreadful dream.
"His back was weak from the start," went on Phil, drearily, "and
probably would have been to the end of his life; but at least he would
have been able to get around--to go to college--to enter a profession.
Now all that is over and done with. Isn't it _awful_!"
"Oh, but that can't be true," I broke in eagerly. "Why, Phil, Fee was in
a dreadful way that last attack, I told the doctor about it,"--Phil
nodded; "he couldn't stand on his feet at all,--and yet he got better.
Oh, he may now; he may, Phil, only with a longer time! See?"
"I thought of that when Gordon told me what you had told him, and I
begged for some hope of that sort,--begged as I wouldn't now for my own
life, Jack." Phil's voice got so unsteady that he had to stop for a
minute. "After a good deal of talking and pleading," he went on
presently, "I got him to admit that there _is_ a bare chance, on account
of his being so young, that Fee _may_ get around again, in a sort of a
way; but it's too slim to be counted on, and it could only be after a
long time,--two or three years or longer. Dr. Archard'll be in town
to-morrow, and they will consult; but Gordon says he's had cases of this
kind before, and knows the symptoms well. I think he would have given us
hope if he could. You see Fee isn't strong; oh, if it had _only_ been
_I_!--great, uncouth, ugly brute that I am!" Phil struck his hand so
fiercely on the bed that the springs just bounced me up and down.
"Fee's feet and legs are utterly useless," he began again; "his spine
is so weak he can't sit up. Even his fingers are affected,--he can't
close them on anything; he's lost his grip. And he may lie in this
condition for years; he may _never_ recover from it. Oh, think of that,
Jack!" Phil broke out excitedly; "_think_ of it! Our Fee, with his
splendid, clever mind, with all his bright hopes and ambitions, with the
certainty of going to college so near at hand,--to have to lie there,
day in and day out, a helpless, useless creature! And brought to it by
_my_ doing,--his own brother! _Oh_!" He drew his knee up, and folding
his arms round it, laid his face down with a moan.
I slipped over to his side and threw my arm across his shoulder.
"Phil, dear," I said, to comfort him, "try and not think of that
part; I'm sure Fee wouldn't want you to. You know he had that other
attack--and--perhaps this would have come any way--"
But Phil interrupted, looking at me with those miserable, hollow eyes.
"Not like this," he said. "Dr. Gordon told me himself that the blow Fee
got was what did the mischief this time; with medical care he might have
got over those other attacks. Gordon didn't dream that I was the
infuriated drunken brute who flung him against that chair. Drunken! I
think I must have been possessed by a _devil_! That _I_ should have
raised my hand against Fee,--the brother I love so dearly, my chum, my
comrade, mother's boy, of whom she was so tender! Oh, _God_! shall I
have to carry this awful remorse all the rest of my life!" His voice
broke in a kind of a wail, and he threw his clinched hands up over
his head.
"Oh, Phil, _dear_ Phil! Oh, _please_ don't," I begged. "Oh, Fee
_wouldn't_ want you to talk like this."
"I know he wouldn't. God bless him!" Phil answered in a quieter tone,
dropping his arms by his sides. "Oh, Jack, it cuts me up awfully to
see him lying there so cheerful and serene when he knows that what's
happened has just spoiled his whole life--"
"Oh, _does_ he know?" I exclaimed.
"He insisted on knowing, and bore it like a soldier. When I broke down
he smiled at me, actually _smiled_, Jack, with, 'Why, old fellow, it
isn't so bad--as all that'--_o-oh_!" Phil choked up, and, throwing
himself on the bed, he buried his face deep in the pillows, that Fee
in the next room might not hear his sobs.
* * * * *
That was a miserable day. Dr. Archard came quite early, and after the
consultation we heard that, in the main, he agreed with Dr. Gordon.
"Still," he said to Nora and me, as he was going, "Felix _may_ surprise
us all by recovering much faster and more fully than we expect. The
thing is to get him out of town _just_ as soon as we can, and in the
mean time to follow directions and keep him quiet and cheerful. Phil
seems to have taken charge of the boy, and I do believe he's going to
develop into a nurse. I'll send you round a _masseur_, and I'll write
to your father, so he'll not be alarmed. Keep up your spirits, and your
roses, my dear," patting Nora's cheek. Then he got into his carriage and
drove away.
Because the doctor said that about keeping Fee quiet, no one but Phil or
nurse was allowed in his room all day. But late in the afternoon nurse
let me take something up to him,--she had to see to the children's
dinner, or something or other downstairs; she said if Phil were with him
I wasn't to stay.
I knocked, but not very hard,--my hands were pretty full; and then, as
nobody answered, I opened the door softly, and went in. Fee was lying
sort of hunched up among the pillows, which weren't any whiter than his
face. Oh! _didn't_ he look delicate!
He had on his glasses again, and now his eyes were shining through them,
and there was a very sweet expression on his lips. Phil was sitting on
the edge of the bed, talking in a low, unsteady voice: "I didn't really
care for them," he was saying, "and there were times when I fairly
loathed them; but somehow they got round me, and--I began to go there
regularly. They drank and gambled; they said all young fellows did it,
and they laughed at me when I objected. I held out for a good
while,--then one night I gave in. I was a fool; I dreaded their
ridicule. There were times, though, when I was _disgusted_ with myself.
Then I began to win at cards, and--well--I thought I'd save the money
for a purpose; though in my heart I knew full well that--the--the--the
person I was saving for wouldn't touch a penny got that way. Well, then
something happened that made that money I was saving quite unnecessary,
and then I just played to lose. I wanted those fellows to have their
money back; after that I thought I'd cut loose from 'em. That was the
reason I wanted to go back to Chad's that night,--was it _only_ last
night? It seems like _years_ ago!"
Phil dropped his face down in his hands for a minute; then he went on:
"I started out this morning and gave each of the fellows his money back.
They didn't want to take it,--they think me a crazy loon; but I
insisted. I've got beyond caring for their opinion. And now, Fee, the
rest of my life belongs to you; you've paid an awful price for it, old
fellow,--I'm not worth it. Think of your college course--your
profession--all the things we planned! I'm not worth it!"
Phil's voice failed, but he cleared his throat quickly, and spoke out
clearly and solemnly. "Felix," he said, "I will _never_ play cards again
as long as I live; and I will _never_ drink another drop of liquor,--so
help me God." He raised his hand as he spoke, as if registering the
oath. Then he bent over and buried his face in the bed-clothes.
Slowly Fee's poor helpless hand went out and fell on Phil's head. "What
is all the rest compared with _this_," he said, oh, so tenderly! then,
with a little unsteady laugh, "Philippus, I always said there wasn't a
mean bone in your body." And then Phil threw his arms round Felix and
kissed him.
I laid what I had brought down on the table, and went quickly away,
shutting the door a little hard that they might know somebody'd gone
out. I should have left just as soon as I found they were talking,--I
know I should,--but it seemed as if Phil's words just held me there.
I've told Phil and Felix all about it since then, and they say they
don't mind my having heard; but between what I felt for them both, and
for my having done such a mean thing as to listen to what wasn't meant
for me to hear, I was a pretty miserable boy that afternoon.
I flew upstairs to the schoolroom, and throwing myself down on the old
sofa I just had a good cry. It seems as if I were an awful cry-baby
those days; but how could a person help it, with such dreadful things
happening?
Well, I hadn't been there very long when in came Nora and opened
the windows to let in the lovely afternoon light, and of course
then I got up.
I guess I must have been a forlorn-looking object, for Nora smoothed my
hair back off my forehead and kissed me,--she doesn't often do those
things. "I'm going to write to Nannie," she said, laying some note-paper
on the schoolroom table. "It is the first minute I've had in which to do
it; perhaps,"--slowly,--"if she had been here, all this trouble might
not have happened. Why don't you send Betty a few lines, Jack? You know
she will want to hear of Fee; but don't frighten her about him."
So I thought I would write Betty,--I owed her a letter. After all, she
wasn't having at all a bad time with the Ervengs; in fact, I fancy she
was enjoying herself, though she was careful not to say so.
Nora and I were sitting at the same table, but far apart, and I'd just
called out and asked her if there were two l's in wonderful--I was
writing about Fee--when the schoolroom door opened, and in walked Chad
Whitcombe! As usual, he looked a regular dandy, and he held a bunch of
roses in his hand. He came forward with his hand out and smiling:
"I've--aw--just called in for a minute," he said. "I thought--aw--you
might care for these flowers--"
But Nora rose quickly from her chair, pushing it a little from her, and
putting her hands behind her back, she faced him with her head up in the
air. My! how handsome she looked,--like a queen, or something grand like
that! "I thank you for your polite intention," she said very stiffly and
proudly, "but hereafter I prefer to have neither flowers nor visits
from you."
Well, you should have seen Chad's face! he'd been stroking his
moustache, but now, positively, he stood staring at Nora with his mouth
open, he was so astonished. "Wha--what's wrong?" he stammered. "What've
I done?"
Then Nora gave it to him; she didn't mince matters,--truly, she made me
think of Betty. "What have you done?" she repeated, opening her grey
eyes at him. "Oh! only acted as I have never known any one calling
himself a gentleman to act. Mr. Whitcombe,"--with a toss of her head
equal to anything Betty could have done,--"I will _not_ have the
acquaintance of a man who drinks and gambles."
Then _I_ was the one to be astonished; I didn't dream Nora knew anything
about that part. Phil must have told her that day.
[Illustration: "'HEREAFTER I PREFER TO HAVE NEITHER FLOWERS NOR VISITS
FROM YOU.'"]
"And who not only does those dreadful things himself," went on Nora,
"but inveigles others into doing them, too. The idea of coming here
among us as a friend, and then leading Phil off,--trying to ruin his
life!" Nonie's cheeks were scarlet; she was getting madder and madder
with every word she said.
"Why, that isn't gambling; we just play for small amounts," exclaimed
Chad, eagerly, forgetting his affectation, and speaking just like
anybody. "All the fellows do it; why, I've played cards and drunk liquor
since I was twelve years old. It hasn't hurt me."
"No?" said Nora, coldly. "We don't agree on that point;" then, curling
her lip in a disgusted way: "What an unfortunate, neglected little
boy you must have been. If Jack should do either of those low, wicked
things, I should consider a sound thrashing entirely too mild treatment
for him. And allow me to tell you that _all_ the young fellows we know
are _not_ after your kind: they neither drink, nor play cards; and yet,
strange to say,--that is, from your point of view,--they are extremely
manly."
"I'm sorry, you know; but I didn't suppose you'd mind--so much," Chad
began, in the meekest sort of tone. "You always seemed to understand
lots of things that the others didn't, and--"
But Nora interrupted: "I made allowances for you," she said, with her
little superior air, "knowing that you had lost your parents as a
little boy, and that you had had so little--now I will say _no_--home
training. Besides, I thought, perhaps"--she hesitated, then went
on--"that perhaps the others were a little hard on you; it seemed
rather unjust, simply because you were--well--different from ourselves.
But I didn't imagine for one moment that you were this sort of a
person. It isn't honourable to do those things,--don't you know that?
It is low and wicked."
"I only wanted Phil to have a good time; I never thought he was such a
baby he'd get any harm," exclaimed Chad, a little sulkily, getting
awfully red, even to his ears. "And as to Felix, he came of his own free
will. It's he that has told you all this, and set you up against me.
Felix doesn't like me, and he hasn't taken any pains to hide it. I don't
see why he came up there last night, if he thinks we're so wicked."
"I will tell you why," cried Nora; "he came in the hope that seeing
_him_ there would shame Phil, and induce him to get out of such a set.
And it _has_ gotten him out,--though not in the way that Fee expected.
When I think of all that has happened since you and Phil went out
together last evening,--of all the trouble you have brought on
us,--I really wish you would go away; I prefer to have nothing
more to say to you."
She made a motion of her hand as if dismissing him, but Chad never
moved. He just stood there, holding the roses upside down, and looking
very gloomy. "You're _awfully_ down on me," he said presently; then,
"and A'm awfully sorry. Ah wish you'd forgive me!" in _such_ a
beseeching sort of tone that I could have laughed right out.
But Nonie didn't laugh, or even smile; she just answered, a little more
kindly than before: "It's not a question of _my_ forgiving you that
will set the matter right; the thing is to give up that way of living.
Surely there are plenty of other ways of amusing yourself,--nice
honourable ways that belong to a gentleman. Then--people--would be able
to respect as well as like you. I wonder that Max has let this sort of
thing go on."
"Oh, he doesn't know," Chad said, with a quick glance over his
shoulder at the door, as if he thought Max might be there, ready
to walk in on him.
"_Tell_ him," advised Nora,--she just loves to advise people,--"and get
him to help you. You could study for college, or--go into business, if
you preferred that."
Chad was looking intently at her; suddenly he threw the roses on the
schoolroom table,--with such force that they slid across and fell on the
floor on the other side,--and made a step or two toward Nora, with his
hands extended, exclaiming eagerly, "Oh, Nora, if I thought that _you_
cared--"
But like a flash Nora got behind her chair, putting it between herself
and Chad. "Don't say _another_ word!" she broke in imperiously, standing
very straight, and looking proudly at him over the back of the chair.
"Jack, pick up those flowers and return them to Mr. Whitcombe, and then
open the door for him."
Chad was so startled that he jumped,--you see he hadn't noticed that I
was there,--and didn't he look foolish! and _blush_! why, his face
actually got mahogany colour. He snatched the poor roses from me and
just bolted through that schoolroom door.
Well, I had to laugh; and when I turned back into the room, after seeing
him to the head of the stairs, I said, "I'm just _glad_ you gave it to
him, Nonie!"
"There is nothing for you to laugh at, Jack," Nora said sharply, turning
on me. "Remember you are only a little boy, and this is none of your
affair." With that she picked up her writing materials and walked off.
Aren't girls the _funniest_!
XXI.
THROUGH THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND.
TOLD BY JACK.
The man to massage Felix came the next day; but, except for the time he
was there, Phil took entire charge of Fee. He had always declared he
wasn't of any use in a sick-room, but now he seemed to get on very well;
you can't think how kind and gentle he was!
For one thing, Fee wasn't hard to suit, and that helped things a great
deal. If Phil made a mistake, or did something awkwardly, Fee just
turned it off in a joking way. He was very white and languid, but not at
all sad; in fact, he kept our spirits up with his funny sayings. We all
thought it was amazing; nurse said he was "a born angel," and now and
then I saw Phil look wistfully at Fee, as if wondering how he _could_ be
so brave. And Felix, when he caught Phil's eye, would give a roguish
little smile, and say something so merry that we had to laugh.
The only part that troubled me was that Phil stuck so closely to Fee
that nobody else got a chance to do anything for him. I just longed to
go in and sit with Fee a while, but the doctor didn't want more than one
to be with him at a time; and what with Nora, and nurse, and Phil, I
didn't get any chance at all until about the third day that Fee'd been
ill. A telegram came that morning from Miss Marston, saying she was on
the way home, and would arrive early in the afternoon, and that we would
start for the Cottage the next day,--she didn't know about Fee; we'd
been so upset that nobody had thought of writing her.
Well, that threw Nora into what Phil calls "a state of mind," and she
and nurse began getting things together and packing 'em.
I just hate packing times; you have to keep running up and down stairs
carrying things, and all that, and you don't have a minute to yourself
for reading. But of course I had to help, and I was busy in the nursery
handing things to nurse off a shelf, when Phil came to the door with his
hat on. He looked brighter than he had for some time. "Jack," he said,
"will you sit with Felix for a while? I have to go out; but I'll be back
as soon as I can."
Of course I was only too glad, and I went right to Fee's room. He looked
tired, and those circles under his eyes were very big and dark; but he
smiled at me, and chatted for a few minutes. Then presently, after
Phil'd gone, he said: "Would you mind taking a seat over there in the
window, Jack? I want to do a little quiet thinking. There's a nice book
on the table; take it. Phil said he wouldn't be away long."
[Illustration: "PACKING TIMES."]
I was disappointed,--I wanted to talk with him; but I took the book and
went over to the window.
It was a capital story, and I soon got interested in it. I don't know
how long I'd read--I was enjoying the story so much--when I heard a
queer, smothered sound, and it came from the direction of Felix.
In a minute I was by his side, exclaiming, "Why, what's the matter,
Fee?"
He had slipped down in the bed, and while his poor helpless legs still
lay stretched straight out, he'd twisted the upper part of his body so
that he was now lying a little on his side, hugging one of the pillows,
and with his face buried in it. His shoulders were shaking, and when
he raised his head to answer me, I saw the tears were streaming down
his cheeks.
"Shut the door--_quick_!" he cried, gasping between the words. "Lock
it--pile the furniture against it--don't let a creature in--oh, _don't_
let them see me!"
I flew to the door and locked it; and by the time I got back to the bed,
Fee seemed to have lost all control over himself. He twisted and
twitched, rolling his head restlessly from side to side,--one minute
throwing his arms out wildly as far as they could reach, the next
snatching at the pillows or the bed-clothes, and trying to stuff them
into his mouth. And all the time he kept making that horrible sharp
gasping noise,--as if he were almost losing his breath.
I was _dreadfully_ scared at first,--that _Felix_, of all people,
should act this way! I got goose-flesh all over, and just stood there
staring at Fee, and that seemed only to make him worse.
"Don't stare at me like that. Oh, don't, don't, _don't_!" he cried out.
"I can't help this--really--I can't, I _can't_! Oh, if I could only
_scream_ without the others hearing me!" He threw his head back and beat
the pillows with his outstretched arms.
Then, somehow, I began to understand: a great lump came in my throat,
and taking hold of one of Fee's cold, clammy hands, I commenced stroking
and patting it without a word.
His fingers were twitching so I could hardly hold them, and he talked
very fast,--almost as if he couldn't stop himself.