"It's nothing to worry about, Nina. Virginia will pull through all
right, by morning."
But that didn't satisfy Nina Adams, _not for an instant_, and Dr.
Wilkins, knowing that ironclad spirit of school days which would stand
for no obstructions in its path, saw that a "blow-up" was coming; but,
through a kindly thought for this woman's comfort, did not say what his
diagnosis was, until Nina, now actually livid with worry, said:--
"Tom Wilkins! _Doctor_ Wilkins, if you wish,--I claim a natural right
to know why my child is unconscious! And you, a physician, cannot, by
law, withhold such information!!"
But Wilkins, trying to find a way out of a most unhappy condition of
affairs, said:--
"Now, Nina, you know I wouldn't hold anything from you if Virginia was
critically ill, but that is not so. If you'll only wait until morning
you'll find that I am right."
But this only built obstruction upon obstruction to Nina's strong will,
until Dr. Wilkins, noticing coming total prostration, had to say:--
"Nina, Virginia is _drunk_; _horribly_ drunk."
"_Drunk!!_" Widow Adams had to grab wildly at a chair, sinking into it;
at first as limp as a rag, but instantly springing up, blood surging to
a throbbing brow. "_Drunk!_ _Drunk!!_ _My_ baby drunk!! Tom, I thank
you for trying to ward off this shock; but I'll say right now, _with my
hand on high_, that I am going to start a rumpus about this atrocity
that will rock Branton Hills to its foundations! Who _got_ this young
school-girl drunk? I know that Virginia wouldn't drink that stuff
willingly. How _could_ it occur? I pay through taxation for a patrolman
in this district; in fact in _all_ districts of this city. What is
a patrolman for, if not to watch for just such abominations as this,
pray?"
Dr. Wilkins didn't say, though probably thinking of a rumor that had
run around town for a month or two. At this point Virginia, partly
conscious, was murmuring:--
"Oh, Norman! _Don't!!_ I _can't_ drink it! Oh! I'm _so_ sick!!"
This brought forth all of Nina Adams' fury instantly.
"_Aha! Aha! Norman!_ So _that's_ it! That's Norman Antor, that
low-down, good-for-nothing night-owl! Son of our big Councilman Antor.
So!! It's 'Norman! I can't drink it'! Tom Wilkins, this thing is going
to _court!!_"
* * * * *
About noon of that day, our good doctor, walking sadly along, ran
across Mayor Gadsby, in front of City Hall; and did His Honor "_burn_"
at such an abomination?
"_What?_ High School boys _forcing_ young girls to drink? And right in
our glorious Branton Hills? Oh, but, Doc! This can't pass without a
trial!"
"That's all right, John; but a thorn sticks out, right in plain sight."
"Thorn? Thorn? What kind of a thorn?" and our Mayor was flushing hard,
as no kind of wild thoughts would point to any kind of thorns.
"That thorn," said Wilkins, "is young Norman Antor; son of----"
"_Not of Councilman Antor?_"
"I am sorry to say that it is so," and Wilkins told of Virginia's
half-conscious murmurings. "And Nina wants to know why, with a
patrolman in all parts of town, it isn't known that all this drinking
is going on. I didn't say what I thought, but you know that a patrolman
don't go into dancing pavilions and night clubs until conditions
sanction it."
"Who is supplying this liquor?"
"Councilman Antor; but without knowing it."