SQUIRE TALFORD'S ACCIDENT.
It was evident that the man was suffering intensely; but resolutely
repressing, as far as he was able, outward manifestations of the fact,
he turned to the cabman and briefly inquired:
"What's to pay for this?"
The man named his price, and, with a grunt of disapprobation, the squire
drew forth his wallet--the same that Mollie had restored to him only a
few hours previous--and paid the amount, whereupon the driver hurried
away to his team below.
Squire Talford had not taken the slightest notice of Clifford, but the
young man, although he found himself in an awkward position, felt that
he had a duty to perform, and courteously inquired if he should go for a
surgeon to attend to the injured limb.
"No," was the gruff response, "the leg has already been attended to at
the drug-store, where I made the mis-step."
Cliff glanced down and observed for the first time that his boot had
been removed and the ankle bandaged.
"But you will have to get to bed, sir; let me assist you," he remarked.
"No--I can do well enough by myself--I don't want any help," the squire
returned ungraciously.
Cliff flushed and stood irresolute for a moment. Then a look of
determination flashed into his eyes, and he deliberately unbuttoned and
removed his overcoat.
"Excuse me, Squire Talford, but you do need help," he calmly observed.
"I know that you are not at all fond of me; that my presence is
disagreeable to you; but suppose, for this once, you ignore those facts
and accept the aid you require. You cannot stir from your chair without
great suffering if I leave you, and will probably have to sit in it all
night, unless you call some one in the house, and everybody appears to
be in bed. Here, let me have your hat," and without more ado he removed
it from the man's head and placed it on a table.
"Now the coat," he added. "I am sure I can help you undress without
disturbing you very much, and when I get you comfortably settled in bed
I will leave you."
Squire Talford was beginning to realize his helplessness, and submitted
to the disrobing without further objection, although not with the best
grace in the world, and he never once met Clifford's eyes during the
operation.
"Now," said the young man, when that task was over, "the next move will
be to try to get you into bed without hurting this crippled foot if
possible. I will move your chair close beside it, then I think I can
easily lift you on."
He swung the chair around, while he was speaking, and, it being a
rocker without arms, it was not difficult to place it just where he
wanted it, when, almost before he had time to dread the change, the
squire found himself reclining in a comparatively comfortable position,
although the pain in his ankle seemed unbearable.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Clifford inquired, with a
great pity in his heart for the lonely man, as he saw how deathly white
he was and noted the lines of pain about his mouth.
"I don't think of anything," said the squire, in a more subdued tone
than he had yet used.
Clifford hung his clothing in the closet, and straightened things
generally in the room, then found his way to the bath-room, where he
procured a glass of water, which he placed on a chair beside the
patient, in case he should be thirsty during the night.
"I am going to my room now, Squire Talford," he said when these
arrangements were completed, "but if you should need me before morning
and can arouse any one, you can send for me, and I will gladly come to
you. I will drop in anyway after breakfast, to see how you are."
The man nodded, but did not unclose his eyes, and Clifford, after
turning the gas low, went quietly out, taking care to close the door
softly after him.
The next morning on inquiring at the door regarding the squire's
condition before going to his business, he was told by the landlady that
he had slept but little, and was suffering very much, both from the
sprain and a high fever, for he had evidently taken a severe cold.
Clifford went up to his room and tried to persuade him to have medical
advice, but the man curtly refused to do so; and after doing what little
he could for his comfort, he was obliged to leave him to himself.
He found him even worse on his return at night, and he spent most of the
evening with him, bathing the injured ankle, rubbing it thoroughly with
a liniment which he had procured of a druggist, and afterward
rebandaging it as deftly as if he were accustomed to such duties. He
also bathed the man's fevered face and hands, and he seemed much
refreshed afterward.
The squire did not submit to these operations with a very good grace at
first, but Clifford had assumed a masterful air, and went straight ahead
as if he had a perfect right to do so, and was so gentle and handy that
before he was through he could see that the squire's antagonism to his
presence was merging into a sort of helpless reliance upon him.
He had brought some lemons with him, and with these he made a small
pitcher of lemonade, some of which the sufferer drank with thirsty
relish, the remainder being left where he could easily reach it.
Clifford felt very reluctant to leave him alone, for he saw that he was
very ill; but the squire bade him go, saying that he was all right, and
he felt obliged to obey him.
He did not feel wearied or like sleeping after reaching his own room,
and, having a new book, he read until very late, retiring just as the
clock in a room below struck the half-hour after twelve.
He fell asleep almost immediately; but suddenly--it seemed as if he
could hardly have lost himself--he was aroused by hearing the rapid
"chug-chug" of a steam fire-engine close by and a perfect babel of
voices in the street below him.
He sprang from his bed and rushed to a window, and was appalled to see
smoke and flame issuing from both the door and windows of the adjoining
house, which he had left only a few hours previous. His first thought
was for Squire Talford, who was on the third floor, and who, in his
crippled condition, would find it very difficult to get out of the
burning building.
He hurriedly threw on some clothing; then dashed down-stairs and out of
doors. The entire lower floor of the burning house was in flames. The
fire had started in the basement, and had gained great headway before it
was discovered.
The stairway leading to the second story was also on fire, and thus
rendered impassable, and the family and servants were being taken out of
the second-floor windows by the firemen when Clifford appeared upon the
scene.
"Where is Squire Talford?" he demanded of the landlady, as soon as he
could find her.
"Merciful heavens, sir! I'm sure I don't know. He must be up-stairs in
his room. With so many other things on my mind I haven't thought of him
till this minute!" cried the almost distracted woman, wringing her
hands in terror.
Clifford turned suddenly white with a terrible fear. One sweeping glance
aloft told him that the man would shortly be suffocated by smoke, even
if the flames had not already reached him. He knew that he could not put
his injured foot to the floor; that he was almost as helpless as an
infant; and unless he had immediate assistance the chances in his favor
were very small indeed.
It was too late to try to save him by getting him out of the windows on
the front of the house, for some of the firemen had been burned while
making their last trip down the ladder with their burdens, and the
flames were now pouring out of them.
Without saying a word to any one, he dashed back into his own house,
bounded up three flights of stairs, and made his way out upon the roof,
through a skylight, and ran across to the one on the roof of the fated
building.
It was fastened; but with one blow of his heel he smashed a pane of
glass, and reaching inside, unhooked it, throwing it open with a force
that nearly tore it from its hinges. The next moment he was making his
way down the stairs; but the whole place was black with smoke so dense
that he could scarcely see or breathe.
He sprang into the squire's room, to find the man lying crossway of the
bed, his face downward, panting for breath and moaning piteously. He had
tried to get up to escape, wrenched his ankle, and fallen back again
half-fainting from the pain, from fear, and a horrible sense of his own
helplessness.
"Courage, Squire Talford!" cried Clifford, in forceful tones. "I will
have you out of this very shortly. Now think quick--have you any papers
and valuables that you want to take with you?"
"Yes--a package of documents in my trunk--my watch and wallet are under
my pillow," the man feebly responded, though he had lifted his head
eagerly the instant he caught the sound of the familiar, encouraging
voice.
Clifford had the wallet and watch in his pocket almost before he ceased
speaking; then he flew to the trunk--fortunately it was not
locked--found the papers, and thrust them into his pocket. The next
moment he was bending over the squire.
"Here, let me help you up," he said; "you must not mind if you are hurt
a little--put your arms around my neck and give yourself up to me, and I
will save you."
The man rolled over, and with Clifford's help stood upon his well foot,
though a groan burst from him in making the effort. He clasped his hands
about the young man's neck, as he was bidden, and Clifford lifted him in
his arms, bore him from the room, through the volume of smoke that was
now rolling up through the aperture above, up the stairs to the roof,
and across it to the next house.
Here he deposited his burden upon the upper step of the flight of stairs
leading below, while the fresh, frosty air had done much toward
reviving the almost suffocated man.
"Now," said Clifford, "if you can manage to get inside out of the cold
by yourself, I will go back and see if I can save some of your clothing.
Can you?"
"Yes, I will try; but don't run any risk for the clothes, Cliff," the
squire replied as he began to ease himself down the stairs; for he was
shivering with cold and excitement.
In spite of the gravity of the situation, a smile flashed over
Clifford's face as he noted the change in the man's tone when he
pronounced his name, and marked the consideration expressed for him. He
darted back and down into the room which he had only just left, although
now the flames smote him as he went, for they were rolling up from below
with devouring force.
He snatched a sheet from the bed, and, without making a false movement
or step, piled upon it everything belonging to the squire that he could
lay his hands on, emptying both trunk and closet; then gathering it up
by the four corners, he knotted them, swung the pack over his head, and
a moment later was again on the roof of the house, and this time getting
a thorough drenching from the stream of water which had been directed to
the column of smoke that was pouring out of the skylight.
He had not been any too expeditious, for almost at the same instant
there came a terrible crash, which told of falling floors and stairways
within the burning building. Dropping his pack through the roof of his
own dwelling, he quickly followed it, to find the squire shivering in
the hall below.
He assisted him down the next flight to the room he occupied, which was
a large square apartment in the front of the house, and made him get
into his own bed.
The man was a little inclined to rebel against this arrangement, for he
seemed to think that they were still in danger from the fire; but Cliff
assured him that the department were getting the flames under control,
and they were in no danger, as the walls between the houses were
fireproof.
As soon as he had made him comfortable, he went up-stairs again to bring
down the clothing he had saved, and arranged it neatly in his closet and
an empty trunk of his own; after which he had a bath and put on dry
garments.
Although the engines continued to play for more than an hour after this,
the worst was over, no lives had been lost, although much personal
property was destroyed, and the excitement soon subsided.
But when morning broke Squire Talford was raving in the delirium of
fever. Clifford felt it his duty to act upon his own responsibility, and
immediately called a physician, who at once declared that the man must
either go to a hospital, or have a trained nurse where he was, for he
was very sick, and liable to have a tedious illness. Knowing the
squire's horror of incurring heavy expenses, Clifford did not quite like
to send him to a hospital, while the cost of a trained nurse in the
house, with her board to be paid, would very soon amount to an appalling
sum.
The man was in no condition to plan for himself, and so, after thinking
the matter over seriously, and consulting with his landlady, who was a
kind-hearted, sensible woman, Clifford decided to send for Maria
Kimberly to come and take care of her master.
Mrs. Woodruff, the owner of the house, had a couple of empty rooms which
she was very glad to rent--one on the same floor and another above--and
Clifford said he would take one and Maria could have the other.
So, about the middle of the forenoon, while Mrs. Kimberly was ironing
the last parlor curtain--which, after it was hung, would complete her
house-cleaning for that season--a messenger-boy appeared at the door
with a telegram for her.
It was Cliff's message, briefly telling of the squire's illness, and
bidding her come to nurse him. She was to take the earliest possible
train for New York, wire Clifford when she reached that city what hour
she would leave for Washington, and he would meet her upon her arrival.
It was the first telegram that the woman had ever received in her life,
and it naturally gave her quite a shock, but she was equal to the
emergency, and after reading the message through twice, her mind began
to act vigorously.
"Goodness gracious me!" she ejaculated as she drew a long breath. "It's
come like a clap of thunder! But of course I've got to go. Yes, and--I'm
sure it's another dispensation of Providence--I shall take that box
belonging to Cliff along with me."