IN THE HOSPITAL
Tom seemed to himself to come back from some remote place with a
wrench that shook his whole body. As he said afterward it was like
falling through some vast space, bringing up with a jerk. He seemed to
be floating in space one minute, and the next he awoke with a start
to find himself in bed. A glance around told him it was the hospital
attached to the Academy. And, thus recognizing it, Tom was spared the
necessity of asking:
“Where am I?”
What he did ask when he saw an orderly coming toward him was:
“What happened? Am I badly hurt?”
“Nothing much to speak of, unless something develops internally later,
so the doctor says. You’re to keep quiet, Mr. Taylor,” the man went on.
“The doctor will be here pretty soon. He left word he was to be called
as soon as you became conscious.”
“Well, I’m conscious all right,” Tom said, trying to smile. His head
had been aching badly, but the pain had somewhat stopped now. Gingerly
he moved an arm, a leg, one of his hands and then the other. All his
limbs seemed to be still attached to him, but he was sore and stiff,
and ached in every joint and muscle.
“Well, how goes it, Mr. Taylor?” asked the doctor, as he came and stood
smiling beside Tom’s bed.
“Pretty well, doctor.”
“That’s good. We’ll have you around again soon.”
“Just what happened?” asked Tom. He had a memory of Captain
Hawkesbury’s horse crashing into him, and Tom thought he himself had
been in danger of being crushed under the animal. But evidently that
had not happened.
“There was a collision between you and Captain Hawkesbury,” went on the
physician. “Both your mounts seemed to get a little beyond you, and
that was strange, for the captain boasts of being able to manage any
kind of horse.
“That isn’t saying you mismanaged yours, though,” the medical man went
on. “I was looking at the drill, and I want to say you got out of what
looked as if it was going to be a bad accident--you got out of it very
nicely. You had a hard fall, and received a glancing blow on the head
from one of the horse’s feet. But aside from the shock and the bruises
you’re all right and I think you’ll be out in about a week.”
“A week!” gasped Tom.
“Oh, that isn’t long. And most of you gentlemen would accept a week
here very gladly.”
Tom smiled.
He realized that being in the hospital relieved him from the dull
routine--that he need not jump up at reveille and could take it easy in
many ways.
Still, though there were certain advantages about being in the hospital
while in no great danger, there were disadvantages in Tom’s case. He
wanted to be actively doing something to help his mother, or at least
to continue an investigation into the matter of the trust deed. He had
been thinking hard on that subject and, only that day he had come to a
new conclusion in the matter. He had decided to appeal to a well-known
lawyer, the father of one of his cadet friends. Tom had made up his
mind to lay the whole matter before Mr. Blasdell, state that he was
unable to pay a fee, but offering, in case any money could be recovered
from the captain and Mr. Doolittle, to share it with the attorney. Tom
felt sure Mr. Blasdell would take the case on that basis, as young
Blasdell, who was in Tom’s class, said his father’s firm often did that.
“But here I am, on my back, and unable to do anything,” thought Tom,
bitterly. “It’s just my luck!”
But, while he did not know it, luck was, even then, preparing a big and
pleasant surprise for Tom Taylor.
“Now you must take it easy and not fret,” went on the doctor. “You were
very fortunate to get out of it as you did, very fortunate. I expected
to find a couple of broken bones at least, but you young chaps have a
happy faculty of falling easy. Feel sleepy?”
“A little,” Tom admitted.
“I thought you would. Well, go to sleep. Ring if you want anything.
Rest will do you more good than medicine.”
Tom closed his eyes and tried to think. The scene of the accident was
coming more clearly to him now. He could see the captain riding toward
him--he could hear the shouts--the pounding of the horses’ hoofs--then
he opened his eyes with a start. It was as though he felt the shock of
the collision over again.
“Guess I must be getting a case of nerves,” Tom said to himself,
grimly. “That won’t do!”
He tried to turn in bed, but such pains shot through his whole frame
that he gave it up, and lay as he was. Finally, due either to the
reaction, or to some opiate the doctor had given him, he fell into a
heavy slumber.
Tom felt much better when he awakened. The orderly was near him, and
asked:
“Do you want anything, Mr. Taylor?”
“Something cool to drink?”
“Yes, sir. The doctor said you might have a bit of iced lemonade, and
some fruit--oranges, perhaps?”
“I’ll take lemonade. It’s night, isn’t it?”
“Lights have just been turned on; yes, sir. Some of your friends were
in to see you, but the doctor thought it best not to awaken you.”
“Who were they?”
“Mr. Leland, Mr. Houston and Mr. Wilson,” the orderly replied,
consulting a list he had evidently prepared.
Tom wondered whether Captain Hawkesbury would call and inquire after
him, but he did not like to ask. After all, he did not much care. There
was no love lost between them, and there was no use in pretending.
Still, in all decency the captain might have called.
Tom was not as well next day as he had hoped to be, nor did he progress
as the doctor evidently expected. The medical man frowned a little,
thinking perhaps his patient did not see this sign. But if Tom saw he
did not much care. He was too ill.
For the next two days Tom was on the border line between progressing
favorably and going back. Then came the turn in his favor. Tom’s fever
left him and he was cool, though weak. He began to take an interest in
matters, and was allowed to see his chums who called on him. They had
called every day, of course, but up to this time, they had not been
admitted to the sickroom.
As for Captain Hawkesbury, he probably learned of Tom’s condition, but
it was not because he inquired.
“It’s a mean thing to think, much less to say,” mused Tom, as he lay in
bed staring up at the ceiling, “but it looks to me as though Captain
Hawkesbury is glad I’m laid up. And I think he’d be glad if I was so
knocked out that I’d have to withdraw from the Academy. Yes, I’ll go
farther and say I think he deliberately rode into me so I would get
disabled. I don’t claim he actually wanted to injure me seriously, but
he may have thought a little knocking about would take the starch out
of me, and cause me to resign. But I’ll not!”
Tom looked out of the window musingly.
“I’m going to stick!” he told himself, firmly, “and I’m going after
Captain Hawkesbury and Mr. Doolittle harder than ever. That’s what I’m
going to do!”
Tom clenched his fists under the bedclothes--that is he tried to, but
gave it up with a wince of pain, for one of his arms had been badly
wrenched.
“Well, how are you feeling, old man?” asked Sam, a little later, as he
came in to see his chum.
“Oh, so-so.”
“That’s good. We all miss you.”
“Glad to hear you say so. I’ll be around in another week, I’m sure.”
“Oh, don’t be in a hurry to get well,” said Sam with a grin. “If I had
a chance in here I’d make it last as long as possible.”
Sam looked at the comfortable bed, in the spotlessly spick and span
room, glanced at a tray of delicacies at Tom’s side, thought of his own
strenuous life, and grinned again.
“I sure would draw it out as long as possible,” he went on. “No beastly
reveille to wake you up mornings.”
“Yes, I can lie here and think of you fellows hitting the trail,” said
Tom. “But it isn’t all velvet at that. I’m as sore as a boil.”
“Yes, I suppose so. Say, the work is as hard as bullets now. You may
well be glad you’re out of it.”
“I’ll only have that much more to make up,” Tom said, with a sigh. “I’m
going to bone a little while I’m here, though.”
Tom’s two other chums came in later, and then he fell into a day-sleep,
from which he awoke much refreshed. The orderly approached his bed,
saying:
“One of the janitors has been asking for you, Mr. Taylor. He’s been
here a number of times, but you were engaged or asleep. He’s just come
again. Will you see him?”
“One of the janitors?” repeated Tom, wonderingly.
“Yes, Flack. He’s assigned to the officers’ quarters.”
“Oh, yes, I know him.” Flack was an old soldier who had become crippled
from rheumatism, and had been assigned some light tasks about the
Academy. Tom had done him a number of slight favors, and the man seemed
unusually grateful.
“Let him come up,” Tom said, feeling quite touched by this mark of
liking on the part of one of the subordinates. Tom had quite forgotten
that Flack felt under obligations to him.
“I’ll bring him,” the orderly said.
Flack came in limping, yet with a trace of his former soldierly
uprightness. On his wrinkled face, twisted by the drawing pains of
rheumatism, there was a cheery smile.
“My, but I’m sorry to see you in this shape, Mr. Taylor, sir,” said the
janitor. “Very sorry,” and he saluted.
“Oh, it might be worse,” Tom said. “Have a chair,” and he indicated one
near the bed.
“No, I won’t stay,” Flack answered. “I just came to bring you
something.” He gave a quick look around, and noting that the orderly
had left the room, the janitor pulled a folded paper from his pocket.
Tom noted that the document consisted of several torn scraps, pasted
together with strips of transparent paper.
“This has your name on it--or at least the name Taylor,” Flack went on.
“I thought it might be valuable, so I’ve been saving it for you.”
He laid down on the bed in front of Tom a copy of the trust deed, and
walked away.