“Red,” observed James Macauley, junior, “this place of yours looks like
a drunkard's home.”
He glanced around him as he spoke. The criticism certainly found
justification in every corner. No more neglected office could have been
discovered belonging to any practitioner within an area of many miles.
“I suppose it does,” rejoined Burns from the depths of a big, dusty
leather chair where he sat stretched in an attitude expressing extreme
fatigue. “But I don't care a hang.”
Macauley looked at him. His eyes were closed. His arms lay upon the
chair arms, relaxed and limp. For the first time his friend observed
what might have been noted by a critical eye on any day during the last
fortnight. The lines on the ordinarily strong, health-tinted face were
deeper than he had ever seen them; the cheeks were thinner; there were
even shadows under the thick eyelashes which outlined the lids of the
closed eyes.
“Look here, old man,” Macauley cried, sudden conviction seizing him,
“you're working altogether too hard. This miserable city epidemic has
done you out. I've thought all the time you were trying to cover too
much ground.”
“Ground's had to be covered,” replied the other briefly, without opening
his eyes.
“Have the other fellows worked as hard as you?”
“Harder.”
“I don't believe it. They're all city men. You've done all this city
work and looked after your own patients here, too, to say nothing of
living in both places at once. With your housekeeper gone home to her
sick folks, and Miss Mathewson off on one of your cases--no wonder this
place looks the way it does.”
“It doesn't matter. Cut it out about the place. I'm going back in ten
minutes.”
“You are! Not going to get to bed?”
“Don't know. I might snatch a nap now if you'd quit talking.”
Macauley closed his mouth. Presently he got up and stole out of the
room. He was back again in a trice, a flask in one hand, a soda siphon
in the other, and a small glass balanced on his thumb. When Burns, at
the sound of a clock ticking somewhere, rubbed his eyes with his fists
striking in and reluctantly opened them, Macauley spoke briskly:
“See here--I'm going to give you a bracer. I know your confounded
notions, but they don't cut any figure when you need something to pull
you together the way you do to-night.”
He started to measure out the amber liquid into the glass, but Burns put
up a hand.
“Much obliged, but I don't want any.”
“You idiot--don't you know when to make an exception to your rule? I
admit you've won out over the other fellows just by keeping a steady
hand, but you're dead as a dog for rest to-night and you need a stiff
one, if I'm any judge.”
“You're not--for me.” Burns sat up. “O Heavens, man, if I were going to
break my rule at all it wouldn't be for a drink of anything. It would be
for a stab in the arm with something that beats your stuff all out for
stimulating the fatigue out of a fellow and making him feel like working
till he drops.”
“Why don't you have it then?” asked Macauley curiously. “I should think
if ever a used-up chap were justified in--”
“Don't give me that talk if you're my friend. It's hard enough to hold
out without resorting to that game. I don't need you to advise it. I've
seen enough of that sort of suicide. Buller and Fields are both down and
out, and they began to brace early in the epidemic. Van Horn's a wreck,
though he keeps going; and I tell you, I've more respect for that man
than I ever had before. He's a poseur and a toadier, no doubt of that,
and I've always despised him for it, but he has real ability and
he's worked like a fiend through this muss, and not all for his rich
patients, either. But he's weakening fast, and it's drug stimulation
that's done it. No, sir: not for mine. But I'll make myself a cup of
coffee, for I've got to keep awake, and I shall sleep in my tracks if I
don't.”
He got up and stumbled out into his deserted kitchen. Macauley followed,
helping as best he knew how, and watched his friend gulp down two
cupfulls of a muddy liquid with feeling of admiration such as a small
act of large significance may sometimes stir in one who apprehends.
Two days later Burns, starting toward home in the Imp at a late hour in
the morning, passed a figure on a corner of a city street waiting for
the outward-bound trolley. He slowed down beside it.
“May I take you home?” he asked, cap in hand, and interest showing in
eyes which a moment before had been heavy with fatigue.
Ellen Lessing looked up. “I shall be very glad,” she answered, as she
met his outstretched hand and let it draw her upward to the vacant
seat. “The car is always so full at this hour, and I was longing for the
feeling of the wind against my face.”
“It's cool for late August, and you'll get a breeze on the road home
that will refresh you. You haven't touched water or milk in this
plague-stricken district, I hope?”
“No, indeed. Martha warned me a dozen times before I left. How are
things? Any better?”
“No new cases in twenty-four hours, and the old ones well in hand. I'm
getting home earlier to-day than I've done for a month, and hope to have
a few hours off duty. I was planning what to do with them as I came upon
you.”
“I should think you could do nothing better with them than to go
home and sleep,” she advised, looking up at his face with a critical,
friendly survey of the signs of weariness written plainly there. “You
are worn out, and that means something when one says it of so strong a
man as you.”
“I could sleep a week, but I'm not sure that a few hours would more
than aggravate my need. Besides, I shouldn't be at home an hour before
I should be called out again. No, my plans were forming themselves
differently, and now that I've met you they're taking definite shape. I
want--well--suppose I don't tell you! Would you trust me to take you off
on a rest-seeking expedition without explaining what I mean to do?”
“On a 'rest-seeking expedition'?” she repeated. “Doctor Burns, are you
sure you hadn't better go on that alone? Suppose I chatter all the way?”
He smiled. “You're not a chatterer. And I don't want to go alone. I
haven't had a chance for an hour with you for a month, I think. This is
the only way I can get it. Will you go?”
“You provoke my curiosity. Yes, I think I'll go. I've been shopping
all the morning and I deserve a reward of rest, if you're sure you know
where to find it.”
He turned the Imp abruptly aside from the boulevard leading out of town
down which they had been speeding. He made a detour of certain side
streets which brought him up before a small side establishment bearing a
sign which set forth an alluring invitation to motoring parties in need
of food. He disappeared therein, and was absent for the space of a full
twenty minutes. When he returned he was followed by a waiter with a
hamper to whose bestowal in the back of the car he looked carefully.
As they sped away again, Burns turned to his companion, a smile of
anticipation on his face, to meet a glance of some apprehension.
“You're not repenting your rash trust of me already, are you?” he
demanded.
“I'm remembering that Martha has four guests at luncheon to-day, and
expects me to be there!”
“Is that all? Don't let that worry you. We'll simply have a breakdown
somewhere on the road conveniently near to a spot I know, where I
can broil the beefsteak I have in that hamper, and make the coffee.
'Unavoidable detention' will be your apology.”
“'Irresistible temptation' will be my confession,” she admitted. “I'm
not good at subterfuge and I'm so hungry that the mere mention of
beefsteak out-of-doors--”
“If it weighs against the plates and salads of a woman's luncheon I
shall have a great respect for you. Come on, let's run away! You from
social duties, I from professional ones. I'll agree to stand out Martha
in your defense. Unless, of course, the opportunity to wear a pretty
frock and throw all the other women in the shade--”
She laughed. “That's precisely what Martha wants me to do!”
“Then fail her and let the other women win. It's too late to repent,
anyhow, for here's where we turn off.”
The Imp itself seemed to be running away, so swiftly and silently
it covered the new road leading off into the hills. Presently it was
climbing them.
“I want to get where no call-boy monotonously repeating 'Doc-tor
Bur-rns, Doc-tor Bur-rns', can get hold of me,” the Imp's driver
explained. “I suppose you're not dressed--nor shod--for a rough walk of
a quarter of a mile where the car can't go?”
“I'll sacrifice skirts and soles,” she promised. “Isn't the air out here
glorious? I thought I was tired when I left the city: now I could climb
that hill and enjoy it.”
“That's precisely what we'll do, then. There's a view from the top worth
the scramble, but I wasn't sure you'd be game for it. Perhaps I'll know
you better at the end of this afternoon than I do now. Is there a jolly,
athletic girl hidden away under that demure manner of yours I've seen so
far, I wonder?”
“Lead the way up that hill and you'll find out,” she answered with a
challenging flash of her dark eyes.
He lodged the Imp among a clump of pines, got out the hamper and turned
to his companion. She had pulled off her gloves, removed hat and veil
and folded her long, gray coat away in the car. This left her dressed in
the trim gray skirt of walking length and the gray silk blouse she had
worn for shopping. Burns looked at her with approval.
“Transformed by magic from a fashionable lady in street attire to a
girl ready for the woods,” was his comment. “I'm glad you leave off the
hat--I'll match you by doffing the cap. Now aren't we a pair? Are you in
for a rush up that first slope? Jove, I'm not half so tired as I was an
hour ago, already!”
He caught her hand in his, his other arm through the hamper handle, and
ran with her up the slope. At the edge of the steeper climb to come they
stopped, breathing fast. “This isn't the way to begin, of course,”
he admitted as they both regained their breath, laughing at their
own enthusiasm, “but I couldn't resist that dash--a sort of dash for
freedom. Now we'll take it more easily.”
They worked their way up and up among the rocks, he always in advance,
reaching down a muscular right arm to help her at the steeper places,
and once giving her a knee to step on when progress could be made only
up the straight face of a big boulder. It was undoubtedly a stiff climb
for a woman, but she showed no signs of flinching, and though her cheeks
glowed richly and her wavy black locks were a trifle loosened from their
usual order when at last she set foot upon the plateau at the top, she
showed only the temporary fatigue to be expected after such unusual
exertion.
“That makes the blood course through one's arteries in a way worth
while,” was his comment as he regarded with satisfaction the splendid
colour in her checks and the sparkle in her eyes. “Talk about rest!
That's the way to get it! Burn up the products of fatigue, replace them
with fresh cells full of oxygen, and you get rejuvenation. Look at that
stretch of country before us! Isn't that worth the climb?”
“It's glorious! I've often looked at this height as our car drove by
on the road over there, and wanted to climb it. But Martha and Jim are
always for reeling off miles, and so, I thought, were you. I imagined
there was nobody but myself to care for this.”
“And I thought you liked the porch and the pretty clothes you wear there
better than anything I could show you in the open,” he owned with a
laugh. “Not that I haven't enjoyed that porch and the sight of the
clothes--they don't seem to be just like Martha's and Winifred's
somehow, though I can't tell why! I've wanted to ask you off for a trip
like this, but never was sure you'd enjoy it. I'm glad I've found out. I
feel as if I'd wasted the summer.”
He fell to gathering wood for his fire, and when she had regained her
breath she helped him in spite of his remonstrance. “Let me have all the
fun, too,” she begged. “I haven't had a chance like this for four years.
I used to camp in flannels all summer long, in the roughest sort of
style, and loved it dearly. I could stand the tension of a long social
winter twice as well as the other women on account of it.”
He understood, knowing that her husband had occupied a prominent
official position which called upon him to maintain a corresponding
place in the society of the city in which they had lived. Although he
knew her to be still under thirty, he realized that on account of her
early marriage she had had much experience in the world of affairs. It
was this aspect of her he had always borne in mind as he had seen her
before. Now he was beginning to recognize another side of her character
and tastes, a side which interested him even more than the other had
done.
Like a pair of children they collected their firewood, racing together
to the base of operations with armfuls of dry sticks. When there was
a big pile she surprised him by asking to be allowed to make the fire
herself.
“I'll prove to you I'm a woodsman,” she asserted, and when she had
performed her task after the most approved fashion of the skilled
camper, he acknowledged that she had made good her boast. As the smoke
cleared away in the direction which left the view unobscured and the
spot he had selected for the lunching-place free from smoke, he grinned
approvingly.
“I've no doubt you could grill the steak and brew the coffee with equal
skill,” he admitted, “but I'm not going to let you. That's my job. I
want to prove my prowess. Sit down on that log, please, and oversee me.”
She watched with hungry interest while he also gave evidence of his
craft. It could hardly be the first time that a hamper had been packed
for him at the place in the city, for nothing he needed had been left
out, even to a big bottle of spring water with which to make the coffee.
When his work was nearly complete she spread a square of white linen
upon a flat rock and set forth the other contents of the hamper--olives
and bread and butter, crisp celery-hearts, and cream cheese and a tin
of biscuits. She heated the plates and cups before the fire, and as he
withdrew his steak from the coals she set a smoking hot platter before
him and offered him the materials for seasoning.
“You're a crack camper for sure,” he declared. “Ah-h--does that steak
look fit for the gods, or not? How's the coffee? Clear?”
“Perfect. And the steak looks as if it would melt in one's mouth. Oh,
isn't this fun? How glad I am I'm here and not at that luncheon!” She
consulted a tiny watch. “It's two o'clock--they're sitting down,” she
exulted. “Martha has waited half an hour for me and given me up, and
she's perfectly furious. I'm wicked enough to feel that that fact is
going to make this meal taste all the better!”
“Stolen steak and bread and butter eaten in secret have an extra
relish--no doubt of that. Here--this juicy bit is for you to begin on.
Set your teeth into it, partner! How's that for food, I ask of you?”
Sitting on the ground opposite each other with the flat rock between,
they consumed this Arcadian banquet, eating with the zest born of
exertion and the open air, the sunshine and the comradeship.
“Nothing has tasted quite so good to me in a year,” said she when the
steak had vanished, dipping a white celery-heart in salt and biting the
end off with teeth still whiter.
“Nothing ever tasted so good to me,” said he, leaning on his elbow and
spreading a crisp biscuit with a layer of cheese. “I always think that
of each meal I eat in a place like this, but this one seems to have a
special flavour. I wonder if it can be the company?”
He smiled across at her, the sunshine among the pine needles of the tree
above him throwing flecks of bright copper among the thick locks of his
hair.
“I think the company is usually an important part of all such outings,”
she admitted frankly. “I never took one before in the society of a
wornout doctor who began to look like a boy again before he had finished
his coffee. I really shouldn't know you were the same person who invited
me to go on this expedition.”
“There's nothing like it for renewing one, body and mind. Actual
physical repose isn't often the best cure for weariness: it's change of
thought and occupation, particularly if the open air is a part of the
cure. I've forgotten I have a care in the world: all I can think of
is--may I say it?--yourself! I can't get over the wonder of seeing you
turn from what Bob calls his 'pretty lady' into the girl I see before
me--a girl who looks about nineteen, with a capacity for good sport in
the open air I never dreamed of.”
“The open air would renew everybody's youth, I think, if everybody would
go to living out-of-doors. We're through, aren't we? There isn't a crumb
left! Now please go off and let me clear up and pack away. That's always
the woman's part. Couldn't you lie down on that inviting carpet of
needles over there under the big pine and get a bit of sleep?”
“Sleep--when I can talk to you?”
She nodded. “Yes, indeed. I'm not going to talk just now, anyhow, so you
might as well make the best of it. Throw yourself down with your hands
under your head, and look up at those beautiful boughs. Please!”
Rather reluctantly he obeyed, and she could see that, weary as he
undoubtedly still was in spite of the refreshing meal, he really did not
want to lose any of her society. Lying at full length on his side,
his head propped on his hand, talking in the lazy tone of after-dinner
content which had descended upon him, he continued to watch her as she
repacked the hamper. It was not until she deliberately forsook him that
he gave up to her wishes. But when, having been out of his sight for ten
minutes, she peered cautiously through the bushes behind which she had
screened herself, she saw what she had hoped for. His whole weary frame
was stretched upon the pine-needle carpet, the lines of his face were
relaxed, and his eyes fast shut.
The sun was far down the hills when he awoke. He lay blinking at the
low-sweeping boughs above him for a little without realizing where he
was; then, as the midsummer stillness which surrounded him took hold of
his senses, he turned his head to recall to himself the conditions under
which he had been sleeping. Only the hamper under a tree close by
gave evidence that he was here by his own volition. He stared about,
remembering that he had had a companion. He got somewhat stiffly to his
feet, discovering as he did so that he had lain for a long time without
stirring from the position in which slumber had overtaken him.
“Mrs. Lessing!” he called.
From some distance away came back a blithe answer: “Here, Doctor
Burns!”
He started in the direction of the voice and presently came upon her
sitting on a big granite boulder, busy with a lapful of pine cones
out of which she seemed to be constructing something. She looked up,
smiling.
“Why in the world did you let me sleep all the afternoon?” he reproached
her.
“I should have wakened you in ten minutes more. Have I made you late
for your work? I understood that you could afford a few hours for rest.
You've only slept three.”
“Three! Good heavens! When I might have been spending them with you!”
He looked so chagrined that her smile changed into outright laughter.
“You are very flattering. But I've been taking much more satisfaction in
your repose than I could possibly have done in your society, no matter
how brilliant you might have been.”
“That's not flattering, but I admit it has its practical side. Those
three hours' sleep in the open air have put me on my feet again. Just
the same, I want to eat my cake and have it, too! Promise me three
consecutive hours of your company when I'm awake, or I shan't get
over regretting what I've missed. Will you do this again with me some
September day when I can make the time?”
“I promise with pleasure. I've had a charming afternoon all by myself
and wandered all over the hillside, dreaming midsummer day-dreams. We
must go, mustn't we?” She stood up, her hands full of her work.
“Tell me some of them, won't you, while we climb down to the car?” he
begged.
“My happiest one,” she said as they descended, “is the making of a
country home for little crippled children. I think I've found the
spot--the old Fairmount place--it's not more than five miles from here.
If I can only buy it at a reasonable figure--”
“Mrs. Lessing!” he broke in. “So that's the sort of thing that makes
your day-dreams! No wonder--well!--”
“Why should you be surprised? Isn't that a delightful dream? If I can
only make it come true--”
“You can. Do you want a visiting surgeon?”
“Of course I do. Will you--”
“Why, Mrs. Lessing,” said he, stopping short just below her on the steep
path and looking up into her face with eyes of eager pleasure, “that's
been one of my dreams so long I can't remember when I began to think
about it. But I haven't been able to finance it yet, nor to find time
to get anybody else to do it. If you'll provide the place I'll do
everything I can to make it a success. There are no less than four
children this minute I'm longing to get into such a home. We'll go
into partnership if you'll take me. I--why--you see, I can't even talk
straight about it! And you--I thought you were a society woman!”
“I am a society woman, I suppose,” she answered laughing, “though our
ideas might differ as to what that term stands for. But why should that
prevent my caring for this lovely plan?”
“Evidently it doesn't. How many sides have you anyhow? I've found out
two new ones to-day. Girl--and patron saint--”
“Ah, don't make fun of me. I'm no girl and very far from any kind of
saint. Please help me down this four-foot drop as if I were a very, very
old lady, for my head is dizzy with joy that I've found somebody to care
for my schemes.”
He leaped down and held up his arms. “Come, grandma!” he invited, his
face full of mischief and enthusiasm and happiness.
“I think I'll play girl, after all,” she refused gaily and, accepting
one hand only, swung herself lightly down to his side.
“And it's 'bracers' the fellows think they need to put the heart back
into them!” jeered Red Pepper Burns to himself. “Let them try the open
country and a comrade like this--if there is another anywhere on earth!
But they can't have her!”