Then came an urgent recall to Boston, which "the best skill in New
England" felt obliged to respond to in person.
"If you didn't have a family, Mrs. Slawson," he said to Martha, the last
evening, as they sat in Claire's sitting-room, gratifying Frank Ronald's
whim that they remain within call,--"If you didn't have a family I'd
urge you to take up nursing. You have an excellent knack for it. I
could make a capital nurse of you."
Martha nodded appreciatively. "Thank you, sir. But there's so many
things I'm, as you might say, billed to be made over into first, I guess
I'll have to cut out the trained nurse. Besides, I might fall down on a
case I was a stranger to. It's dead easy do for anybody you love, but
to go an' pick'm up off'n the roadside----! Well, that's a differnt
proposition. The dirt an' the smell o' some o' them! You wouldn't
believe it!"
"Do you love that scamp Buller?"
"Not on your life! That is,--not so you'd notice it."
"Yet you stood by him like a soldier, when Driggs and I took his hand
off, last night. How's that?"
Martha pondered a moment. "Well, you see, sir, to tell the truth, I
feel kind o' responsible for Buller. 'Twas me made'm mad in the first
place, an' then, when he wanted to get back at me, 'twas our trap give'm
the nip. Poor fella! You couldn't help be sorry for'm, he'll miss that
strong right hand o' his so, which it used to be a reg'lar
pretidigiagitator with the licka---- 'Now you see it an' now you don't
effec'.'"
Dr. Ballard laughed. "His left hand's in training already. Between the
whiskey and the ether, last night, I was almost anesthetized myself.
But joking aside, I'm going to leave Buller in your care. I'll show you
about the bandaging, so when Driggs gets through with the patient, you
can take him up. I wouldn't like to trust to Mrs. Buller. She's a
slipshod creature, sure to neglect. Dr. Driggs tells me, Buller dreads
_him_ like the mischief, so he won't go there any longer than he has to.
May I trust you to keep your eye on him, follow him up, and let me know
if there's any hitch in the healing?"
"Certaintly you may," said Martha.
"Another thing," Dr. Ballard paused. "I'd be glad to feel you are
keeping an eye on--a--Crewesmere."
Mrs. Slawson nodded. "Certaintly, again. But you don't think--that is,
you ain't in doubt about the ol' lady, are you? I'd hate to think she
might have somethin' I ain't used to. I kinda got accustomed to
_strokes_ now, so's if she'd have any more, I'd know just how to take
a-holt, but if she set about gettin' up somethin' _new_, it'd sorta
rattle me, maybe. You never can tell."
"No, that's it! You never can tell. _I_ can't tell."
"It ain't as if she didn't have a sympton to show you," pleaded Martha,
"so's you'd be workin' in the dark. When ladies is that way, the
doctors says to'mselves: 'Her color's good, an' her pulse is strong,
which proves she's far from a well woman. While I'm waitin' for
somethin' to happen, I'll remove her appendicitis.' Folks has such
funny furbelows inside'm nowadays, I don't wonder the doctors is
puzzled. What's the use o' adenoids now, an' appendicitises, I should
like to know, if it's only to go to the trouble an' expense of havin' 'm
cut out?"
"Quite so," acquiesced Dr. Ballard gravely. "No, I'm not anxious about
Madam Crewe's appendix. I'm anxious about her--granddaughter."
"Oh!" said Martha. "It's _her_ you want to remove."
Dr. Ballard flushed. "Yes, Mrs. Slawson. That is--I wish to marry Miss
Crewe. You already know of Madam's opposition. I don't mind that--any
more. But something has happened--I don't know what--to change Miss
Crewe, herself. I would never ask her to desert her grandmother. In
fact, I would not respect her if she did desert her, leave her alone in
her infirmity and old age. But I don't want her mind to be embittered.
She is not happy. I wish you'd look after her--lend her a helping hand,
once in a while. Lend her a helping _heart_."
"I'll do my best," promised Martha solemnly.
"I've grown attached to this place. I'd like to hear about--everybody,
once in a while. I'd like, so to speak, to keep my finger on the pulse
of the public."
Martha looked up perplexed. "The pulse o' the public? I don't know as
I exackly _get_ what you mean. But, if you want to feel the pulse o'
the public, why--_you're_ the doctor! Anyhow, I'll let you know how
things is goin', if you'll excuse the liberty, and won't mind my
spellin', which Sam says it's fierce."
"I'll deeply appreciate any line you may take the trouble to write me,"
Dr. Ballard assured her, with hearty sincerity.
It was September before Mrs. Slawson was actually settled at home again.
The nurses, over at the big house, were altogether capable and
trustworthy, but even after all need of her had passed, Mr. Ronald liked
to feel Martha was within call. He fancied his wife felt more content
when she was by, and, certainly, the baby slept better on her ample
bosom than anywhere else.
It was a tiny creature, very delicate and fragile, a mere scrap of
humanity that Martha could hold in the hollow of her hand.
In the privacy of their own sitting-room, the two trained nurses
confided to Mrs. Slawson: "It's too bad the parents' hearts are so set
on the child. They'll never raise it, _never_!"
"Now, what do you think o' that!" Martha said mournfully, and the two
uniformed ones never knew that, in her heart, she despised them, "and
their mizrable Bildadin' talk, which nobody could stand up against it,
anyhow, much less a innocent little lamb that hasn't the stren'th to
call'm liars to their faces."
"O' _course_ we'll raise her," she assured Mr. Ronald confidently.
"There's no doubt about it. Yes, I know she ain't very hefty, an' she
ain't very robustic. But what do you expec'? You ain't give her a fair
show yet. You can't take a baby, a few weeks old, 'specially if it had
the tough time gettin' in on the game at all, that this one had, an'
expec' her to be as big an' husky as my Sabina. It wouldn't be
sensible. Besides, look at her mother! Miss Claire's no giantess, nor
ever was, but she's as sound as a nut, an' so'll the baby be, when she
gets her gait on, an' knows it's up to her to keep in step with the
percession. Don't you let nobody discourage you. Believin's half the
battle. You can take it from me, that baby's goin' to live, an' thrive,
like the little thorabred she is. _She_ wouldn't give us all this
trouble for nothin'."
Her invincible confidence was like a tonic to Francis Ronald. It
reinforced his own more flickering faith, so he could meet Claire's
hungrily questioning eyes with reassurance.
And, as the weeks went by, Martha's prediction seemed less and less
preposterous.
"Didn't I _tell_ you?" she exulted. "That baby's a winner! She's goin'
to be standard weight, all right, all right, an' measure up to
requirements too, give her time. But between you an' me, all this
new-fangled business with scales, an' tape-measures, an' suchlike, is
enough to discourage the best-intentioned infant. There's more notions,
nowadays, than you can shake a stick at--an' I'd like to shake a stick
at most of'm, believe _me_!"
At the time, she was thinking rather more of Miss Crewe, than of the
nurses, whose "queer fandangoes" she never could become reconciled to.
She was frankly anxious about Katherine.
"If I could do with her, like I do with Buller, I wouldn't say a word,"
she ruminated. "I just keep a kinda gener'l line on him, an' when the
time comes, I get a-holt of his collar-band, an' march'm up to the
captain's office, as brave as a lion. He's got so the minute I tip'm
the wink, he comes for his washin' an' ironin'--I should say,
bandidgin', as meek as a lamb to the slaughterhouse. But you can take
it from me, there's no gettin' a line on Miss Katherine. She's devotin'
all her time an' attention to puttin' off flesh an' color. The trouble
is, she's got nothin' to do, an' she does it so thora, she ain't got
time for anything else. Dear me! I wisht I could sort o' set her an'
Buller at each other. It might help'm both to forget their losses. He
certaintly is a queer dick, an' no mistake!"
"In spite o' his sportin' a G.A.R. one, you can take it from _me_,
Buller ain't got all his buttons!" she told Miss Katherine. "Do you
know what he says? He says everybody's gone back on'm because he's in
trouble. He says, nobody'll look at'm now he's mangled. They was his
friends before, when he had all the limbs was comin' to'm, but--now he's
shy a hand--they're too proud to notice'm. He says the world's a hard
place for cripples."