Other Things Being Equal, Page 6

  Chapter VI

  They walked directly into a bare, dark hallway. There was no onestirring, and Kemp softly opened the door of one of several roomsleading into the passage. Here a broad band of yellow sunlight fellunrestrained athwart the waxen-like face of the sleeping boy. The restof the simple, poor-looking room was in shadow. The doctor noiselesslyclosed the door behind them, and stepped to the bed, which was coveredwith a heavy horse-blanket.

  The boy on the bed even in sleep could not be accounted good-looking;there was a heaviness of feature, a plentitude of freckles, a shockof lack-lustre hair, that made poor Bob Bard anything but a thing ofbeauty. And yet, as Ruth looked at him, and saw Kemp's strong whitehand placed gently on the low forehead, a great wave of tender pity tookpossession of her. Sleep puts the strongest at the mercy of thewatcher; there is a loneliness about it, a silent, expressive plea forprotection, that appeals unconsciously. Ruth would have liked to raisethe rough, lonely head to her bosom.

  "It would be too bad to wake him now," said the doctor, in a low voice,coming back to her side; "he is sleeping restfully; and that is whathe needs. I am sorry our little plan is frustrated; but it would besenseless to wait, as there is no telling when he will waken."

  A shade of disappointment passed over the girl's face, which he noticed.

  "But," he continued, "you might leave your roses where he cannot fail tosee them. His conjectures on their mysterious appearance will rouse himsufficiently for one day."

  He watched her move lightly across the room, and fill a cup withwater from an earthenware pitcher. She looked about for a second as ifhesitating where to place it, and then quickly drew up a high-backedwooden chair close to the bedside, and placed thereon a cup with roses,so that they looked straight into the face of the slumbering lad.

  "We will go now," Kemp said, and opened the door for Ruth to passbefore him. She followed him slowly, but on the threshold drew back, athoughtful little pucker on her brow.

  "I think I shall wait anyway," she explained. "I should like to talkwith Bob a little."

  The doctor looked slightly annoyed.

  "You had better drive home with me," he objected.

  "Thank you," she replied, drawing farther back into the room; "but theJackson Street cars are very convenient."

  "Nevertheless, I should prefer to have you come with me," he insisted.

  "But I do not wish to," she repeated quietly; "besides, I have decidedto stay."

  "That settles it, then," smiled Kemp; and shaking her hand, he went outalone.

  "When my lady will, she will; and when she won't, she won't," he mused,gathering up his reins. But the terminal point to the thought was asmile.

  Ruth, thus left alone, seated herself on the one other chair near thefoot of the bed. Strange to say, though she gazed at Bob, her thoughtshad flown out of the room. She was dimly conscious that she waspleasantly excited. Had she cared to look the cause boldly in the face,she would have known that Miss Ruth Levice's vanity had been highly fedby Dr. Kemp's unmistakable desire for her assistance. He must at leasthave looked at her with friendly eyes; but here her modesty drew a lineeven for herself, and giving herself a mental shake, she saw that twolambent brown eyes were looking wonderingly at her from the face of thesick lad.

  "How do you feel now, Bob?" she asked, rising immediately and smilingdown at him.

  The boy forgot to answer.

  "The doctor brought me here," she went on brightly; "but as you wereasleep, he could not wait. Are you feeling better, Bob?"

  The soft, star-like eyes did not wander in their gaze.

  "Why did you come?" he breathed finally. His voice was surprisinglymusical.

  "Why?" faltered Ruth. "Oh, to bring you these roses. Do you care forflowers, Bob?" She lifted the mass of delicate buds toward him. Twopale, transparent hands went out to meet them. Tenderly as you sometimessee a mother press the cheek of her babe to her own, he drew them to hischeek.

  "Oh, my darlings, my darlings!" he murmured passionately, with his lipspressed to the fragrant petals.

  "Do you love them, then, so much?"

  "Lady," replied the boy, raising himself to a sitting posture, "there isnothing in the world to me like flowers."

  "I never thought boys cared so for flowers," remarked Ruth, in surprise.

  "I am a gardener," said he, simply, and again fell to caressing theroses. Sitting up, he looked fully seventeen or eighteen years old.

  "You must have missed them during your illness," observed Ruth.

  A long sigh answered her. The boy rested his dreamy eyes upon her. Hewas no longer ugly, with his thoughts illumining his face.

  "Marechal Niel," she heard him whisper, still with his eyes upon her,"all in soft, radiant robes like a gracious queen. Lady, you fit wellnext my Homer rose."

  "What Homer rose?" asked Ruth, humoring the flower-poet's odd conceit.

  "My strong, brave Homer. There is none like him for strength, with allhis gentle perfume folded close to his heart. I used to think theseDuchesses would suit him best; but now, having seen you, I know theywere too frail,--Marechal Niel." It was impossible to resent openly theboy's musings; but with a quick insistence that stemmed the current ofhis thoughts, she said,--

  "Tell me where you suffer, Bob."

  "I do not suffer. I am only weak; but he is nourishing me, and Mrs.Mills brings me what he orders."

  "And is there anything you would like to have of which you forgot totell him?"

  "I never tell him anything I wish," replied the boy, proudly. "He knowsbeforehand. Did you never draw up close to a delicate flower, lay yourcheek softly upon it, so,--close your eyes, so,--and listen to the taleit's telling? Well, that is what my good friend does always."

  It was like listening to music to hear the slow, drawling words of theinvalid. Ruth's hand closed softly over his.

  "I have some pretty stories at home about flowers," she said; "would youlike to read them?"

  "I can't read very well," answered Bob, in unabashed simplicity.

  Yet his spoken words were flawless.

  "Then I shall read them to you," she answered pleasantly, "to-morrow,Bob, say at about three."

  "You will come again?" The heavy mouth quivered in eager surprise.

  "Why, yes; now that I know you, I must know you better. May I come?"

  "Oh, lady!"

  Ruth went out enveloped in that look of gratitude. It was the firstdirectly personal expression of honest gratitude she had ever received;and as she walked down the hill, she longed to do something that wouldbe really helpful to some one. She had led, on the whole, so far, anegotistic life. Being their only child, her parents expected much ofher. During her school-life she had been a sort of human reservoir forall her father's ideas, whims, and hobbies. True, he had made her takea wide interest in everything within the line of vision; hanging onhis arm, as they wandered off daily in their peripatetic school, he hadimbued her with all his manly nobility of soul. But theorizing does notgive much hold on a subject, the mind being taken up with its own cleverelucidations. For the past six months, after a year's travel in Europe,her mother had led her on in a whirl of what she called happiness. Ruthhad soon gauged the worth of this surface-life, and now that a lull hadcome, she realized that what she needed was some interest outside ofherself,--an interest which the duties of a mere society girl do notallow to develop to a real good.

  A plan slowly formed itself in her mind, in which she became soengrossed that she unconsciously crossed the cable of the Jackson Streetcars. She did not turn till a hand was suddenly laid upon her arm.

  "What are you doing in this part of town?" broke in Louis Arnold's voicein evident anger.

  "Oh, Louis, how you startled me! What is the matter with this part oftown?"

  "You are on a very disreputable street. Where are you going?"

  "Home."

  "Then be so kind as to turn back with me and take the cars."

  She glanced at him quickly, unused to his tone of command,
and turnedwith him.

  "How do you happen to be here?" he asked shortly.

  "Dr. Kemp took me to see a poor patient of his."

  "Dr. Kemp?" surprise raised his eyebrows half an inch.

  "Yes."

  "Indeed! Then," he continued in cool, biting words, "why didn't he carryhis charity a little farther and take you home again?"

  "Because I did not choose to go with him," she returned, rearing herhead and looking calmly at him as they walked along.

  "Bah! What had your wishing or not wishing to do with it? The manknew where he had taken you even if you did not know. This quarter isoccupied by nothing but negroes and foreign loafers. It was decidedlyungentlemanly to leave you to return alone at this time of the evening."

  "Probably he gave me credit for being able to take care of myself inbroad daylight."

  "Probably he never gave it a second's thought one way or the other.Hereafter you had better consult your natural protectors before startingout on Quixotic excursions with indifferent strangers."

  "Louis!"

  She actually stamped her little foot while walking.

  "Well?"

  "Stop that, please. You are not my keeper."

  Her cousin smiled quizzically. They took their seats on the dummy, justas the sun, a golden ball, was about to glide behind Lone Mountain. Lateafternoon is a quiet time, and Ruth and Louis did not speak for a while.

  The girl was experiencing a whirl of conflicting emotions,--anger atLouis's interference, pleasure at his protecting care, annoyance atwhat he considered gross negligence on the doctor's part, and a sneakingpride, in defiance of his insinuations, over the thought that Kemp hadtrusted to her womanliness as a safeguard against any chance annoyance.She also felt ashamed at having showed temper.

  "Louis," she ventured finally, rubbing her shoulder against his, asgentle animals conciliate their mates, "I am sorry I spoke so harshly;but it exasperates me to hear you cast slurs, as you have done before,upon Dr. Kemp in his absence."

  "Why should it, my dear, since it give you a chance to uphold him?"

  There is a way of saying "my dear" that is as mortifying as a slap inthe face.

  The dark blood surged over the girl's cheeks. She drew a long, hardbreath, and then said in a low voice,--

  "I think we will not quarrel, Louis. Will you get off at the next cornerwith me? I have a prescription to be made up at the drug-store."

  "Certainly."

  If Arnold had showed anger, he was man enough not to be ashamed of it;this is one of man's many lordly rights.