Jessamine Part 30

Who is your physician?"

"I have never had occasion to call in one since I came to Hamilton.

Suppose we 'bide a bit,' as our worthy President says, and if I am not better in the course of an hour or two, we can send for Dr.

Bradley. I had a trying day yesterday. Professor Fairchild is sick, and I had some of his cla.s.ses in addition to my own. It is well this is Sat.u.r.day. I can lie still, and rest my throat with a clear conscience. Provided"--smiling in her grave face--"provided you do not let me trouble you!"

"Trouble me! you should know better than that! But"--hesitating--"if you will let me say it"--

"Go on! there is nothing you may not say to me," he said encouragingly.

"I do think it would be better to see Dr. Bradley, at once--if only as a precautionary measure."

He started--looked at her intently.

"You are thinking of diphtheria! You ought not to have come in until that point was settled. There may be danger to you. If, through my carelessness--"

He turned his face away, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence.

"I never thought of _that_!" said Jessie, simply. "If I had, I should have come all the same. Whatever may be the doctor's opinion, I shall stay here, and take care of you. It is my place."

She rang the bell for Phoebe, and in Roy's hearing, ordered her to go for the doctor. She would not have her charge suspect that she was unduly alarmed, or believe there was occasion for a hasty summons. Then, she brought a sunshiny face to the bedside, and put a fresh pillow under the hot, heavy head.

"You don't know what a famous nurse I am," she said, blithely. "My father"--her voice sinking with the sacred word--"used to say that nursing was a talent, and that I was born with it."

She set to work, forthwith, without waiting for permission. Roy, regarding her silently from his bed, heartily endorsed Mr. Kirke's verdict. Not Eunice herself could have moved more soundlessly, wrought more efficiently to alleviate, so far as she could, the pain and discomfort of his situation. The doctor was at home, and obeyed the call promptly. Roy glanced inquiringly at Jessie when he was announced.

"Show him up!" was all she said, and when he followed Phoebe into the chamber, she met him with high-bred ease as the lady of the house; as the patient's wife discussed his symptoms; heard, with marked gratification, that her fears of diphtheria were unfounded, and received his directions gratefully and attentively.

"A fine woman, and a most devoted wife!" p.r.o.nounced Dr. Bradley, at his luncheon-table, that day. "Let me hear no more gossip about her, girls. Remember!"

"But, Papa, they do say they live queerly!" ventured the irrepressible Selina. "Mrs. Wyllys--"

"Is a fool! see that you don't become another in listening to her twaddle!" was the peremptory reply.

Orrin Wyllys, hearing accidentally of his cousin's indisposition, called at noon, and was conducted by Phoebe, by warrant of the relationship, into Roy's presence. The chamber was heated usually by the furnace register, but Roy lay in bed gazing at the glowing pile of coals in the grate. There was a happy ray in his eyes, spontaneity in the gayety with which he welcomed his guest, that did not accord with the latter's preconceived ideas of the dolor of a sick-room.

"You look like an invalid--don't you?" was Wyllys' second remark.

"This is the cheeriest place I have been in to-day. It is what the English call beastly weather, out-of-doors. I don't blame anybody for keeping his bed. I thought you showed me the room across the hall as yours when you took me through the house, that night, 'the last of your _quasi_ widowerhood.'"

"We changed the arrangement afterward," rejoined Roy, carelessly.

"But it is a luxury--is'n't it? to lie still on a stormy day, and stare a fire like that out of countenance; especially on a holiday, when there are no phantoms of unsaid lectures to torment one's reveries. I am enjoying it amazingly. I hadn't the remotest conception that being sick was so delightful."

"By Jove! I should think you would luxuriate in it, unless you have less brains than I give you credit for! With an _houri_ for head-nurse, too! I say! get out of that! I can play the sentimental sufferer as well as you, and I have a native bias for lazy luxury, which you haven't. I dare say, you cunning dog! if all were told, there is some dainty mess preparing for you below stairs,--a triumph of conjugal affection and culinary skill, that should be tasted by none but an educated appet.i.te. A Teuton like yourself would be as well suited with bretzels and sauerkraut, washed down by a gallon of lager. I am a devout predestinarian, and here lies the case. I have a canine hunger upon me. I am on my way home to luncheon. Without, 'the day is dark and cold and dreary.' I am _led_ to this corner of cosiness and comfort and fairy fare to dispossess you. Impostor! how dare you lie there, and grin at my emptiness and agony! Confess!

what did you have for breakfast? What do you mean to devour for lunch? What do you hope to consume for dinner?"

Roy could never resist the infection of this merry banter, seldom indulged in by Orrin except when with him. It brought back their early days--"when you thrashed the big boys for bullying me"--he liked to remind the other when they slept, played, and studied together. Orrin had his foibles, and a graver fault or so, but he was his _friend_, as he had told Dr. Baxter, and the boyish love for his gallant senior was still strong upon him. His laugh now was hearty and mischievous.

"Such a breakfast!" he said. "Gotten up in strict conformity with the injunction--'Feed a cold'"--

"And you will have a fever to starve!" interjected Wyllys. "_That_ would be poetical justice! But go on!"

"Imprimis;" resumed Fordham,--"a cup of Turkish coffee,--fragrant and clear. Item, cream toast. Knowest thou the taste thereof? Of real cream toast? light, rich, smooth, that sootheth the inflamed membrane of the throat, and maketh the diaphragm to rejoice exceedingly? Item, broiled chicken--a marvel of juicy tenderness; an omelette _aux fines herbes_ which was an inspiration"--

"For Heaven's sake!" Orrin feigned to tear his hair. "If you don't want to be murdered in your bed, hold your tongue!"

Roy was in a paroxysm of laughter; Wyllys, scowling horribly, had s.n.a.t.c.hed the poker and was making adroit pa.s.ses at him, like the cunning master of fence he was, when Jessie, ignorant of the liberty Phoebe had taken, and supposing her patient to be alone, entered.

She had a waiter in one hand containing a silver pitcher and goblet, and a plate in the other, heaped with hothouse grapes. Transfixed with astonishment at the spectacle within she stopped on the threshold. Her amazement was not lessened when Orrin, replacing his weapon on the hearth, threw himself into a chair and covered his face with his handkerchief.

"A victim of covetousness!" exclaimed Roy, trying to check his merriment.

"Of misplaced confidence!" uttered Orrin, gloomily, removing his cambric, and arising with a show of melancholy composure. "I hope I have the pleasure of seeing you quite well, Mrs. Fordham! I should judge so from your blooming appearance, but having just had a notable lesson in the deceitfulness of outward seeming, I am sceptical as to the evidence of the senses and human reason."

"A dash of scepticism is like vaccine virus,--a useful thing, where there is fear of infection," said Jessie, not comprehending what had gone before, and not choosing to ask questions of him.

She bowed in pa.s.sing him, making of her full hands a tacit excuse for the cavalier salutation,--a pretext that was transparent to the person she intended to slight. Depositing her burden upon a table, she bent over it, pretending to rearrange the grapes and stir the contents of the pitcher, that her face might cool before he had a chance to scrutinize it. His presence in this place was odious to her. What had she, in her self-abas.e.m.e.nt and earnest reachings after a n.o.bler life than he had ever thought of, or aspired to, to do with his masquerading tricks and _persiflage_? His mummery, then and there, was more than heartless--it was an insult to her, with the recollection of her broken vows and blighted life, d.o.g.g.i.ng every thought of possible happiness. Her residence in Hamilton had no severer trial than these chance encounters with him--her husband's nearest of kin.

"Nectar and grapes of Eshcol!" he exclaimed in a tone of calm despair, referring to the contents of waiter and plate. "You may not believe it, Mrs. Fordham--in fact I don't expect you to, for it is the nature of your s.e.x to trust and trust again,--but you are nourishing a serpent! a base trickster! yet one of whose want of originality I am ashamed. The interesting invalid dodge is the stalest and flimsiest known to the guild of artful dodgers. Now, if I were in his place--"

"I am heartily glad you are not!" escaped Jessie, against her will to treat him with civility for Roy's sake.

Her emphasis of sincerity was unmistakable and wrought with various effect upon her two auditors.

"So am I!" laughed Roy, his eyes alight with more than mirth. "The grapes you cannot touch, my grasping friend! They were a present to me, not an hour since, from Miss f.a.n.n.y Provost--a basketful, wreathed with exquisite flowers. _She_ believes in the reality of my interesting invalidism. As for the nectar--give him a sip--Jessie, please! It is _not_ fair that one man should monopolize all the good things of life."

Jessie poured out the draught, without jest or smile; then stood back with a gesture that bade him help himself if he would. She would not be a party to the sport, Orrin perceived.

"A missish, spiteful show of disdain!" he thought, contemptuously.

"She is hardly worth a scene!"

To show that he was not repelled or overawed, he advanced a step; took up the goblet with a profound obeisance; stared her in the eyes, and swallowed a mouthful. Roy's shout of exultation and the uncontrollable grimace of the dupe, moved Jessie to a smile, but she did not speak.

"Witches' broth?" queried Orrin, with the tragical gravity of one who has made up his mind to die like a man.

"So Socrates might have glared and growled!" said Roy. "'The hemlock, jailor?'" mimicking the other's tone. "Not this time, my dear fellow! Only sage tea, sweetened with honey and stiffened with alum--an incomparable gargle, according to such eminent authorities as Miss Eunice Kirke, her sister, and, last and least, Dr. Bradley."

Orrin took up his hat, undismayed to the last.

"_Sage_ tea! I go home a wiser, if not a better man! I am glad to see there is nothing the matter with you, Roy, while I lament, as one of your blood and lineage, over your unblushing hypocrisy. Mrs.

Fordham--"

"You used to call her 'Jessie,'" interrupted Roy. "I said, 'Cousin Hester,' yesterday, to your bride. Shall I imitate your formal address?"

"No! But my little wife is august in n.o.body's eyes. Whereas, Mrs.

Fordham--Cousin Jessie--I beg your pardon! Which shall it be?"

His back was to Roy; his meaning gaze upon herself was, to her perception, audacious insolence. Not daring to resent it in Roy's hearing, she yet obeyed the wifely impulse to seek his protection.

"That is for your cousin to decide. My name belongs to him!" She said it proudly, flashing her wide eyes from one to the other, and moving involuntarily nearer to Roy.

Wyllys caught up the last words.