Other Things Being Equal Part 7

On this summer's afternoon she was clad from head to foot in soft, pale gray. Every movement of her young body, as she walked toward town, betokened health and elastic strength. Her long, easy gait precluded any idea of hurry; she noticed everything she pa.s.sed, from a handsome house to a dirty child.

She was approaching that portion of Geary Street which the doctors have appropriated, and she carefully scanned each silvery sign-plate in search of Dr. Kemp's name. It was the first time she had had occasion to go; and with a little feeling of novel curiosity she ran up the stairs leading to his office.

It was just three,--the time stated as the limit of his office-hours; but when Ruth entered the handsome waiting-room, two or three patients were still awaiting their turns. Seated in one of the easy-chairs, near the window, was an aristocratic-looking woman, whom Ruth recognized as a friend of one of her Christian friends, and with whom she had a speaking acquaintance. Nodding pleasantly in response to the rather frigid bow, she walked to the centre of the room, and laying upon the table a bunch of roses that she carried, proceeded to select one of the magazines scattered about. As she sat down, she found herself opposite a stout Irishwoman, coa.r.s.ely but cleanly dressed, who with undisguised admiration took in every detail of Ruth's appearance. She overlooked the evident simplicity of the woman's stare; but the wistful, yearning look of a little girl who reclined upon the lounge caused her to sit with her magazine unopened. As soon as she perceived that it was her flowers that the child regarded so longingly, she bent forward, and holding out a few roses, said invitingly,--

"Would you like these?"

There is generally something startling in the sudden sound of a voice after a long silence between strangers; but the pretty cadence of Ruth's gentle voice bore no suggestion of abruptness.

"Indeed, and she just do dote on 'em," answered the mother, in a loud tone, for the blushing child.

"So do I," responded Ruth; and leaning farther forward, she put them in the little hand.

But the child's hand did not close over them, and the large eyes turned piteously to her mother.

"It's paralyzed she is," hurriedly explained the mother. "Shall Mamma hold the beautiful roses for ye, darlint?"

"Please," answered the childish treble.

Ruth hesitated a second, and then rising and bending over her said,--

"No; I know of a better way. Wouldn't you like to have me fasten them in your belt? There, now you can smell them all the time."

"Roses is what she likes mostly," proceeded the mother, garrulously, "and she's for giving the doctor one every time she can when he comes.

Faith! it's about all he do get for his goodness, for what with--"

The sudden opening of the folding-door interrupted her flow of talk.

Seeing the doctor standing on the threshold as a signal for the next in waiting to come forward, the poor woman arose preparatory to helping her child into the consulting-room.

"Let me help Mamie, Mrs. O'Brien," said he, coming toward her. At the same moment the elegant-looking woman rose from her chair and swept toward him.

"I believe it is my turn," she said, in response to his questioning salutation.

"Certainly, if you came before Mrs. O'Brien. If so, walk in," he answered, moving the portiere aside for the other to enter.

"Sure, Doctor," broke in Mrs. O'Brien, anxiously, "we came in together."

"Indeed!" He looked from the florid, fl.u.s.tered face to the haughtily impa.s.sive woman beside her.

"Well, then," said he, courteously, "I know Mrs. O'Brien is wanted at home by her little ones. Mrs. Baker, you will not object, I am sure."

It was now the elegant woman's turn to flush as Kemp took up the child.

Ruth felt a leap of delight at the action. It was a quiet lesson to be laid to heart; and she knew she could never see him in a better light than when he left the room holding the little charity patient in his arms.

She also noticed with a tinge of amus.e.m.e.nt the look of added hauteur on the face of Mrs. Baker, as she returned to her seat at the window.

"Haughtiness," mused Ruth, "is merely a cloak to selfishness, or the want of a proper spirit of humanity."

The magazine article remained unread; she drifted into a sort of day-dream, and scarcely noticed when Mrs. Baker left the room.

"Well, Miss Levice."

She started up, slightly embarra.s.sed, as the doctor's voice thus aroused her.

"I beg your pardon," she said, coming forward and flushing slightly under his amused smile. "It was so quiet here that I forgot where I was."

He stood aside as she pa.s.sed into the room, bringing with her an exquisite fragrance of roses.

"Will you be seated?" he asked, as he turned from closing the door.

"No; it is not worth while."

"What is the trouble,--you or your mother?"

There had been nothing disconcerting in the Irish-woman's stare; but she felt suddenly hot and uncomfortable under the doctor's broad gaze.

"Neither of us," she answered; "I broke the tonic bottle this morning, and as the number was destroyed, I should like to have you give me another prescription."

"Directly. Take this chair for a moment."

She seated herself perforce, and he took the chair beside the desk.

"How is she since yesterday?" he asked, as he wrote, without looking up.

"Quite as comfortable."

He handed her the prescription presently, and she arose at once. He stepped forward to open the outer door for her.

"I hope you no longer feel alarmed over her health," he remarked, with a hand on the k.n.o.b.

"No; you have made us feel there was no cause for it. But for your method I am afraid there might have been."

"Thank you; but do not think anything of the kind. Your nursing was as potent a factor as my directions. It is not Congress, but the people, who make the country, you know."

"That is condescending, coming from Congress," she laughed gayly; "but I must disclaim the compliment, I am sorry to say; my nursing was only a name."

"As you please. Miss Levice, may I beg a rose of you? No, not all. Well, thank you, they will look wonderful in a certain room I am thinking of."

"Yes?" There was a note of inquiry in the little word in reply to Kemp's pointed remark spoken as with a sudden purpose.

"Yes," he continued, leaning his back against the door and looking earnestly down at the tall girl; "the room of a lad without even the presence of a mother to make it pretty;" he paused as if noting the effect of his words. "He is as lonely and uncomplaining as a tree would be in a desert; these roses will be quite a G.o.dsend to him." He finished his sentence pleasantly at sight of the expression of sympathy in the lovely brown eyes.

"Do you think he would care to see any one?"

"Well," replied the doctor, slowly, "I think he would not mind seeing you."

"Then will you tell me where he lives so that I can go there some day?"