The Shield of Silence Part 53

"Pat!" Joan felt the tug of responsibility.

The next night Patricia came home with a bedraggled little dog in her arms.

"Where did you find that, Pat?" Joan paused in her task of getting dinner and fondled the absurd creature.

"Oh! he was browsing along like a lost soul, sniffing to find--not a scent, I wager he never had one of his own, but a possible one. Out of all the mob, Joan, he chose me! He came up, nosed around my feet, and then whined delightedly--the old fraud! I picked him up and looked in his eyes--I know the look, Joan. He might be my never-had-brother, there is a family resemblance."

"Pat, how silly."

"No joking, lamb. I couldn't ignore the appeal--besides, he'll keep me straight while you are away."

"Pat--come with me!" Joan bent over the dog, who already showed his preference for Patricia.

"I cannot, Joan. The trade is growing--I am planning an exhibition. I'm ashamed to say it, but the business is getting into my gray matter.

No--go to your duty, lamb--the pup and I will get acquainted and make up for lost time."

And while Joan made preparations to go to New York, and while Doris and Nancy planned to make her visit a success, something occurred that changed all their lives. It was the epidemic of influenza. The shrouded and menacing Thing approached like the plague that it was to prove itself. It was no discerner of people; its area was limitless, it harvested whence it would and, while it was named, it was not understood.

David Martin ordered Doris and Nancy out of town at once.

"You may not escape," he said, "but your best chance is in the open.

Besides, you'll leave us freer here."

"But Joan--David!"

"Joan be hanged! Can't she get to Ridge House?"

"Of course. But I wanted to have her here to--to justify herself. Emily Tweksbury is trying to make a tragedy of Joan. I'm afraid Ken suspects her--his awful silences are insulting--I wanted to--to show her off."

"Nonsense, Doris! But this is no time for squibbling. Scoot!"

"But--you, David!"

"I? Oh! I'm all right. Remember I have Bud. Why, the chap is pulling up his sleeves and baring his breast to the foe. I'm going to stand close by him."

Martin's eyes shone.

"David, if anything should happen to you----" Doris paused.

"I'll run down now and then," Martin took the thin, delicate hands in his. "I'll come--when I feel tired."

"You promise, David?"

"I--swear it."

So Doris took Nancy away. A tearful, woe-begone Nancy who clung to Raymond with the tenacity of a love that faces a desperate situation.

"Beloved," whispered Raymond, "I'm going to get Aunt Emily out of the danger zone and then I'll come to you. If this Joan of yours has arrived--we'll be married, you and I, at once. We don't care for the society fizz. This epidemic makes you think about--taking joy while you can."

"Yes, Ken--if--if Joan will stay with Aunt Dorrie."

"Well, by heaven! She'll have to stay. I'm not going to let them cheat me!"

To this Nancy gave a look that thrilled Raymond as he had never been thrilled before--it was supreme surrender.

And presently in the stricken city gaiety and laughter seemed to die away in the black, swooping shadow.

"When you use up all you know," Clive Cameron said one night to David, "you still keep hunting about for something else, don't you?"

Martin nodded. Both men were worn and haggard. They were fighting in the front ranks with the men of their profession--fighting an unknown foe, but bravely gaining confidence.

"The death rate is lower to-day, Bud. Hang to that!"

"I do, Uncle Dave. If it still goes down, will you take a vacation?"

"You are willing to go it alone, boy?"

"Yes!" grimly. "I know I must."

The two men relaxed and smoked peacefully, their feet stretched out to the fire. Their long day warranted this pause. They were strangely alike; strangely unlike. Occasionally their eyes met and then their lips smiled.

They were friends. The blood tie was incidental.

"You ought to be married, Clive."

"Why, especially?"

"A man should; a doctor especially. A wife and children are better to come home to than a pipe--and a housekeeper."

"You managed to buck along, Uncle Dave."

"Yes--buck along! I couldn't make up my mind to----"

"I understand, Uncle Dave. Miss Fletcher is great stuff--she makes other women look cheap."

"Bud, some women are like that."

"I suppose so."

Both men shook the ashes from their pipes--there was a night's work ahead.

Martin stared at the young face opposite. It was a strong, kind face--a face waiting for the high waves to strike it. Martin seemed never to have known the boy, really, before.

"Bud, suppose you never find your woman?" he asked, huskily.

"All right, then I'll peg along with that much lacking. Oh! I know what you are thinking of, Uncle Dave. I've been through it--and turned it down! Ever since I can remember I've kept a grip on myself by remembering you!"

"Good G.o.d, boy!" Martin choked; "I'm a poor model. At the best I've been--neutral."