Three People Part 37

Theodore was at his post in the private office deep in business when his next hasty summons came. Pliny was raving and repeating his name incessantly, and Dr. Arnold had said that he must come immediately or the consequences would be fatal.

"I shall remain all night if I am permitted to do so," Theodore explained to Mr. Stephens while he was putting bills and notes under lock and key. "And in the morning--"

"In the morning get rest if you can," interrupted Mr. Stephens. "At all events, do not worry about the store. Remain with the poor boy just as much as you can while he lives. I will see that all goes right here.

McPherson is coming in to help me; he has his new clerk under splendid training."

Theodore looked the thanks that his heart was too heavy to speak. Mr.

Hastings glanced up grimly as he entered Pliny's room, twenty minutes afterward, but did not choose to speak. n.o.body noticed the omission--for eyes and thoughts were too entirely engrossed with the sufferer. And then commenced a hand-to-hand encounter with death. Day by day he relentlessly pursued his victim, and yet was mercifully kept at bay. The fever burned fiercely, and the faithful, watchful doctors worked constantly and eagerly. Theodore was constantly with his friend. When the delirium ran high this was absolutely necessary, for while Pliny did not seem to recognize him, yet he was calmer in his presence. Mr.

Hastings had ceased to demur or grumble--indeed, sharp and persistent anxiety and fear had taken the place of all other feelings. Pliny had disappointed him, had angered him, had disgraced him at times, yet he reigned an idol in his father's heart.

During all these anxious days and nights Dr. Arnold's face had been grave and impa.s.sive, and his voice had failed to utter a single encouraging word. But one night he said, peremptorily:

"There are too many people, and there is too much moving around in this room every night. I want every single one of you to go to bed and to sleep, except this young man. You can stay, can you not?" This with a glance toward Theodore, who bowed in answer. "Well, then, you are the only watcher he needs, and the sooner the rest of you retire the better it will be for the patient."

Mr. Hastings rebelled utterly.

"There was no occasion for depending upon strangers," he said, haughtily. "Any or all of the family were ready to sit up; and besides, there were scores of intimate friends who had offered their aid."

And the doctor, quite as accustomed to having his own way as Mr.

Hastings could possibly be, answered, testily:

"But the family and the 'scores of intimate friends' are just the beings that I don't want to-night, and this 'stranger' has proved himself a very faithful and efficient nurse during the last few weeks, and _he_ is the one _I'm_ going to leave in charge."

He carried his point, of course. Dr. Arnold always did. When the door was closed on the last departure he came with very quiet tread to Theodore's side, and spoke in subdued tones.

"This night is a matter of life and death with us; he needs the most close and careful watching; above all, he needs absolute quiet and the absence of all nervousness. There will be a change before morning--a very startling one perhaps. It is for this reason I have banished the family. I trust _you_, you see."

"I don't trust myself," answered Theodore, huskily, yet making a great effort to control his voice.

"It is more to the point that _I do_ just at present; the next eight hours will be likely to determine whether it has all been in vain. I will give you very careful directions, and I will be in twice during the night, although I am absolutely powerless now; can do no more than you will be able to do yourself. Meantime that friend of yours, McPherson I think his name is, will be on guard in the room next to this, ready to answer your lightest call. Indeed, you may open the door between the two rooms, but on no account speak or move unless absolutely necessary. This heavy sleep will grow lighter _perhaps_. Now, I want your fixed attention." Then followed very close and careful directions--what to do, and, above all, what _not_ to do.

"Doctor, tell me one word more," said Theodore, quivering with suppressed emotion. "How do _you_ think it will end?"

"I have hardly the faintest atom of hope," answered this honest, earnest man. "If, as I said, after midnight this sleep grows heavier, and you fail to catch the regular breathing, you may call the family. I think no human sound will disturb him after that; but if, on the contrary, the breathing grows steadier, and occasionally he moves a little, then I want you fairly to hold your breath, and then we may begin to hope, provided nothing shall occur to startle him; but I will be in by twelve or a little after."

The doctor went away with lightest tread, and Theodore opened the door of communication with the next room, met the kind, sympathetic eyes of Jim resting on him, returned his grave, silent bow, and felt sustained by his presence, then went back to his silent, solemn work. Close by the bedside, and thus, his head resting on one hand, his eyes fixed on the sleepless face, his heart going up to G.o.d in such wordless agony of entreaty as he had never felt before, pa.s.sed the long, long hours. "The eyes of the Lord are in every place." How this watcher blessed G.o.d for that promise now! His, then, were not the only watcher's eyes bent on that white face; but He who knew the end from the beginning--aye, who held both beginning and end in the hollow of his hand, was watching too.

More than that, the loving Redeemer, who had shed his blood for this poor man's soul, who loved it to-night with a love pa.s.sing all human knowledge, was the other watcher. So Theodore waited and prayed, and the burden of his prayer was, "Lord, save him." Ten, eleven, twelve o'clock, still that solemn silence, still that wordless prayer. No doctor yet "I would not leave you if it were not absolute necessity," he had said. "Life or death in another family, with more for human knowledge to do than there is here, takes me away; but I will be back as soon after twelve as possible." Would he _never_ come? It was ten minutes after twelve now, still no change--or, was there? Could he catch the breathing as distinctly now? Was the sleep heavier? Ought he to call the family? Oh, compa.s.sionate Savior! must they give him up? Had not his been the prayer of faith? And yet the breathing was certainly distinct, the pulse was steady--a half hour more, one or two little sighs had escaped the sleeper; other than that death-like stillness reigned. _Was_ he better or worse? Oh for the doctor's coming! Suddenly Pliny gave a quick restless movement, then lay quiet; and then for the first time in long, long days, spoke in natural yet astonished tones:

"Theodore!" Then with a sudden nervous tremor and a startled tone: "What is it? What is it?"

Theodore knew that great beads of perspiration stood on his forehead, but his voice sounded natural and controlled as he stood with cup and spoon beside the bed.

"Hush, Pliny, you have had the headache, it is night. Swallow that and go to sleep."

Like a weary, submissive child Pliny obeyed; and Theodore, trembling in every limb so that he dropped rather than sat down in his chair, again watched and waited. A shadow fell between him and the light and his raised eyes met the doctor's. He had come in through the room where Jim was waiting. He came with noiseless tread to the bedside, and the instant his practiced eyes fell on the sleeping face they lighted up with a quick, glad look. Moving silently back to the door again he signaled Theodore to come to him, while as silently Jim slipped by and took his place. Rapidly the story of the night was rehea.r.s.ed.

"Well," said the doctor, with smiling eyes, "I believe we have now to 'thank G.o.d and take courage.' Can you follow the rest of my instructions as implicitly as you have these? I would remove this strain on your nerves if I dared, but it is a fearfully important night, and you see I can trust you."

"I can do it," said Theodore, with a curious ring of joy in his softly voice. "I can do _anything now_."

And the rest of that night was given not only to faithful watching and nursing, but to thankful prayer, and to solemn promises that his spared life should be more than ever his special charge, his constant care, until one of those "many mansions" should be set apart as his.

It was four weeks after this eventful night. Pliny was bolstered back among the pillows in the rocking-chair, resting after a walk half way across his room. It was a clear, sharp winter morning, but there was freshness and sunshine in Pliny's room. Both Theodore and Dr. Vincent were his companions. Theodore was making his morning call, and the young doctor was waiting to see what effect the morning walk would have upon the invalid, who was so slowly and feebly rallying back to life. Mrs.

Hastings and Dora had gone to Hastings' Hall, where they were now able to spend a small part of each day. The conversation between the two gentlemen, faintly helped along by Pliny, was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Hastings, and with him a stranger to Theodore, but he was greeted by Pliny as Dr. Armitage, whereupon Theodore made him an object of close scrutiny, and discovered that his face not only bore traces of the frequent use of liquor, but stood near enough to learn from his breath that he had so early in the morning indulged in a gla.s.s of brandy. He came forward with an easy, half-swaggering air, bestowed an indifferent glance on Theodore, and a supercilious one on Dr.

Vincent, and addressed Pliny.

"Well, young gentleman, you've had a hard pull, they tell me, as well as myself. Fortunately I could consult with _myself_ or I should have died.

How is it with you?"

"I had better advisers than myself," answered Pliny, smiling.

"Wants building up," said the doctor, turning abruptly from the son to the father. "Never'll gain strength in this way--ought to have begun tonics three weeks ago. Well, we'll do what we can to repair the mischief. Port wine is as good as anything to begin on. You may order a bottle brought up, if you please."

As Mr. Hastings rang the bell and gave the order, Pliny stole a glance of mingled entreaty and dismay at Theodore and Dr. Vincent. The latter immediately advanced, and respectfully addressed the old doctor.

"I beg your pardon, sir; but if you will study the patient's pulse a moment you will observe that his nerves are not in a condition to bear liquors of any sort."

Dr. Armitage answered him first by a prolonged stare before he said:

"I studied pulse and nerves, and things of that sort, before you were born, young man."

"That may be," answered Dr. Vincent, firmly, "but Dr. Arnold and myself have been studying this gentleman's for the past six weeks, and in a fearful state they have been, I a.s.sure you. You must remember that you have hardly seen him as yet, and have not examined the case."

By this time the wine had arrived, and Dr. Armitage, while he busied himself in pouring out a gla.s.sful, a.s.sumed an air of jocoseness and said:

"Perhaps you would not object to opening a private cla.s.s instruction in _nerves_ and the like, by which means I might gain some information, and you prove a benefactor to your race." Then to Pliny: "Now, sir, drink that, and it will put new life into you." And the tempting gla.s.s was held exasperatingly near poor Pliny's weak and fearfully-tempted hand.

Theodore, standing close beside him, saw the great beads of perspiration gathering on his white forehead, and fairly _felt_ the quiver of excitement that shook his frame. To save Pliny from taking the gla.s.s, and entirely uncertain as to what he should do next, he mechanically reached out his hand for it. Dr. Armitage evidently regarded him as an ally, and at once resigned it, saying, with his eyes still fixed on Pliny: "Drink it slowly and enjoy it. I'm sure I don't wonder that you are wasted to a skeleton."

Pliny's pleading eyes sought Theodore's, and he spoke in a low, husky whisper:

"Finish this business quick in some way, or I shall drink it--I know I shall."

Dr. Vincent had drawn near and caught the import of the whisper. With a very quiet manner, but also with exceeding quickness, he took the gla.s.s and deliberately poured it into the marble basin near which he stood, and the fragrant old wine instantly gurgled down innumerable pipes, and was harmless forever. Dr. Armitage's red face took a purplish tint, and he turned fiercely to the man who dared to meddle with his orders.

"Do you know what you are about?" he shouted rather than said. "Are you aware that I am the family physician at Hastings' Hall?"

"I am aware of it," was Dr. Vincent's quiet and composed reply. "And it makes no sort of difference to me, so long as I remember that Dr. Arnold has had this particular case in charge from the first, and his orders are distinct and explicit, and I am here to see that they are obeyed, which thing I shall do even if I have to send the entire contents of that bottle in the same direction that part of it has traveled. At the same time I am sorry to be _compelled_ to lay aside the courtesy due from one physician to another."

At this most opportune moment the door opened quietly and Dr. Arnold entered. He went at once to Pliny's side, and placed his finger on the throbbing wrist, as he said with an inquiring glance about the room:

"It strikes me you are all forgetting the need of quiet and freedom from excitement. This pulse is racing." Then for the first time noticing Dr.

Armitage, he addressed him courteously. "Good morning, Doctor, you are on your feet again, are you? I congratulate you. Meantime Dr. Vincent and myself have been doing your work here for you to the best of our abilities."

In answer to which Dr. Armitage drew himself up with an air of extreme hauteur, and said, addressing Mr. Hastings:

"The time has come, sir, for you to choose between this gentleman and myself. If you desire any further service of him then I will consider your name withdrawn from my list."

Dr. Arnold elevated his eyebrows, evidently astonished that even Dr.