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* A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook * 38 страница



having discovered that Clyde was related to the Griffiths, this

same Short had sought, as a means for his own general advancement

in other directions, to scrape as much of a genial and intimate

relationship with him as possible, only, as Clyde saw it, and in

view of the general attitude of his very high relatives, it had

not, up to this time at least, been possible for him to consider

any such intimacy seriously. And yet, finding Short so very

affable and helpful in general, he was not above reaching at least

an easy and genial surface relationship with him, which Short

appeared to accept in good part. Indeed, as at first, his manner

remained seeking and not a little sycophantic at times. And so it

was that among all those with whom he could be said to be in either

intimate or casual contact, Short was about the only one who

offered even a chance for an inquiry which might prove productive

of some helpful information.

 

In consequence, in passing Short's place each evening and morning,

once he thought of him in this light, he made it a point to nod and

smile in a most friendly manner, until at least three days had gone

by. And then, feeling that he had paved the way as much as his

present predicament would permit, he stopped in, not at all sure

that on this first occasion he would be able to broach the

dangerous subject. The tale he had fixed upon to tell Short was

that he had been approached by a young working-man in the factory,

newly-married, who, threatened with an heir and not being able to

afford one as yet, had appealed to him for information as to where

he might now find a doctor to help him. The only interesting

additions which Clyde proposed to make to this were that the young

man, being very poor and timid and not so very intelligent, was not

able to speak or do much for himself. Also that he, Clyde, being

better informed, although so new locally as not to be able to

direct him to any physician (an after-thought intended to put the

idea into Short's mind that he himself was never helpless and so

not likely ever to want such advice himself), had already advised

the young man of a temporary remedy. But unfortunately, so his

story was to run, this had already failed to work. Hence something

more certain--a physician, no less--was necessary. And Short,

having been here longer, and, as he had heard him explain, hailing

previously from Gloversville, it was quite certain, as Clyde now

argued with himself, that he would know of at least one--or should.

But in order to divert suspicion from himself he was going to add

that of course he probably could get news of some one in his own

set, only, the situation being so unusual (any reference to any

such thing in his own world being likely to set his own group

talking), he preferred to ask some one like Short, who as a favor

would keep it quiet.

 

As it chanced on this occasion, Short himself, owing to his having

done a very fair day's business, was in an exceedingly jovial frame

of mind. And Clyde having entered, to buy a pair of socks,

perhaps, he began: "Well, it's good to see you again, Mr.

Griffiths. How are you? I was just thinking it's about time you

stopped in and let me show you some of the things I got in since

you were here before. How are things with the Griffiths Company

anyhow?"

 

Short's manner, always brisk, was on this occasion doubly

reassuring, since he liked Clyde, only now the latter was so

intensely keyed up by the daring of his own project that he could

scarcely bring himself to carry the thing off with the air he would

have liked to have employed.

 

Nevertheless, being in the store and so, seemingly, committed to

the project, he now began: "Oh, pretty fair. Can't kick a bit.

I always have all I can do, you know." At the same time he began

nervously fingering some ties hung upon movable nickeled rods. But

before he had wasted a moment on these, Mr. Short, turning and

spreading some boxes of very special ties from a shelf behind him

on the glass case, remarked: "Never mind looking at those, Mr.

Griffiths. Look at these. These are what I want to show you and



they won't cost YOU any more. Just got 'em in from New York this

morning." He picked up several bundles of six each, the very

latest, as he explained. "See anything else like this anywhere

around here yet? I'll say you haven't." He eyed Clyde smilingly,

the while he wished sincerely that such a young man, so well

connected, yet not rich like the others, would be friends with him.

It would place him here.

 

Clyde, fingering the offerings and guessing that what Short was

saying was true, was now so troubled and confused in his own mind

that he could scarcely think and speak as planned. "Very nice,

sure," he said, turning them over, feeling that at another time he

would have been pleased to possess at least two. "I think maybe

I'll take this one, anyhow, and this one, too." He drew out two

and held them up, while he was thinking how to broach the so much

more important matter that had brought him here. For why should he

be troubling to buy ties, dilly-dallying in this way, when all he

wanted to ask Short about was this other matter? Yet how hard it

was now--how very hard. And yet he really must, although perhaps

not so abruptly. He would look around a little more at first in

order to allay suspicion--ask about some socks. Only why should he

be doing that, since he did not need anything, Sondra only recently

having presented him with a dozen handkerchiefs, some collars, ties

and socks. Nevertheless every time he decided to speak he felt a

sort of sinking sensation at the pit of his stomach, a fear that he

could not or would not carry the thing off with the necessary ease

and conviction. It was all so questionable and treacherous--so

likely to lead to exposure and disgrace in some way. He would

probably not be able to bring himself to speak to Short to-night.

And yet, as he argued with himself, how could the occasion ever be

more satisfactory?

 

Short, in the meantime having gone to the rear of the store and now

returning, with a most engaging and even sycophantic smile on his

face, began with: "Saw you last Tuesday evening about nine o'clock

going into the Finchleys' place, didn't I? Beautiful house and

grounds they have there."

 

Clyde saw that Short really was impressed by his social station

here. There was a wealth of admiration mingled with a touch of

servility. And at once, because of this, he took heart, since he

realized that with such an attitude dominating the other, whatever

he might say would be colored in part at least by his admirer's awe

and respect. And after examining the socks and deciding that one

pair at least would soften the difficulty of his demand, he added:

"Oh, by the way, before I forget it. There's something I've been

wanting to ask you about. Maybe you can tell me what I want to

know. One of the boys at the factory--a young fellow who hasn't

been married very long--about four months now, I guess--is in a

little trouble on account of his wife." He paused, because of his

uncertainty as to whether he could succeed with this now or not,

seeing that Short's expression changed ever so slightly. And yet,

having gone so far, he did not know how to recede. So now he

laughed nervously and then added: "I don't know why they always

come to me with their troubles, but I guess they think I ought to

know all about these things." (He laughed again.) "Only I'm about

as new and green here as anybody and so I'm kinda stumped. But

you've been here longer than I have, I guess, and so I thought I

might ask you."

 

His manner as he said this was as nonchalant as he could make it,

the while he decided now that this was a mistake--that Short would

most certainly think him a fool or queer. Yet Short, taken back by

the nature of the query, which he sensed as odd coming from Clyde

to him (he had noted Clyde's sudden restraint and slight

nervousness), was still so pleased to think that even in connection

with so ticklish a thing as this, he should be made the recipient

of his confidence, that he instantly recovered his former poise and

affability, and replied: "Why, sure, if it's anything I can help

you with, Mr. Griffiths, I'll be only too glad to. Go ahead, what

is it?"

 

"Well, it's this way," began Clyde, not a little revived by the

other's hearty response, yet lowering his voice in order to give

the dreadful subject its proper medium of obscurity, as it were.

"His wife's already two months gone and he can't afford a kid yet

and he doesn't know how to get rid of it. I told him last month

when he first came to me to try a certain medicine that usually

works"--this to impress Short with his own personal wisdom and

resourcefulness in such situations and hence by implication to

clear his own skirts, as it were--"But I guess he didn't handle it

right. Anyhow he's all worked up about it now and wants to see

some doctor who could do something for her, you see. Only I don't

know anybody here myself. Haven't been here long enough. If it

were Kansas City or Chicago now," he interpolated securely, "I'd

know what to do. I know three or four doctors out there." (To

impress Short he attempted a wise smile.) "But down here it's

different. And if I started asking around in my crowd and it ever

got back to my relatives, they wouldn't understand. But I thought

if you knew of any one you wouldn't mind telling me. I wouldn't

really bother myself, only I'm sorry for this fellow."

 

He paused, his face, largely because of the helpful and interested

expression on Short's, expressing more confidence than when he had

begun. And although Short was still surprised he was more than

pleased to be as helpful as he could.

 

"You say it's been two months now."

 

"Yes."

 

"And the stuff you suggested didn't work, eh?"

 

"No."

 

"She's tried it again this month, has she?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Well, that is bad, sure enough. I guess she's in bad all right.

The trouble with this place is that I haven't been here so very

long either, Mr. Griffiths. I only bought this place about a year

and a half ago. Now, if I were over in Gloversville--" He paused

for a moment, as though, like Clyde, he too were dubious of the

wisdom of entering upon details of this kind, but after a few

seconds continued: "You see a thing like that's not so easy,

wherever you are. Doctors are always afraid of getting in trouble.

I did hear once of a case over there, though, where a girl went to

a doctor--a fellow who lived a couple miles out. But she was of

pretty good family too, and the fellow who took her to him was

pretty well-known about there. So I don't know whether this doctor

would do anything for a stranger, although he might at that. But I

know that sort of thing is going on all the time, so you might try.

If you wanta send this fellow to him, tell him not to mention me or

let on who sent him, 'cause I'm pretty well-known around there and

I wouldn't want to be mixed up in it in case anything went wrong,

you see. You know how it is."

 

And Clyde, in turn, replied gratefully: "Oh, sure, he'll

understand all right. I'll tell him not to mention any names." And

getting the doctor's name, he extracted a pencil and notebook from

his pocket in order to be sure that the important information

should not escape him.

 

Short, sensing his relief, was inclined to wonder whether there was

a working-man, or whether it was not Clyde himself who was in this

scrape. Why should he be speaking for a young working-man at the

factory? Just the same, he was glad to be of service, though at

the same time he was thinking what a bit of local news this would

be, assuming that any time in the future he should choose to retail

it. Also that Clyde, unless he was truly playing about with some

girl here who was in trouble, was foolish to be helping anybody

else in this way--particularly a working-man. You bet he wouldn't.

 

Nevertheless he repeated the name, with the initials, and the exact

neighborhood, as near as he could remember, giving the car stop and

a description of the house. Clyde, having obtained what he

desired, now thanked him, and then went out while the haberdasher

looked after him genially and a little suspiciously. These rich

young bloods, he thought. That's a funny request for a fellow like

that to make of me. You'd think with all the people he knows and

runs with here he'd know some one who would tip him off quicker

than I could. Still, maybe, it's just because of them that he is

afraid to ask around here. You don't know who he might have got in

trouble--that young Finchley girl herself, even. You never can

tell. I see him around with her occasionally, and she's gay

enough. But, gee, wouldn't that be the...

 

Chapter 37

 

 

The information thus gained was a relief, but only partially so.

For both Clyde and Roberta there was no real relief now until this

problem should be definitely solved. And although within a few

moments after he had obtained it, he appeared and explained that at

last he had secured the name of some one who might help her, still

there was yet the serious business of heartening her for the task

of seeing the doctor alone, also for the story that was to

exculpate him and at the same time win for her sufficient sympathy

to cause the doctor to make the charge for his service merely

nominal.

 

But now, instead of protesting as at first he feared that she

might, Roberta was moved to acquiesce. So many things in Clyde's

attitude since Christmas had so shocked her that she was bewildered

and without a plan other than to extricate herself as best she

might without any scandal attaching to her or him and then going

her own way--pathetic and abrasive though it might be. For since

he did not appear to care for her any more and plainly desired to

be rid of her, she was in no mood to compel him to do other than he

wished. Let him go. She could make her own way. She had, and she

could too, without him, if only she could get out of this. Yet, as

she said this to herself, however, and a sense of the full

significance of it all came to her, the happy days that would never

be again, she put her hands to her eyes and brushed away

uncontrollable tears. To think that all that was should come to

this.

 

Yet when he called the same evening after visiting Short, his

manner redolent of a fairly worth-while achievement, she merely

said, after listening to his explanation in as receptive a manner

as she could: "Do you know just where this is, Clyde? Can we get

there on the car without much trouble, or will we have to walk a

long way?" And after he had explained that it was but a little way

out of Gloversville, in the suburbs really, an interurban stop

being but a quarter of a mile from the house, she had added: "Is

he home at night, or will we have to go in the daytime? It would

be so much better if we could go at night. There'd be so much less

danger of any one seeing us." And being assured that he was, as

Clyde had learned from Short, she went on: "But do you know is he

old or young? I'd feel so much easier and safer if he were old. I

don't like young doctors. We've always had an old doctor up home

and I feel so much easier talking to some one like him."

 

Clyde did not know. He had not thought to inquire, but to reassure

her he ventured that he was middle-aged--which chanced to be the

fact.

 

The following evening the two of them departed, but separately as

usual, for Fonda, where it was necessary to change cars. And once

within the approximate precincts of the physician's residence, they

stepped down and made their way along a road, which in this mid-

state winter weather was still covered with old and dry-packed

snow. It offered a comparatively smooth floor for their quick

steps. For in these days, there was no longer that lingering

intimacy which formerly would have characterized both. In those

other and so recent days, as Roberta was constantly thinking, he

would have been only too glad in such a place as this, if not on

such an occasion, to drag his steps, put an arm about her waist,

and talk about nothing at all--the night, the work at the factory,

Mr. Liggett, his uncle, the current movies, some place they were

planning to go, something they would love to do together if they

could. But now... And on this particular occasion, when most

of all, and if ever, she needed the full strength of his devotion

and support! Yet now, as she could see, he was most nervously

concerned as to whether, going alone in this way, she was going to

get scared and "back out"; whether she was going to think to say

the right thing at the right time and convince the doctor that he

must do something for her, and for a nominal fee.

 

"Well, Bert, how about you? All right? You're not going to get

cold feet now, are you? Gee, I hope not because this is going to

be a good chance to get this thing done and over with. And it

isn't like you were going to some one who hadn't done anything like

this before, you know, because this fellow has. I got that

straight. All you have to do now, is to say, well, you know, that

you're in trouble, see, and that you don't know how you're going to

get out of it unless he'll help you in some way, because you

haven't any friends here you can go to. And besides, as things

are, you couldn't go to 'em if you wanted to. They'd tell on you,

see. Then if he asks where I am or who I am, you just say that I

was a fellow here--but that I've gone--give any name you want to,

but that I've gone, and you don't know where I've gone to--run

away, see. Then you'd better say, too, that you wouldn't have come

to him only that you heard of another case in which he helped some

one else--that a girl told you, see. Only you don't want to let on

that you're paid much, I mean,--because if you do he may want to

make the bill more than I can pay, see, unless he'll give us a few

months in which to do it, or something like that, you see."

 

Clyde was so nervous and so full of the necessity of charging

Roberta with sufficient energy and courage to go through with this

and succeed, now that he had brought her this far along with it,

that he scarcely realized how inadequate and trivial, even, in so

far as her predicament and the doctor's mood and temperament were

concerned, his various instructions and bits of inexperienced

advice were. And she on her part was not only thinking how easy it

was for him to stand back and make suggestions, while she was

confronted with the necessity of going forward, and that alone, but

also that he was really thinking more of himself than he was of

her--some way to make her get herself out of it inexpensively and

without any real trouble to him.

 

At the same time, even here and now, in spite of all this, she was

still decidedly drawn to him--his white face, his thin hands,

nervous manner. And although she knew he talked to encourage her

to do what he had not the courage or skill to do himself, she was

not angry. Rather, she was merely saying to herself in this crisis

that although he advised so freely she was not going to pay

attention to him--much. What she was going to say was not that she

was deserted, for that seemed too much of a disagreeable and self-

incriminating remark for her to make concerning herself, but rather

that she was married and that she and her young husband were too

poor to have a baby as yet--the same story Clyde had told the

druggist in Schenectady, as she recalled. For after all, what did

he know about how she felt? And he was not going with her to make

it easier for her.

 

Yet dominated by the purely feminine instinct to cling to some one

for support, she now turned to Clyde, taking hold of his hands and

standing quite still, wishing that he would hold and pet her and

tell her that it was all right and that she must not be afraid.

And although he no longer cared for her, now in the face of this

involuntary evidence of her former trust in him, he released both

hands and putting his arms about her, the more to encourage her

than anything else, observed: "Come on now, Bert. Gee, you can't

act like this, you know. You don't want to lose your nerve now

that we're here, do you? It won't be so hard once you get there.

I know it won't. All you got to do is to go up and ring the bell,

see, and when he comes, or whoever comes, just say you want to see

the doctor alone, see. Then he'll understand it's something

private and it'll be easier."

 

He went on with more advice of the same kind, and she, realizing

from his lack of spontaneous enthusiasm for her at this moment how

desperate was her state, drew herself together as vigorously as she

could, and saying: "Well, wait here, then, will you? Don't go

very far away, will you? I may be right back," hurried along in

the shadow through the gate and up a walk which led to the front

door.

 

In answer to her ring the door was opened by one of those

exteriorly as well as mentally sober, small-town practitioners who,

Clyde's and Short's notion to the contrary notwithstanding, was the

typical and fairly conservative physician of the countryside--

solemn, cautious, moral, semi-religious to a degree, holding some

views which he considered liberal and others which a fairly liberal

person would have considered narrow and stubborn into the bargain.

Yet because of the ignorance and stupidity of so many of those

about him, he was able to consider himself at least fairly learned.

In constant touch with all phases of ignorance and dereliction as

well as sobriety, energy, conservatism, success and the like, he

was more inclined, where fact appeared to nullify his early

conclusion in regard to many things, to suspend judgment between

the alleged claims of heaven and hell and leave it there suspended

and undisturbed. Physically he was short, stocky, bullet-headed

and yet interestingly-featured, with quick gray eyes and a pleasant

mouth and smile. His short iron-gray hair was worn "bangs"

fashion, a bit of rural vanity. And his arms and hands, the latter

fat and pudgy, yet sensitive, hung limply at his sides. He was

fifty-eight, married, the father of three children, one of them a

son already studying medicine in order to succeed to his father's

practice.

 

After showing Roberta into a littered and commonplace waiting room

and asking her to remain until he had finished his dinner, he

presently appeared in the door of an equally commonplace inner

room, or office, where were his desk, two chairs, some medical

instruments, books and apparently an ante-chamber containing other

medical things, and motioned her to a chair. And because of his

grayness, solidity, stolidity, as well as an odd habit he had of

blinking his eyes, Roberta was not a little overawed, though by no

means so unfavorably impressed as she had feared she might be. At

least he was old and he seemed intelligent and conservative, if not

exactly sympathetic or warm in his manner. And after looking at

her curiously a moment, as though seeking to recognize some one of

the immediate vicinity, he began: "Well, now who is this, please?

And what can I do for you?" His voice was low and quite

reassuring--a fact for which Roberta was deeply grateful.

 

At the same time, startled by the fact that at last she had reached

the place and the moment when, if ever, she must say the degrading

truth about herself, she merely sat there, her eyes first upon him,

then upon the floor, her fingers beginning to toy with the handle

of the small bag she carried.

 

"You see, well," she began, earnestly and nervously, her whole

manner suddenly betraying the terrific strain under which she was

laboring. "I came... I came... that is... I don't know

whether I can tell you about myself or not. I thought I could just

before I came in, but now that I am here and I see you..." She

paused and moved back in her chair as though to rise, at the same

time that she added: "Oh, dear, how very dreadful it all is. I'm

so nervous and..."

 

"Well, now, my dear," he resumed, pleasantly and reassuringly,

impressed by her attractive and yet sober appearance and wondering

for the moment what could have upset so clean, modest and sedate-

looking a girl, and hence not a little amused by her "now that I

see you,"--"Just what is there about me 'now that you see me,'" he

repeated after her, "that so frightens you? I am only a country

doctor, you know, and I hope I'm not as dreadful as you seem to

think. You can be sure that you can tell me anything you wish--

anything at all about yourself--and you needn't be afraid. If

there's anything I can do for you, I'll do it."

 

He was decidedly pleasant, as she now thought, and yet so sober and

reserved and probably conventional withal that what she was holding

in mind to tell him would probably shock him not a little--and then

what? Would he do anything for her? And if he would, how was she

to arrange about money, for that certainly would be a point in

connection with all this? If only Clyde or some one were here to

speak for her. And yet she must speak now that she was here. She

could not leave without. Once more she moved and twisted, seizing

nervously on a large button of her coat to turn between her thumb

and forefinger, and then went on chokingly.

 

"But this is... this is... well, something different, you

know, maybe not what you think.... I... I... well..."

 

Again she paused, unable to proceed, shading from white to red and

back as she spoke. And because of the troubled modesty of her

approach, as well as a certain clarity of eye, whiteness of

forehead, sobriety of manner and dress, the doctor could scarcely

bring himself to think for a moment that this was anything other

than one of those morbid exhibitions of innocence, or rather

inexperience, in connection with everything relating to the human


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