Dorothy

  CHAPTER III

  AT JOHNS HOPKINS HOSPITAL

  The door of No. 77 Brown Street stood wide open. Any of the burglars forwhom its mistress was always on the watch might have raided the tinyparlor or made off with father John's Sunday overcoat, hanging upon thehat-rack. Now also, while Dorothy hurried from room to room of the sixwhich were all the house contained, the wind of a rising thunderstormwhistled through them and their open windows. Nor was there any reply toher anxious calls:

  "Mother! Father! Anybody--somebody! Oh! where are you? What hashappened? Mother--dearest mother Martha! Won't you answer?"

  Certainly, this was a strange, a terrifying state of things. It wasamazing that so careful a housewife as Martha Chester should leave herhome in this unprotected condition, but it was quite natural for thewell-trained girl, even in the midst of her alarm, to close the sashesagainst the rain that now came dashing in.

  Then she hurried below and out into the little yard, or garden, that washer own special delight. Nobody there; but the pail and brush which Mrs.Chester had been using to clean her back kitchen were still upon itsfloor, the pail overturned and the water puddling its bricks, and thesight made Dorothy's heart sink lower yet.

  Hurrying back to the street, a neighbor shielded her own head from thedownpour and called from a next-door window:

  "Something has happened to your father. A boy saw him picked up on thestreet and a policeman called a Johns Hopkins ambulance, that took himto the hospital. The boy knew him, told your mother, and she's hurriedthere. Don't worry. Probably it's nothing serious."

  "Not serious! Oh! you don't know what you're saying! And to think I lefthim only such a little while! If that hateful old woman--I must go tohim, too, I must, I must!"

  With that Dorothy was retreating indoors, but again the neighbor's voicedetained her:

  "'Tisn't likely you'd be admitted, even if you did go. You'd better stayhere and be ready for your poor mother when she comes. It's worsetrouble for her than for you."

  This might be so and the advice excellent, but the excited girl was inno mood to profit by it. Once, in her early childhood, she had answeredto an inquiry: "I love my mother a _little_ the best, but I love myfather the _biggest_ the best!" and it was so still. Her father, hercheery, indulgent, ever-tender father, would always be "the biggest thebest" of her earthly friends, and to be absent from him now, not knowingwhat had befallen, was impossible.

  Glancing upward she observed that the neighbor had already withdrawn herhead from the dashing rain and was glad of it. It left her free to bangthe front door shut, to rush backward through the house and out at thealley gate, which she also shut, snapping its lock behind her. But shehad caught up the key that opened it and, hanging this in a crevice ofthe fence known for a safe hiding place to each of the family, shestarted eastward for the great hospital.

  Though she had never entered the famous place, she had seen it once froma street-car, and love guided her flying feet. But it was a long, longway from Brown Street, and the present storm was one of those deluging"gusts" familiar to the locality. Within the first five minutes thegutters were filled, the muddy streams pushing outward toward the verymiddle of the narrower alleys and quite covering her shoe-tops as shesplashed through. At one or two of the older thoroughfares she came tothe old-time "stepping stones," provided for just such emergencies, andstill left standing because of the city's pride in their antiquity. Overthese she leaped and was glad of them, but alas! the storm was havingits will of her. Her gingham frock was soaked and clung about her with ahindering obstinacy that vexed her, and her wet shoes grew intolerable.She did not remember that she had ever gone barefoot, as some of hermates had done, but at last she sat down on a doorstep and took off hershoes and stockings. After a moment's contemplation of their ruinedstate, she threw them far aside and stepped upon the brick pavement,just as a policeman in oilskins came up and laid his hand on hershoulder, asking:

  "Little girl, what are you doing?"

  Dorothy sprang aside, frightened, and wriggled herself free. She forgotthat she had never been afraid of such officers; that, indeed, the oneupon her own home beat was the friend of all the youngsters on theblock, and that this one could give her the shortest direction to theplace she sought. She had long ago been taught that, if she were everlost or in any perplexity upon the street, she should call upon thenearest policeman for aid and that it was his sworn duty to assist her.She remembered only that it was a policeman who had summoned theambulance that had carried her father to that horrible place--ahospital! Well, she, too, was bound for it, but only to snatch himthence; and stretching out her small, drenched arms, she wondered ifthey and mother Martha's together would have strength to lift and seizehim.

  Then on and on and on! Could one city be so big as this? Did ever brickpavements hurt anybody else as they were hurting her? How many moreblocks must she traverse before she came in sight of that wide Broadwaywith its pretty parks, on which the hospital stood?

  Everybody had retreated indoors. Nobody who could escape the fury of thestorm endured it, and she had left the officer who could have guided herfar behind. But, at last, a slackening of the downpour; and as if bymagic, people reappeared upon the street; though of the first few whomshe addressed none paused to listen. Yet, finally, a colored boy camehurrying by, his basket of groceries upon his arm, and another emptybasket inverted over his head, by way of an umbrella. Him she clutched,demanding with what little of breath she had left:

  "The--way--to--Johns Hopkins'--hospital, please!"

  "Hey? Horspittle? Wha' for?"

  "To find my father, who's been taken there. Oh! tell me the shortestway, please--please--please! I am so tired! and I must be--I must bequick--quick!"

  A look of pity and consternation stole into the negro's face, and hedrew in his breath with a sort of gasp as he answered:

  "Laws, honey, I reckon yo' _mus'_ be 'quick'! But de quickes' yo' isain' half quick enough. Know wha' dem horspittles is for? Jus' to cut upfolkses in. Fac'. Dey goes in alibe, dey comes out deaders. Yo' jus'done cal'late yo' ain' got no paw no mo'. He's had his haid, or hislaig, or both his arms sawed off 'fore you-all more'n got starteda-chasin' of him. Po' li'l gal! Pity yo' got so wet in de rain jus' fo'nottin'! Wheah yo' live at? Yo' bettah go right home an' tell yo' folkstake dem cloes off, 'fore you-all done get de pneumony."

  Dorothy was shivering, partly from nervousness, partly from the chill ofwet garments in the strong breeze. Though she had often heard thepostman comment upon the superstitions of the negroes, who formed solarge a part of the city's population, and knew that such ideas as thislad expressed were but superstition only, she could not help beingimpressed by his words. It was his honest belief that to enter ahospital meant giving himself up to death; and in this ignorance hereasoned that this forlorn child should be prevented from suchself-destruction by any means whatever. So when she still pleaded to bedirected, despite the fear he had raised in her, he whirled abruptlyabout and pointed his hand in a direction wholly different from that shehad followed. Then he added with a most dramatic air:

  "Well, honey, if you-all done daid-set to go get yo' laigs sawed off,travel jus' dat-a-way till yo' come to de place. Mebbe, if dey gibs yo'dat stuff what makes yo' go asleep, you-all won't know nottin' erbout dejob."

  With this cheerful assurance the grocer's boy went his way, musicallywhistling a popular tune, and Dorothy gazed after him in deepperplexity. Fortunately, the rain had almost ceased and the brief halthad restored her breath. Then came the reflection:

  "He wasn't telling the truth! I know that isn't the way at all, forJohns Hopkins is on the east of the city, and that's toward the north.I'll ask somebody else. There are plenty of people and wagons coming outnow; and--Oh! my!"

  As if in answer to her thought, there came the clang of an electricbell, the hurrying delivery wagons drew out of the way, and past her,over the clear space thus given, dashed another ambulance, hastening tothe relief of some poor sufferer within. On its side she s
aw the name ofthe hospital she sought and with frantic speed dashed after thistrustworthy guide.

  Though she could by no means keep up with its speed she did keep it wellin sight, to the very entrance of the wide grounds themselves, and thereshe lost it. But it didn't matter now. Her journey was almost done, andthe building loomed before her, behind whose walls was hidden herbeloved father John.

  From the gateway up the incline to the broad hospital steps she nowdragged her strangely reluctant feet. How, after all, could she enterand learn some dreadful truth? But she must, she must! and with a finalburst of courage she rushed into the great entrance hall, which was sosilent, so beautiful after the storm outside; and there appeared beforeher half-blinded eyes a figure as of one coming to meet her.

  All alone the figure stood, with nothing near to detract from itsmajestic tenderness; so large and powerful looking; as if able to bearall the burdens of a troubled world and still smile peace upon it.Slowly, Dorothy crept now to the very feet of the statue and read thatthis was: "Christ the Healer."

  Ah! then! No hospital could be a wicked, murderous place in which Hedwelt! and with a sigh of infinite relief, the exhausted child sank downand laid her head upon Him. And then all seemed to fade from view.

  The next Dorothy knew she was lying on a white cot; a blue-gowned,white-capped nurse was bending over her, and a pleasant voice wassaying:

  "Well, now that's good! You've had a splendid rest and must be quiteready for your supper. Here's a fine bowl of broth, and some nice toast.Shall I help you to sit up?"

  "Why--why--what's the matter with me? Where am I? Have----" began theastonished child; then, suddenly remembering the colored boy'sassertions concerning this dreadful place, she instinctively thrust herhands below the light bed covering and felt of her legs. They were stillboth there! So were her arms; and, for a matter of fact, she wasdelightfully rested and comfortable. Again lying back upon her pillow,she smiled into the nurse's face and asked:

  "What am I doing here, in a bed? Is this the hospital?"

  "Yes, dear, it is; and you are in bed because you fainted in theentrance hall, exhausted by exposure to the terrible storm. That isall--we trust. Now, drink your broth and take another nap if you can."

  There was authority, as well as gentleness, in the tone and the patienttried to obey; but this time there was a sharp pain at the back of herhead and her neck seemed strangely stiff. With a little exclamation ofdistress, she put her hand on the painful spot, and the attendantquickly asked:

  "Does that hurt you? Can you remember to have had a blow, or a fall,lately?"

  "Why, yes. The big dogs knocked me down over at Bellevieu. It made meblind for a few minutes, but I was too mad to stay blind! If it hadn'tbeen for that--Oh! please, where _is_ my father?" answered Dorothy.

  "Your father? I don't know. Have you lost, or missed, him, dear?"returned the other, understanding now why such a healthy child shouldhave collapsed as she had, there at the feet of the beautiful statue.Excitement, exposure, and the blow; these accounted for the condition inwhich a house doctor had found her. Also, there was nothing to hinderprompt recovery if the excitement could be allayed; and to this end thenurse went on:

  "Tell me about him, little girl. Maybe I can help you, and don't worryabout being here. It is the very loveliest place in the world for ailingpeople and nothing shall hurt you."

  So Dorothy told all she knew; of the long weeks past when the postman'sactive feet had become more and more troublesome; of his suddendisappearance; and of her now terrible fear that, since the poor feetwere of so little use, these hospital surgeons would promptly "saw" themoff and so be rid of them.

  Ripples of amusement chased themselves across the nurse's fair face asshe listened, yet beneath them lay a sympathetic seriousness which keptdown Dorothy's anger, half-roused by the fleeting smiles.

  "Well, my dear, neither he nor you could have come to a better place toget help. The very wisest doctors in the country are here, I believe.It's a disease with a long name, I fancy----"

  "Yes, yes! I know it! He told me. It's 'locomort'--'loco' something,'at'--'at' something else. It's perfectly horrible just to hear it, andwhat must it be to suffer it? But he never complains. My father John isthe bravest, dearest, best man in the world!"

  "Indeed? Then you should be the 'bravest, dearest, best' little daughteras well. And we'll hope some help, some cure, can be found for him. Now,will you go to sleep?"

  "No. If you please I will go home. But I don't see my clothes anywhere.Funny they should take away a little girl's clothes just 'cause sheforgot and went to sleep in the wrong place!"

  "In the very right-est place in all the world, dear child! At theSaviour's feet. Be sure nothing but goodness and kindness rule over thehospital whose entrance He guards. Your clothes are drying in thelaundry. You will, doubtless, have them in the morning, and, so far as Ican judge now, there'll be nothing to prevent your going home then,"comforted the nurse, gently stroking Dorothy's brow and by her touchsoothing the pain in it. Oddly enough, though her head had achedintensely, ever since that tumble on Mrs. Cecil's piazza, she had notpaid any attention to it while her anxious search continued. She wasfast drowsing off again, but roused for an instant to ask:

  "Have you seen my father? Did he hurt himself when he fell? Did he fall?What did happen to him, anyway? Mayn't I see him just a minute, just onelittle minute, 'fore this--this queer sleepiness gets me?"

  "My dear, you can ask as many questions as a Yankee! I'll tell you whatI think: Your father was probably taken to the emergency ward. I havenothing to do with that. My place is here, in the children's ward; andthe first thing nurses--or children--learn in this pleasant roomis--obedience. I have my orders to obey and one of them is to preventtalking after certain hours."

  "You--you a big, grown-up woman, have to 'obey'? How funny!" criedDorothy, thinking that the face beneath the little white cap was almostthe very sweetest she had ever seen. But to this the other merelynodded, then went softly away.

  Dorothy lay in a little room off from the general ward, into which thenurse had disappeared, and where there was the sound of low-tonedconversation, with an occasional fretful cry from some unseen baby. Thedoctor, or interne as he was called, making his night rounds, seeingthat all his little charges were comfortable for their long rest, anddiscussing with the blue-gowned assistant their needs and conditions. Itwas he who had found Dorothy, unconscious on the tiles, and had orderedher to bed; and it was of herself, had she known it, that he and thenurse had just been talking. As a result of this he merely looked in atthe door of the little room, blinked a good-night from behind hisspectacles, which, like two balls of fire, reflected the electric lightabove the door, and passed on.

  Dorothy intended to keep awake. For a long time her head had been fullof various schemes by which she should rise to the support of herfamily, whenever that day foreseen by the postman should arrive when hisown support should fail. The day had come! Very suddenly, after all, aseven the best-prepared-for catastrophes have a way of doing; and now,despite her earnest desires--Dorothy was going to sleep! She wasashamed of herself. She must stay awake and think--think--think! Shesimply _must_--she----

  "Well, Dorothy C., good morning! A nice, dutiful daughter, you, to runaway and leave mother Martha alone all night!"

  That was the next she knew! That was Mrs. Chester's voice, speaking inthat familiar tone a reproof which was no reproof at all, but only aloving satisfaction. And there she sat, the tidy little woman, in hersecond-best hat and gown, smiling, smiling, as if there were no suchthing as trouble in the world! as if both husband and child were not, atthat very moment, lying in hospital beds!