Lola

  CHAPTER XIX

  WILL POWER

  The old man sat in the same shabby chair, in the same little EighthAvenue apartment where he had lived ten months before. He was dreamingagain, although his eyes were open, and his dreams were not the olddreams of happy confidence.

  He looked to be a broken man as he sat there, his mind and body bothinert, in a half trance, half doze. On the table beside him stillstood his electric apparatus, and on the mantel the little Dutch clockstill ticked away soberly.

  Men are born and die. Hearts are made glad and hearts are broken, famecomes and disgrace, but time goes on, unfaltering. Ten thousand yearsago men fought for their brief moment of life, just as they fightto-day, just as they must ten thousand years from now; the joys thatmean so much to us, the griefs that seem to fill the universe withsorrow blend in that endless procession of to-morrows into one littlegrain of the world's experience.

  Through the open window the harsh music of a street piano penetrateddiscordantly, and Maria, who was quietly working about thedining-room, looked up.

  "Bother the old thing! They always make him nervous!" She crossed theroom and closed the window, moving so as not to disturb the old man.The music came fainter now, and the time changed abruptly to a waltz;the swing of it got into her head, and because she was young, and fullof life and joy, she forgot for a moment the silent, grief-strickenfigure so near to her, and she waltzed back to the dining-room,humming to herself. It was a fine thing to be alive, she thought, andto be of real use to this lonely man; he had done much for her, butnow she felt that she was paying some of her debt to him of gratitude.Without her what would become of him? He was as helpless as a childand without a child's real desire to live. She busily arranged someslices of bread and butter on a plate, and placing it on a tray with apot of freshly made tea, she put it down on the dining-room table, andstepping into the front room, stood by the Doctor's chair.

  "Your tea is ready, Doctor."

  "Oh!" He looked up at her, then made an effort, and aroused himself toanswer. "Thank you, Maria, but I do not care for any lunch to-day."

  "You didn't eat nothin' for your breakfast."

  "Oh, yes, I did, Maria." He smiled at her very gently. "I am muchstronger and in better health than you will believe. I am not livingan active life just now. I do not require the same amount of food as ayoung thing like you."

  "You are sick, Doctor," she spoke anxiously. "You can't live like youhave been living for the last six months, doing nothing and eatingless. You'll be on your back the first thing I know; then how will Itake care of you?"

  "You are a good girl, Maria, but I am quite equal to my work. I onlywish that I had more to do."

  "You can't get patients sittin' here, dreamin' over that darnedthing!" She pointed angrily at the electrical machine on the table."You could have all the patients you could take care of if you'd onlytry to get 'em. There ain't a better doctor in the world."

  "You are a very loyal little thing, Maria."

  "No, I ain't. I've done somethin' I hadn't no right to do. I'm goingto tell yer because I'm ashamed, but I'm mighty glad I did it just thesame."

  "What have you done?" He spoke quickly, seeing by her manner that shehad something of more than usual importance on her mind.

  "I wrote a letter," she answered defiantly, "most three weeks ago, thevery first letter I ever wrote in my life."

  "To your sweetheart?"

  "No, I ain't countin' him. I've been writin' to him a long time; hesays one kind of spelling is just as good to him as another, but thisletter I wrote to--to--Paris--to Dr. Paul Crossett."

  It was out now, and she was afraid to look at him. In spite of thedependence he had grown to have upon her, she was still very much inawe of him, and she dreaded to hear the reproach that she knew wouldbe in his voice.

  "Maria!" It was there, he was angry. She knew that he would be, butshe also knew that it had been her duty to do what she had done."You--Maria--you would not tell him----?"

  "I told him everything!" She burst out, "I told him you was justkillin' yourself, sittin' here, an' thinkin', an' breakin' your heart.All day an' all night. I told him that the best man I ever knew wasjust letting himself fade out and die. And I told him that if he wasthe friend I thought he was he'd come here and do something."

  "Maria!" He spoke sternly now. "You had no right."

  "I know it."

  "I am very angry with you. I--I wish that you had told me of it."

  "You would have stopped me, wouldn't you?"

  "Yes."

  "That's why I didn't. I wouldn't have told you now, only I knew you'dfind it out. I'm expecting him every minute."

  "He is coming here." The Doctor rose to his feet in his excitement.

  "Yes. I got a cable from him. It came over a week ago. It most scaredme to death when I got it. It's the first one I ever saw."

  "He is coming?"

  "To-day, the cable said."

  "You brought one of the busiest men in Europe away from his work forme. You had no right to do it."

  "Perhaps not." She stood there, afraid of him, but obstinately glad ofthe thing she had done. "All I know is mindin' my own business, andit's my business to take care of you the best I can. There--thereain't nobody else to do it now. It's only what she'd have done herselfif she'd been here."

  It was the first time since Lola had left them that she had spoken hername or made any allusion to her, and he shrank away from it nowpitifully.

  "Please!" He turned away from her, seating himself heavily in hischair.

  "It's only what Miss Lola would have done," she continued firmly.

  "I told you not to speak her name."

  "I know that you did, the very day after she left home. You told me tothink of her as if she was dead, but she ain't dead. She's out therein the world somewhere, and some day she's coming back!"

  "No! No!"

  "Yes, she is, and when she comes she'll find everything ready for her.She'll find her room just like it always was, and she'll find me justlike I always was, lovin' her. I can't forget what she used to be tome. I don't care what she's done!"

  She had tried a hundred times in the last months to say this orsomething like this, but she had never been able to gather enoughcourage, and now, no matter what came of it, she was going to speak.He tried to stop her, but the great love she had in her heart wasstronger than her fear of him, and she went on.

  "Sometimes, Doctor, I think, because all day long, every day, I'vebeen thinkin', and sometimes it seems to me that just those last fewweeks, before she went away, that she wasn't well some way, thatsomehow she couldn't help doin' what she did. Maybe there wassomething that you and me don't understand, that was too strong forher to fight. Can't you look at it like that? Can't you get to thinkof her like you would of a child that didn't know no better?"

  For a moment the doctor looked up into her flushed, earnest face, thenslowly dropped his head on his arms, and leaning forward on the tablehe began to sob like a child.

  "Oh, Doctor! Don't! Don't, Doctor!"

  She tried to soothe him, as gently as a mother might have done, andwith much the same feeling in her heart. She was not afraid of himnow, but she longed to comfort him.

  "Please, Doctor! Don't! I won't say any more. Only don't do that.Won't you try not to be so unhappy?"

  As she spoke the bell rang, and she straightened up.

  "Hush! There's someone here. Are you all right, Doctor? Shall I let'em in?"

  "Yes, Maria." He recovered himself quickly, for he was a proud man,and as Maria went slowly to the door he wiped his eyes andstraightened himself in his chair.

  "Can we be coming in?"

  He looked up to see Mrs. Mooney and Nellie in the doorway, smiling athim. Nellie was a different girl now. If Dr. Crossett had done nothingelse in his busy life, what he had done for this child would have beena monument to his skill. Her arm was well, there was a soft color onher cheeks, and her face was bright with health and happiness.

/>   "Come in!" He answered heartily, and as he looked at her he exclaimedgladly, "Why, Nellie, how well you are looking. Better every day!"

  "She is that, Doctor. Better and happier," said Mrs. Mooney proudly."She's just as good as any of 'em now."

  "Please, Doctor," said Nellie timidly, as she held out to him a bunchof simple flowers, "will you please take these? I bought them with myfirst week's pay, part of it. I'm working now. Will you take them?"

  "Thank you, Nellie." He took them from her with a smile. "They are avery satisfactory payment for anything I ever did for you."

  "She thought you'd know what she was feeling, Doctor," interruptedMrs. Mooney. "We can't ever pay, but we can't either of us everforget."

  "You owe far more to Dr. Crossett than you do to me. It was histreatment that gave us our start."

  A shrill whistle from the old-fashioned speaking tube broke in uponher before she could express anymore of her gratitude of which she wasso full, and as Maria went to the tube to answer they all turned towatch her.

  "Hello! Oh! Oh! Come up!"

  Maria turned to them, greatly excited. "It's him. It's Dr. Crossett."

  "Dr. Crossett!" Mrs. Mooney's face beamed with surprise and pleasure."We can thank him, too, Nellie."

  "You can run along out in the kitchen, both of you; that's what youcan do," replied Maria firmly. "You can see him afterwards for aminute, but we don't want you here now."

  "You must not go, Mrs. Mooney," said Dr. Barnhelm kindly; "the doctorwill be glad to see Nellie."

  "Yes, sir. She'll be showing him how strong she is. Why, it will behard for him to believe it, sir. She can lift most as much as I can.He'll be glad to know that he was right. He said she'd be as good asany of 'em."

  She followed Nellie to the kitchen, quite the happiest woman in theworld; even there in that room she seemed to have left some trace ofher happiness behind her, for as Maria looked at the Doctor's face shethought she saw a softer, less heart-broken look in his eyes, and sheturned away hopefully to open the door for Dr. Crossett. Surely, shethought, there must be a chance of his doing something to help hisfriend, or would he, too, feel that she had done wrong in sending forhim? That thought made her pause, afraid, but the thought went out ofher mind at the first sight of his smiling, kindly face.

  "Well, Maria?" He took her hand warmly, but there was an anxiousquestion in his tone.

  "Here he is, Doctor." She showed him into the room where Dr. Barnhelmwas standing waiting to greet him.

  "Martin!"

  The two men clasped hands warmly. Dr. Barnhelm was greatly affected,but knowing how gladly his friend had made any sacrifice that had beennecessary to hurry to him, he tried to say as little as possible.

  "It is all wrong, Paul. You should not have left your work."

  "La! I needed a change; the sea air has made me young again.Now--you?"

  "I--I am well."

  "So? You do not look it." He turned gravely to Maria. "You have donewell. He needed me."

  "Yes, sir." She was content. She knew now how great a liberty she hadtaken, but he had told her that she had done well, and she was happy.She smiled at him through her tears as she turned to go, but his voicestopped her.

  "Maria!"

  "Yes, Doctor."

  "There was a sweetheart, eh?"

  "Why--yes, sir."

  "Still the faithful sailor?"

  "Mr. Barnes, sir."

  "This is for a wedding gift."

  She took a small package from him, and opening it, stood open-mouthedbefore a pretty little necklace of French beads.

  "Oh, Doctor! Oh! I never saw nothing so grand!"

  "You are a good girl, Maria, and this Mr. Barnes is a lucky man."

  "Thank you, sir," and she went quietly out of the room, leaving thetwo men together.

  "Now, Martin!" He turned to Dr. Barnhelm gravely. "Let us have itout." He seated himself beside him and looked him squarely in theface. "You do not try to live? Eh?"

  "At least I have not tried to die."

  "Where is she?"

  "I do not know."

  "When I left you, you had not tried to know. Have you seen her?"

  "No."

  "Have you made any effort to see her?"

  "No."

  "Have you heard of her?"

  "Yes."

  "Have you written?"

  "Once."

  "And that once? What did you say?"

  "I wrote her," answered Dr. Barnhelm slowly, "that I was coming backhere to live, and that if she ever needed a roof to shelter her, thatshe--she could come."

  "And in that letter," Dr. Crossett went on relentlessly, "did you say,'You are my daughter; I love you'?"

  "No."

  "Do you want her to come back?"

  "No."

  "Martin! Think of what that means."

  "What else have I done for six months, but think?"

  "Very well." Dr. Crossett gave up in despair. "We will say no moreabout it. You are a sick man, mind and body; that is all that we mustthink of now. Do you practice?"

  "Yes, not much, just enough to live."

  "And that?" Dr. Crossett pointed to the machine on the table. "Whathave you done with that?"

  "Nothing!"

  "And yet you told me once that it was the thing you prayed for."

  "I was a fool!" Dr. Barnhelm spoke with a bitterness that until longafterwards his friend could not understand. "I thought myselfsomething of a philosopher, and yet I did not know that there is nocurse so bitter as the curse of a granted prayer. It is always so; ayoung man prays for fame, and when it comes he finds that it is anempty word. Another prays for money, and when his prayer is granted hefinds that his happiness is gone. The woman prays for love; it comes,and she finds the bitterness of it. The mother prays for the life ofher child, and the child grows up and breaks her heart."

  "This will not do, Martin." Paul Crossett rose and put his handskindly but firmly on the other's shoulder. "You are worn out; you arenot yourself; tell me, do you sleep?"

  "Not when I can help it," answered Dr. Barnhelm, with a shudder.

  "You will sleep now, and while you sleep I am going to sit beside you.Come! I will take you to your room; no, I will listen to no refusal. Ihave crossed the ocean just for this, to take care of you; the leastthat you can do is to obey my orders. Come!"

  "But there is no need for----"

  "Come!"