The Incubator Baby
of her theories.Under what other system could a mother leave her young baby and devote aweek's absence to club duties? She felt quite at ease, however, forthe three remaining members of the committee of four were in charge ofMarjorie's welfare, and back of the committee was the entire federationof her city. She took the train with a grateful sense of freedom.
It was the opportunity Marjorie had been awaiting. No sooner had Mrs.Fielding left the city than Marjorie raised her temperature two degrees,just as an experiment. It was wonderfully successful. It made Chiswickscurry around the nursery with distracted concern. Marjorie raisedher temperature a few degrees more and Chiswick telephoned for thecommittee.
The committee came, consulted and wondered what to do. It decided toawait developments, and went away again.
As Mrs. Fielding sped toward the place where she was to exercise thenoble functions of her mind, Marjorie, in the nursery, lay in theprivate secretary's arms, at times sleeping and at times with wide-open,glassy, bright eyes. The private secretary was staying overtime, but shedid not mind it. She was glad to stay because Marjorie was fretful andwould not let Chiswick touch her.
Marjorie moved about restlessly in Miss Vickers's arms, trying freshpositions each moment, and tossing her hot head from side to side. Hercheeks glowed red, and the same red overspread her forehead and gleamedthrough the tossed gold of her hair. Where her head touched it theprivate secretary's arm burned as under a hot iron.
The private secretary--who really had no voice at all--chanted:
"Ma-mie had a lit-tle lamb, Little lamb, Little lamb, Ma-mie had a lit-tle lamb, Its fleece was white as snow."
Marjorie fretted. She did not want to be sung to. She did not know whatshe wanted. She was not used to being abnormal in temperature,it made her peevish, but she was lovable even so, forthrough the peevishness stray smiles would creep--sick little"please--excuse--Marjorie"--smiles, to show she had no hard feelings,but just one great uncomfortable feeling.
"You dear, dear, _dear_ baby!" the private secretary exclaimed, and bentand kissed the hot cheek.
It was a hard night for the private secretary but it was a treasurednight. It was blessed to feel the little hot baby resting in her armsand to be able to give up sleep and comfort and everything for thesleepless child.
When the sun arose Marjorie had fallen asleep, but tossed restlessly,and on her white skin, from which the fever had retreated, thousands ofbright red spots glowed and glowed. Marjorie had the measles.
Chiswick suggested sending a hurry call for the committee, but while shewas sending it the private secretary routed Mr. Fielding from his bed.He came to the nursery in bath robe and slippers, and dashed out againto set the telephone bell clamoring.
Before the committee had its pompadours well under way the good oldbulky doctor was bending over Marjorie's crib.
"Very severe attack," he said, "but not necessarily dangerous. Keep her(and so on), give her (and so on). I'll drop in after noon."
When the committee arrived an hour later it had nothing to do butapprove or disapprove of what had already been done. It decided tosend Mrs. Fielding bulletins. Nothing weak or exciting; just cool,calm statements of facts. Things in the manner of reports to a fellowcommittee woman.
Mrs. Fielding received the first as she was in the hands of thereception committee.
"Marjorie has measles. No cause for alarm," it said. She frowned. Whyshould they bother her with trifles.
About noon she received another message. It read: "Patient's conditionunchanged. No cause for alarm."
She crumpled it in her hand and threw it on the floor. It hadinterrupted an inspiring conversation on the Higher Life.
When the doctor visited Marjorie about noon he sat fully five minuteswith her, which was unusually long for such a busy man, and as he lefthe gravely remarked that he would drop in during the evening.
He did not like the way those red spots were fading.
When he returned he frowned. Mr. Fielding was sitting on the cribsideholding one of Marjorie's hot hands and gently passing his fingers overher brow. The private secretary was on her knees at the other side ofthe crib. But the doctor did not frown at either of these.
"I don't like her condition, at all," he said. "Not at all. But I'll tryto pull her through. Telephone my wife I'll not be home to-night, willyou?" Marjorie lay in open-eyed listlessness, staring upward at nothing.Her breath was short and rapid, and her heart beat like the quickstrokes of a trip hammer.
She wondered vaguely why this strange thing was happening to her, andwhen the private secretary touched her she tried to smile, and onlysucceeded in making white lines about her drawn, dry lips.
It was nine o'clock when Mrs. Fielding arose to read her paper beforethe national convention, and as she arose she was handed a telegram. Itwas from the committee.
"Patient seriously ill. Best possible medical attendance. Do not worry."
Mrs. Fielding read it and walked to the rostrum. "President and ladies,"her paper began, "my child is an example of the benefits of scientificmotherhood," but she did not read it so. As she stood facing heraudience, her paper trembled in her hand, and as she looked at the lineswritten upon it they said but one thing--"Patient seriously ill."
"President and ladies," she began, "my child is--my child is--" Thelines vanished and she faltered. "My child," she said, "is--is very illto-night. I must go, of course. You must excuse me," and she turned andfled.
It was rather odd that the first articulate word that Marjorie said inher life was uttered about that time. She had grown more irritableand had pushed away her father's hand and the drink that the privatesecretary offered her.
"What do you want, little girl?" Miss Vickers asked, and Marjorie, wholeweeks ahead of her schedule, said, "Ma-ma."