A Top-Floor Idyl

  CHAPTER XIII

  DR. PORTER GOES TO WORK

  On Saturday, I received the card Gordon had mentioned. It was atastefully engraved thing, merely announcing that the Van Rossums wouldbe at home on the Seventeenth of March, from four until seven. In acorner, in smaller letters, was written "To meet Mr. Gordon McGrath, N.A."

  I don't know whether I have mentioned the fact that Gordon is really anextremely handsome fellow, in a strong and masculine way, with apleasant voice and manners that can be quite exquisite, at least when heisn't talking to an old pal. I am not at all surprised that Miss Sophia,or any other woman, for that matter, should have been attracted by hislooks, while his great talent and growing reputation must have added tohis ability to find favor in her eyes. His is not a descent from an oldfamily, I believe, for the dead and gone McGraths dealt in pottery, in asmall way, and left him about a thousand dollars a year, upon which hemanaged to go abroad and study art, to return, at last, and take NewYork by storm, at least from the standpoint of portrait painting. Theyoung lady, I am sure, is a woman of ready affection, of easyenthusiasms and hopeful disposition. I honestly believe that shedeserves much happiness and that she is capable of giving a sturdy loveto a decent fellow, who will not interfere too much with her passion forvarious sports. An uncomfortable feeling comes to me that she is worthyof something better than Gordon will give her. I may be an old donkey,but, for the life of me, I can see no indication of true love in hisfeelings. The thought is rather revolting that he is marrying her as amere incident in a line of conduct mapped out long ago, and it makes mefeel less friendly to him. If my deductions are correct, there can be noexcuse for a behavior which bears the earmarks of cynicism and coldcalculation carried too far. May I be forgiven, if I err. Indeed, Iearnestly hope that I am mistaken and that he is a man who concealssentiments really creditable to him under an exterior less attractive.

  Frieda and Frances were in my room, that afternoon, when the cardarrived. I passed it to Frieda, who handed it over to her friend. Thereception referred to led the former to some discussion of prevailingfashions. The painter of Orion dresses in a manner all her own, whilethe slender purse of Frances compels a garb of nearly monasticsimplicity. But they appear to have a great knowledge of stylishclothing and an interest in it, which must be rather an instinct thanthe result of deep study.

  I have not mentioned Gordon's engagement to them, probably for thereason that the subject is somewhat distasteful to me. Since my friendhas not spoken of it to his model, there is no particular reason why Ishould do so. Let him attend to his own announcing.

  In the evening, I took both of them to the movies. This was the resultof a conspiracy between Frieda and myself, as we had agreed that itwould be best to try and amuse Frances, if possible, and make her forgetthe morrow's ordeal. Yet, on our way home, the poor child could not helpmentioning it.

  "He says that my throat is beautifully trained and he can touch allsorts of things in it, now, with his instruments. I no longer mind it inthe least. He tells me that he doesn't think it will hurt me, but, ofcourse, I care nothing about a little pain. He's an awfully good fellow.What I'm afraid of is that it will do no good and that I shall never beable to use my voice again. I'm awfully hoarse now."

  It was quite true that her voice was more husky, and the element ofsadness in it made it sound worse. She spoke very low as she bade usgood night, for I was going to take Frieda home.

  In the morning I rose at an unearthly hour, spurred by the knowledgethat I was going to the doctor's with Frances at eleven o'clock. I wasbathed, shaved and clad in my Sunday suit by nine, after which I wentout and brought back an armful of Sunday papers, which I tossed on mytable and never looked at.

  Soon afterwards, Eulalie came in, rather bashfully, to ask me if I couldlend Madame Dupont the _Courier_. Also, she confided to me the fact thatshe was to mind Baby Paul during our absence.

  "The doctor is going to cut the poor lamb's throat and it is terrible,Monsieur, but she is not afraid. I am going away for a half an hour now,because it will do no harm to burn a candle before the Blessed Virginfor the success of the operation. Yes, I think I will put two candles.Now if Monsieur believed----"

  I swiftly pulled a bill from my trousers pocket.

  "Here, Eulalie, is a dollar," I told her. "You will be so good as todispose of it as if I were a brother to a cardinal. Faith, I believe,comes before hope and charity. Would that mine were as strong as yourown, especially as concerns a certain friend of mine. Hurry away andreturn with seven-leagued boots."

  "Monsieur is a very good man; any one can see that. _Ca vous porterabonheur._"

  Her assurance that my offering would bring me happiness comforted me, Ithink. Few of us can resist the temptation to think that luck is a mannawhose falling may occasionally be guided by our actions, and thatill-chance may be averted by touching wood or, as is the way ofItalians, extending the fore and little finger as a safeguard againstthe evil eye.

  For a time, I sought to read, but the pages of the Sunday papers seemedto be blurred. I paced the room, nervously, thinking of Gordon and ofFrances. The latter had described her recent visits to the studio asfunereal functions, during which Gordon painted fast and doggedly, whilebiting at the stem of an empty pipe, and occasionally swore at thecanvas. Sometimes, he tired her nearly to death, working for hourswithout interruption, while, on other occasions, he insisted on herresting every few minutes and called himself a brute for takingadvantage of her patience.

  "But then, you know, Mr. McGrath is a very peculiar man," she said, asif this condoned all his faults.

  Presently, Eulalie returned, knocking violently at my door, and assuredme that every cent of my dollar was now burning brightly, where it woulddo most good, and informed me that the two ladies were waiting for me.

  "It is time to go, Dave," said Frieda, who seemed to be making hardweather of her efforts at composure. "Frances is all ready and Baby Paulis sleeping. Eulalie will take the best care of him. Come along!"

  And so we trooped off to Dr. Porter's office. He was waiting for us,clad in an immaculate white jacket. Frances entrusted her hat to Friedaand sat down quietly on a chair in a dark corner. Porter drew down someblinds, whereby we were plunged in semi-darkness, and turned on apowerful light which strongly illumined a small circle of his patient'sface. I was sitting down on a sofa, rather close to Frieda. A fewmoments later we were leaning on one another for support. One of hergood fat hands was trembling a little, in mine, which may possibly havebeen similarly affected.

  "We'll take lots of time," I heard Porter say. "Yes, this is novocaine.Open wide now--breathe through your mouth--slowly. That's very good--nowrest a little. Once again, I want to get a thorough anaesthesia--anotherlittle rest--we are in no hurry. Don't be afraid. You have thefinest throat to work on I ever saw, a superb control over it. Thatcomes from all the training I have given you--now the last touch ofnovocaine--that's all right--you'll feel nothing--I'm very sure."

  Frieda was digging her nails into my hand, excruciatingly, and we bothbreathed hard as we saw Porter take up other long and shiny tools thatgleamed in the obscurity. He was doing something with them, quietly,with a constant flow of encouraging language. I wondered how the man'svoice could remain so calm. Frieda's left heel rested for a moment on myright big toe, crushingly, but she knew not what she was doing, and Ibore the torture without a cry, till I could push her away. I had notrealized that a man could suffer so much. And Porter was still workingaway, looking ghostly in the penumbra. Then, suddenly, he let out anejaculation imitated from the Comanches, rose from his chair, ran to thewindow and admitted a flood of light that nearly blinded us. Frieda,shamefaced, lifted her head from my shoulder and rose with incredibleswiftness.

  "Is--is it all over?" she asked, tremulously.

  "Surest thing you know," replied our young friend. "The finest littlegrowth upon the right chord you ever saw. I had made up my mind not togo at it halfcocked, and that's why I've taken so much time to get herso tha
t a fellow could do anything he wanted to her larynx. But it pays,I can tell you!"

  "And--and will I be able to sing again?" asked Frances, hoarsely.

  "You will have to use your voice just as little as possible for a fewdays," he answered. "Not a word more than you can help. I hope--Ibelieve that you will be able to sing again, after the chord heals up,but you must not try for a long time. And then it will take a lot ofpractice, of course, because your throat has forgotten nearly all itever knew about singing. It will have to come back slowly and gradually.Be sure and come in to-morrow and let me have a look at it."

  Frances thanked him, huskily, and Frieda and I wrung his hand. Afterthis we left, in the bright sunshine of a day of cloudless skies, andreturned to Mrs. Milliken's, where I left the two women at the door,returning a half an hour later with a small bunch of pink roses. When Ireached my landing, her door was open; Frieda was at work with a crochetneedle on a diminutive blue sock, while Frances was lying down on thesofa. She never looked up as I came in, for her lovely head was bentdown towards the sleeping mite.

  Her lovely head was bent down towards the sleeping mite]

  "Maybe I shall sing to you after all, _mon petit Paul cheri_," shesaid, hoarsely, and looked up at me, a few tears in her eyes vanishingas she saw the buds I was bringing her.

  My finger went to my mouth, as an invitation to silence.

  "You have spoken to Master Paul," I said, "and we will have to forgiveyou. It would have been cruel to forbid you such small comfort. But now,Frieda and I are to attend to all the conversation, for you are to keepas silent as the Sphynx. Eulalie, will you be so kind as to put theseflowers in water?"

  A moment later came up a messenger with a box, an oblong cardboard thingof immense size. I signed his ticket and bestowed ten cents upon him,because he had curly hair and a snub nose. Then, at a signal fromFrances, I opened the box, from which cascaded American Beauties, liliesof the valley and several sprigs of white lilac. I handed the enclosedcard to the little mother. She had been staring at the flowers and gazedat the pasteboard in wonder. Then she passed it over to me. It was oneof Gordon's, marked "With best wishes. Please don't think of coming fora few days until you are quite well."

  "Isn't it nice of him!" exclaimed Frieda, rushing out of the room.

  Presently, she returned, bearing two icewater pitchers and a dreadfulchina vase in which she disposed the flowers, placing them on themantel-piece. But I was touched when I saw that she put my little roseson the table, in the middle of the room, and told Frances what adelightful odor they had.

  "I--I never told him I was going to have the operation," whispered thelatter.

  "I think I mentioned it to him a few days ago," I said, "and heevidently remembered."

  "Gordon is the dearest fellow," declared Frieda. "Frances, you will haveto sit down and write him a little note, this evening. And now lie downagain on the sofa, my dear, and I'll read the paper to you, if you like.Here is the fashion part of the _Times_. There is not the slightestdoubt that skirts are going to be worn short and somewhat fuller thanlast year, and the footwear is going to be very elaborate. For my part,I refuse to wear shoes with white uppers because they make fat ankleslook ever so much bigger. Oh! Just look at this design for an eveningdress!"

  I withdrew, seeing them so well occupied. It was only then that Iremembered I had had no breakfast, so I took my hat and went out for asolitary refection of coffee and omelette. Passing in front of theerstwhile dyeing and cleaning establishment, I noted that much blisteredpaint had been scraped off and read a sign stating that the shop wouldbe opened again in a couple of weeks. This looked hopeful; once againwill the wind be tempered to the poor lamb. Gordon will finish hispicture and she will return to keeping accounts and advising anxiousladies as to the possibilities of renovating sere and yellow waists andskirts. It does not seem probable to me that she will sing again, inspite of the ordeal she has been through. It would sound like too good athing to be true, and she can't speak above a whisper.

  Later in the afternoon, after I had taken a hygienic walk, followed bythe absorption of varied information from the papers, Frieda came inagain. She considers Frances as a person requiring the utmost care andhas brought her a pink shawl to put over her shoulders. I have seen ithang for years from a gas-fixture in Frieda's parlor.

  When I proposed the usual refection of tea, Frieda held my arm as if thelittle pot I brandished had been a lethal weapon, with which I expectedto destroy our patient. How could I venture on the responsibility ofgiving Frances tea without knowing whether it would be good for her? Ideclared that I would go and find out, and clattered down the stairs,rushing over to Porter's. The street was steeped in sabbatical peace andI reflected that the doctor would probably be out, attending to hisgrowing practice and soothing the fevered brow. The rather slouchy maidof all work opened the door. Looking down the hall I saw Porter's redhead issuing cautiously from the edge of a portiere. A look of reliefcame to his features, and he came to me.

  "Anything wrong?" he asked.

  "No, I came to find out whether it is safe to give Mrs. Dupont a cup oftea?"

  "Yes, and anything else she wants. Don't you want to come in the officeand meet some fellows? We are playing penny ante. You'll take a hand,won't you?"

  "Young man," I said, severely, "gambling is frowned upon by the police."

  "Well, the sergeant of the precinct is one of us," he replied. "Plays amighty good hand."

  "Then you have my blessing," I replied, "but I can't accept. I must goback at once and make the tea. Another time I shall be delighted to losemy coppers to one of our brave defenders. Good-by and good luck to you!"

  I went away, clad with authority to dispense the cup that cheers, andreflected with regret that Gordon would no longer drop in, as he hadbeen wont to. All his spare hours he would now spend with Miss VanRossum. I supposed that they would sit on a sofa and hold hands, a goodpart of the time, unless this occupation be also one of the manyinventions issued from the brains of fervid writers. But why do I keepon thinking about him? I am beginning to disapprove of him, and he isdrifting away from me. He has crossed a Rubicon and left no bridge forme to go over. I would give anything to know that he is desperately inlove with Miss Van Rossum. It would exalt him in my eyes. Her wealthmeans nothing. True love comes in spite of iron bars or golden ingots.In his attractive personality and wonderful talent he has fully as muchto offer as the young woman can bestow upon him. The question before meis whether he is really giving her all he has; his heart as well as hisgenius; his faith and passion as well as the solitaire she is wearing. Ihope I am not unjust to him. But whether I am or not, I presume I am nowdestined to see little of him. It makes me rather sad to think that onemore of my few golden links of friendship is to be broken or slowlydissolved.

  For a few moments I stood before the outer door, with the latch-key inmy hand, cogitating so deeply that I forgot to fit it in the lock.Presently, I sighed and went in, making my way up the stairs quiteslowly and heavily, as if a few more years had suddenly piled themselvesup on my head. The ancient stair-carpet looked more than usuallyunattractive and the wallpaper more decrepit. The fourth step on thesecond flight, ever inclined to complain, positively groaned under myweight, perhaps mistaking me for Frieda.

  Finally I reached my landing.

  "He's such a dear old stick-in-the-mud," I heard. "Never happy unlesshe's worrying over some lost sheep or puzzling over the way of beingkind to some one. Frieda, you ought to take him by the nape of the neck,hale him to the Bureau of Licenses, and thence to a parson. After thatyou could roll him up in cotton-batting and make him happy all hislife."

  "I'm much too busy," replied Frieda, laughing, "and I don't really thinkhe would like it."

  I took a few quick steps and the three looked up. Gordon was sitting onthe corner of the bed, looking very fine with a gardenia in hisbuttonhole. Frieda's face was expanded in the fat and lovable smile italways bears when any one speaks of her marrying. Frances just welcomedm
e as usual, with a look of her wonderful eyes.

  "Hello, Gordon! What's new?" I asked him, rather embarrassed.

  "Nothing very much," he replied. "Thought I'd like a cup of tea."