Oh, he had met them both, those Brothers Wainwright, at the wedding; big, successful, kindly, blustering, but polished men of the world. Under the guise of a best man he had shaken their hands and let their hearty greetings at introduction roll off from his consciousness as something that didn’t mean a thing to him personally, being only a part of the wedding ceremonies.
But now, suddenly brought face-to-face with them in a personal way, with the weight of a great debt of gratitude to them hung about his neck, John Saxon was overwhelmed.
Mary Elizabeth saw and understood. It was like Mary Elizabeth to understand, even if he hadn’t been John Saxon, and dearly beloved. Mary Elizabeth had an understanding mind. And quickly she moved over to stand beside him and share the meeting, share the experience of whatever her man was passing through and take the sting with him, protect his pride with her own hands and her own smiles, so that its brave plumage should not be permanently damaged.
“It’s Dad and Uncle Bob!” she exclaimed, sliding her hand into John’s. “Oh, aren’t they the old darlings, John! They would leave their business and rush down to have fun with us when we arrive! They’re just like kids! They couldn’t wait to see you and to help all they could!”
Somehow her words, and her shining eyes that she lifted to John’s face, took the sting from the mortification and suddenly put him and his honored father on a level with the whole Wainwright tribe. It made him forget that he was poor and struggling and utterly presuming to dare to have aspired to the hand of Mary Elizabeth Wainwright, heir to millions, and choice of the whole universe of women.
Suddenly his hand folded the hand of Mary Elizabeth close in his own, and looking down into her shining, happy eyes, he felt for the first time utterly that he and she were one and that it didn’t matter if those two relatives out there on the sand had been a whole battalion of royal soldiers come out to battle with him for a princess. She would never leave him, nor would he have to let her go, for they belonged together, now and through eternity.
It was Sam who alighted first and did the honors of the ship as if he had been commander.
“Well, here we all are!” he announced importantly. “How are ya, Dad? Hello, Uncle Sam! All ready for us, aren’t ya? Well, we’re all okay!”
His father enveloped him quickly in a strong, possessive arm and said with a relieved voice, “Sure! I knew you would be! Great son you are, kid! I’m proud of you. How’s the invalid?”
“Oh, she’s fine. The doctor says it did her good! She’s a good sport, she is!” swaggered Sam, as if Mrs. Saxon were a protégée of his.
Then all was quiet orderliness. Mary Elizabeth’s father came forward and grasped John Saxon’s hand as he alighted from the ship.
“Glad to see you! So good you could bring your mother right here. Nothing like sea air. Now, here’s the stretcher. Think this will be comfortable for her? Get her right up to the house in a jiffy and into her bed. How do you want the stretcher set? Head this way? Frank can wheel it and we’ll steady it, or we could carry it if necessary. This the doctor? Glad to meet you, Doctor. Great work you’ve been doing, I hear. Now, we’re here to serve, just tell us how to move to cause the least excitement. And we’ve brought a wheelchair for Mr. Saxon—”
Quiet, pleasant, businesslike voice, steady, composed air as if they were all one family bent on doing the very best for the invalids. He was perfect, thought his daughter, listening with overflowing heart of joy. Dear Dad!
With the least noise and fuss possible, the little procession formed, bearing the invalid gently, steadily up the beach, into the great grilled gateway, under the whispering pines, and into the hospitable old-fashioned mansion.
“I’m Mary Elizabeth’s father,” said Samuel Wainwright to the invalid just before they started, “and we’re very glad to welcome you. Now we aren’t going to bother you with any more introductions today, till you’re rested from your journey!” Mother Saxon lifted her sweet eyes and smiled, and the brothers dropped behind to escort Father Saxon in his wheelchair as if he were a king among his subjects.
So they came down from the sky and went up from the sea, and the old Wainwright summer home came to life after many years of quietness.
Before she could possibly realize what was happening, Mother Saxon was tenderly lifted and laid in the softest bed on which she had ever been and was swallowing a glass of orange juice in a fragrant darkened room, with flowers dimly lifting fairy faces in quiet corners. There was the dull gleam of old mahogany, the smooth feel of linen sheets and pillowcases, the soft murmur of whispering pines above, the deep undertone of the ocean not far away, all mingling softly into a delicious, sleepy atmosphere, with the memory of Mary Elizabeth’s soft lips brushing her forehead, and her boy John’s tender pat on her hand. Could a mortal happy woman keep awake under those circumstances?
The doctor tiptoed in, touched her wrist, and her brow, winked in satisfaction at the nurse and nodded his approval, tiptoed out again, and she never knew it.
Out around the side of the house, Mother Saxon’s beloved sat in a deep, comfortable chair with his hurt foot on a cushion and enjoyed a real old-time talk with men of his own age and education, discovering mutual friends, similar experiences, and links of their younger days that made them friends at once. Till Mary Elizabeth and his son, John, suddenly descended upon him and swept him off to the little room adjoining the invalid’s room and made him take a nap.
Cousin Richie had taken the doctor up the beach fifty miles or so in his plane to visit a convalescent patient about whom he was a bit anxious, Mary Elizabeth and John had gone off down the beach hand in hand, and it was then that young Sam had his innings, sitting on the side steps with his father and his uncle Sam, who were lying back in two big old beach chairs, listening to him proudly.
By the time the rest came back there was not an incident of the trip down and back that had not been recounted, and the two old men had laughed till they wept over the story of the deflated tires and Boothby Farwell wallowing in the sand, shaking his fist at the departing plane.
“Well, Samuel,” said Robert Wainwright at last, wiping the tears from his pleased old face, “all I’ve got to say is, that girl of yours is as smart as they make ’em. She knows her business! And she certainly has picked a rare one! I like that John Saxon! Even if my Jeff hadn’t picked him first as the best man he knew, I’d still have liked him!”
“Yes,” said Mary Elizabeth’s father, with a faraway look in his eyes, “I consider that I’ve had a very narrow escape, to say nothing of Mary Elizabeth! Of course, we may be a little premature. They haven’t said anything about it, but it sorta looks that way.” And he nodded down toward the beach where a man and a maid could be seen walking very slowly along the bright sand.
“It certainly does!” agreed the uncle. “No mistake about that. Haven’t I just been through one wedding? Can’t I tell the look in the eye of a young lover? You certainly had a narrow escape, if you ever considered that young ape of a Farwell in the light of a son-in-law.”
“Well, I didn’t know what to think at one time there. I didn’t know but I was going to have to take Mary Elizabeth around the world again, or up to the moon or something. I guess I’ve got young Sam to thank for showing him up several times! Good work, kid! Good work! I shan’t forget it! Mary Elizabeth was telling me something about some empty bottles in a case of liquor. Sam ever tell you that tale and the mystery of how they got empty? Get him to tell you that, Bob. It’s a good one!”
And then they were off again, listening to young Sam and laughing.
The days went by, and the invalid improved by leaps and bounds. Dr. MacKelvie lingered a few days to be sure that all was well and then hurried away to his neglected vacation and patients, returning occasionally when Cousin Richie brought him down for a day or two to watch Mother Saxon.
The summer was slipping away fast now, and the invalid was able to walk on the piazza a few steps every day, leaning on the arm of her strong son. Sometimes Mary Elizabet
h walked on her other side, encouraging her.
There came a day when John felt he might be spared to run up to New York for another interview with the great man who was to be his instructor during the winter.
While he was gone Mary Elizabeth and Sam took the honors of looking after the invalid upon themselves. Of course the nurse was there yet, but Mary Elizabeth knew that Mrs. Saxon felt a little formal with her, in spite of the long weeks of her ministrations. So when the invalid was taken out on the piazza, either to walk or just to sit and enjoy the air and listen to the beating of the waves or to watch a white sail flit, it was Mary Elizabeth who came out and occupied a chair nearby with a nice book, often reading aloud to her; and it was Sam, with his knife and a stick, who sat on the top step not far away, whittling, sometimes softly whistling, ready to run for a glass of milk or orange juice or a cup of broth or the medicine.
Sam was very happy in these days. It seemed to him that these last few weeks had been a special dispensation of Providence to show him exactly what heaven was going to be like someday.
He had been almost entirely free from being told what to do, or what not to do. In fact, he didn’t seem to want to do anything except what the people around him desired. He had had long hours of close companionship with his beloved hero-doctor, walking on the beach, fishing, crabbing, swimming, and often getting a Bible lesson when he least expected it.
Mary Elizabeth, too, had often been with them, and that made it all the better. Sam believed that there were no two better in all the world than Mary Elizabeth and John Saxon. And he often marveled that they were willing to have him around when they were together. He had noticed that the way of the world with a man and a maid was that they had no time for small boys. So he adored them all the more and was most humble and grateful and as unobtrusive as possible.
In some of the long walks with John Saxon he had learned of a boys’ school not far from home, where there were Christian teachers and where many of the boys were Christians also. Listening to his friend’s stories of the headmaster of that school, Sam had acquired a deep desire to attend it.
He broached the matter to his father one weekend when he came down to the shore to see if his son was in the way and ought to be removed. His father had been interested, had read the catalogs carefully that Sam diligently acquired, and had written to the headmaster, finally giving his consent that Sam should go. Sam felt that a new world was opening before him. Of course, there might be trouble when his mother arrived on the scene. This calamity was due to happen almost any day now, Sam realized, for it was getting toward the time for migrations back to the city, but his father had given him his word of honor that he would tell his mother that he felt it was time that Sam had a change of environment and that his father should choose the next school, because Sam was growing up. Jeff had written also his hearty approval of the plan, added his own knowledge of the headmaster to the argument, and promised to speak to his mother. There was due to be a battle, of course, but Sam had reasonable hopes of coming out victorious, and so he was very happy.
Mary Elizabeth had a quiet, starry look in her eyes as she went about humming snatches of little tunes. Sam was sure she was happy.
One day her father, talking to her over the telephone, happened to mention a matter that the summer had entirely erased from his memory until then.
“Say, Mary Elizabeth, do you know, I promised Jeff that I would get you to run out sometime this summer and see if Camilla’s mother is getting on all right, and it entirely slipped my mind. It won’t be long now before Camilla and Jeff will be coming back from their trip, and I’d hate to say I hadn’t even told you. I had it in mind that you might ask her and her companion down for a weekend sometime this summer, but I guess that’s out of the question now, isn’t it, while the folks are there? Might be too many for the invalid. But can’t you get away to run up to the city for a day and go out and call there?”
“Why, of course,” promised Mary Elizabeth. “I’ve meant to do that all summer, only there didn’t seem to be any time. But I’m coming up to the city tomorrow, Dad, and I’ll make it a point to call. I’ve got to get another nurse. The one we’ve had all along thinks she’s got to get back to New York to look after her affairs, so I said I’d try and get another. Sam’s driving up with me; he wants to see his father about his new school. Why can’t you come on back with us and stay over Sunday?”
“Well, perhaps,” said her father. “I’m glad you can see Jeff’s mother-in-law; that’s weighed on my mind.”
So Mary Elizabeth called on Camilla’s mother. To her delight, she discovered that the companion who was staying with her during Camilla’s absence was a trained nurse, and before the call was concluded Mary Elizabeth arranged that the two should come down to the shore for the next week, Nurse York taking the place that Nurse Noble would leave vacant in a few short days. It seemed an altogether happy arrangement. And so it proved to be.
John’s mother was delighted to have the mother of her son’s dearest friend to visit with, and the two dear elderly ladies spent pleasant hours on the piazza together, drinking in health, and conversing like two girls of their life’s experiences.
John came back from New York with a new light of hope in his eyes. He had not only made satisfactory arrangements about his winter’s work with the great specialist, but he had spent an evening with Dr. MacKelvie in his city office and had been offered an out-and-out partnership with that great man!
It would mean, of course, that his future was practically secured. A professional connection with Dr. MacKelvie was beyond compare. There was none better in the land.
“I’m getting old. I need help,” said the doctor. “My son, who had a bent toward medicine, is dead. I’ve never seen a man before that I cared to work with till I knew you. Will you come and join forces?” He had sat back in his chair and studied the face of the younger man with a kind of wistful yearning.
“But I’m not through my studies yet,” said John when he had recovered from his astonishment enough to speak. “I won’t be worth anything to you for some time.”
“That’s all right,” said the doctor wearily. “I want you to finish your course. But I believe you told me you were planning to work part-time? Well, why not work for me in what leisure you have, and gradually work into things? No, this isn’t a philanthropic proposition at all”—he waved his hand impatiently as he saw that John was going to offer objections—“I want you! I need you! There’ll be times when I can leave a matter with you that I wouldn’t trust with an ordinary assistant. See? Because I know you as a man, and I know you’ve got something that I can be sure to lean on. I need to lean on you sometimes when I’m hard pressed. Do you think you can stand it to hitch up for a time to an old, crotchety man who is getting near the end of his career? I’ll see that you don’t lose anything by it.”
The whole thing seemed too spectacular to be true, and on the way back to the shore, John began to strongly suspect that Mary Elizabeth was somehow at the bottom of such a wonderful proposition. But when he told her about it, he saw by her quick surprise and delight that it was as much a surprise to her as to him.
“It means,” said John, with a wonderful light in his face, “that now I can go to your father and put myself on something like a working basis with him. It’s time he understood how things are between you and me, Mary Elizabeth.”
“Yes?” said Mary Elizabeth, lifting her sparkling face with a twinkle in her eyes. “But you know, I sort of think he knows already.”
“You haven’t been telling him, Mary Elizabeth?” said John, suddenly appalled. “You know I asked you not to till I could have some definite financial future in view.”
“Oh, no!” said Mary Elizabeth. “I didn’t need to tell him. My father has average intelligence. He doesn’t need to be told what I like and what I don’t like.”
Mary Elizabeth’s father came down to the shore that night for the weekend, just to look his family over and see how things were
getting on. After dinner while it was yet sunset and the waves were tossing rubies and diamonds about on their crest, John and Mary Elizabeth’s father took a walk out along the many-colored sands together, while the younger man told of his love for Mary Elizabeth.
“Good news, Son!” said the old man in a hearty voice. “You couldn’t tell me anything that I’d like better! I never saw a man before that I was willing to have marry Mary Elizabeth, and there’s been a-plenty of ’em, I’m telling you! But I feel that you’ll be a real son, and I can welcome you heartily into the family. I’m going to feel comfortable about Mary Elizabeth with you for a husband. You see, I was beginning to be afraid I’d been mistaken about you two after all and maybe the way would still be open for that nincompoop Farwell yet. You never can tell what a woman will do, you know, and that Farwell has ways past finding out. I didn’t know but I might have to go out and shoot him or something to get rid of him, and I couldn’t die happy, leaving my girl open to such as he.”
“I wanted to tell you at once, sir,” said John eagerly, “but you see, I hadn’t so much as a shadow of prospect for the future until today.”
“Stuff and nonsense!” said the father, with happy eyes. “As if it wasn’t prospect enough just for you and Mary Elizabeth to be together. My girl will have enough for both of you, and you’re not to worry about prospects and money, do you understand, young man? You’ve got something worth far more than money. If we’d wanted more money, that cur Farwell has gobs of it. But we didn’t, Mary Beth and I, we wanted a real man, and I’m satisfied we’ve found him. You have my best wishes.”
Wainwright put out a strong hand in a hearty grasp, and John Saxon had a sudden rush of warm liking for his girl’s father come into his heart.
“There’s another thing, too, John,” said the older man. “Better get married right away. You’ll need your wife this winter in New York, and Mary Elizabeth needs you. It isn’t as if you don’t know your own minds, and I don’t see hanging around and being lonesome, when a question like that is really settled.”