'Doc.' Gordon

by Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman

  CHAPTER X

  Mrs. Slocum looked at the doctor with a wide gape of surprise.

  "Thought you knew," said she. "His name is Meserve, Mr. Edward Meserve,and if he has come and went, and not told where, he was good pay, and ifhe was took sick whilst he was to my house, I could have asked twice asmuch as I did before. I'd like to know what right you had to take myboarder to the hotel. He was my boarder. He wan't your boarder. I wanthim fetched right back. That's what I have came for."

  "Mrs. Slocum," said Gordon in a hard voice, "Mr. Meserve is too sick tobe moved, and his disease may be contagious. You might lose all yourother boarders, and whether he recovers or not, you would be obliged tofumigate your house, and have his room repapered and plastered."

  "He's got money enough to pay for it," Mrs. Slocum said doggedly.

  "How do you know?"

  "You think he ain't?"

  Gordon looked imperturbable.

  "He always paid me regular, and he ain't been to meals or to home nightstwo-thirds of the time."

  Gordon said nothing.

  "You mean if my other boarders went, and the room had to be done over,he ain't got money enough to make it good?"

  Gordon said nothing. The woman fidgeted. "Well," said she, "if there'sany doubt of it, mebbe he _is_ better off here." Suddenly she gave asuspicious glance at Gordon. "Say," said she, "the room here will haveto be done over. Who's goin' to pay for that?"

  "The room is isolated," replied Gordon briefly.

  The woman stared. She evidently did not know the meaning of the word.

  "Well," said she at last, "if the room _is_ insulted, it will have to bedone over. Who's going to pay for that?"

  "I am."

  "Well, I don't see why you couldn't pay _me_ for that as well as Mr.Evans."

  "Don't you?"

  "No."

  "Well, I do. Now, Mrs. Slocum, I really have no more time to waste. Mr.Meserve is a very sick man, and I have to go to him. I came down hereto consult with my assistant, and you have hindered us. Good-day!"

  But the woman still stood her ground. "I'm goin' to see him," she said."He's my boarder."

  "You will do so at your own risk, and also, if your call should proveinjurious to him, at a risk of being indicted for manslaughter, besidespossibly catching the disease."

  "You say it's ketching?"

  "I said it might be. We have not yet entirely formed our diagnosis."

  The woman stared yet again. Then she turned about with a switch whichdisclosed fringy black petticoats and white stockings. "Well, form yournoses all you want to," said she. "You have took away my boarder, an' ifhe gits well, and it ain't ketchin', I'll have the law on ye."

  Gordon drew a deep breath when the door closed behind her. "It seemssometimes to me as if comedy were the haircloth shirt of tragedy," hesaid grimly. "Well, Elliot, we will go upstairs and begin the fight. Iam going to fight to the death. I shall remain here to-night. You willhave to look after my other patients when you leave here. I am sorry toput so much upon you."

  "Oh, that's all right," said James, following Gordon upstairs. But as hespoke he wondered more and more that this man, after what he had knownof him, should be of more importance to Gordon than all others.

  Even during the short time they had been downstairs the angry red aroundthe abrasion on the cheek had widened, and widened toward the head.Gordon opened his medicine-case and took out a bottle and hairbrush andcommenced work. Directly the entire cheek was blackened with theapplication of iron. Georgie K. had brought glasses, and medicine hadbeen forced into the patient's mouth. "Now go and have some eggnogmixed, Georgie K.," said Gordon, "and bring it here yourself, if youwill. I hate to trouble you."

  "That's all right, Doc," said Georgie K., and went.

  James remained only a short time, since he had the other calls to make.He returned quite late to find that dinner had been kept waiting forhim, and Clemency in her pretty red gown was watching. Mrs. Ewing hadnot come down all day. "Mother says she is easier," Clemency observed,"only she thinks it better to keep perfectly still." Clemency said verylittle about the man at the hotel. She seemed to dread the very mentionof him. She and James spent a long evening together, and she wasentirely charming. James began to put behind him all the mystery anddark hints of evil. Clemency, although fond, was as elusive as abutterfly. She had feminine wiles to her finger tips, but she was quiteinnocent of the fact that they were wiles. It took the whole evening forthe young man to secure a kiss or two, and have her upon his knee forthe space of about five minutes. She nestled closely to him with alittle sigh of happiness for a very little while, then she slipped away,and stood looking at him like an elf. "I am not going to do that much,"said she.

  "Why not, darling?"

  "Because I am not. It is silly. I love you, but I will not be silly. Iwant only what will last. The love will last, but the silliness won't.We are going to be married, but I shall not want to sit on your knee allthe time, and what is more, you will not want me to. Suppose we shouldlive to be very old. Who ever saw a very old woman sitting on her veryold husband's knee? The love will last, but that will not. We will nothave so very much of that which will not last."

  For all that, James caught Clemency and kissed her until her soft facewas crimson, but he said to himself, when he was in his own room, thatnever was a girl so wise, and how much more he wanted to hold her uponhis knee--as if he had not already held her there--and yet she was notcoquettish. She was simply earnest, with an odd, wise, childlikeearnestness.

  Early the next morning James went to the hotel, and found Gordon haggardand intense, sitting beside his patient, who was evidently worse. Theterrible red fire of Saint Anthony had mounted higher, and settledlower. "It has attacked his throat now," Gordon said in a whisper. "Iexpect every minute it will reach his brain. When it does, nobody butyou and I must be with him, not even Georgie K. He is getting some rest.He was up half the night, bless him! But when it reaches the brain twowill be needed here, and the two must be you and I. Take this list, andmake the calls as quickly as you can, and come back here." James, with alast glance at the black and swollen face of the man, who now seemed tobe in a state of coma, obeyed. He hurried through his list, andreturned. He found no apparent change in the patient, and tried topersuade Gordon to take a little rest, but the elder man was obdurate."No" he said, "here I stay. I have had a bit to eat and drink. You godown yourself and get something, then come back. The crisis may arriveany second. Then I shall need you."

  The fire had outstripped the blackness on the man's cheek toward thetemple. One eye was closed.

  When James returned after a hurried lunch, he heard a loud, terriblevoice in the room. Outside the door a maid stood with a horrified facelistening. James grasped her roughly by the shoulder. "Get out of this,"he ordered. "If I find you or any one else here listening, you'll besorry for it."

  The maid gasped out an excuse and fled. James tried the door, but it waslocked. "Is that you, Elliot?" called Gordon above the other awfulvoice.

  "Yes."

  The door was unlocked, and James sprang into the room, but he was hardlyquick enough, for the man was almost out of bed, when the two doctorsforced him back with all their strength. Then he sat up and raved, andsuch raving! James felt his very blood cold within him. Revelations asof a devil were in those ravings. Once in a while James opened the doorcautiously to be sure that no one was listening. The raving manreiterated names as of a multitude. Gordon's was among them, and manynames of women, one especially--Catherine. He repeated that name morefrequently than the others, but the others were legion. There wassomething indescribably horrible in hearing this repetition of names ofunknown people, accompanied with statements beyond belief regarding themand the raving man. Gordon's face was ghastly, and so was the youngerdoctor's. "Look and see if any one is listening, for God's sake," Gordongasped, after one terrific outburst, and James looked, but Georgie K.was keeping watch that nobody approached the door.

  James never knew how l
ong he was in that room with Gordon listening tothose frenzied ravings, and striving with him to keep the man frominjuring himself. The daylight waned, James lighted a lamp. Then amighty creaking was heard outside, and Georgie K., himself bearing agreat supper tray, knocked at the door. "It's me, and I brought yousomething," he shouted, and then they heard his retreating footsteps.Much delicacy was there in Georgie K., and much affection for DoctorGordon.

  James brought in the tray, and now and then he and Gordon took advantageof a slight lull to take a bite, but neither had any desire for food. Itwas only the instinctive sense that they must keep up their strength inorder that nobody else should hear what they were hearing, that forcedthem to eat and drink. Well into the evening the ravings stoppedsuddenly, the man fell back upon his pillow, and lay still. Jamesthought at first that all was over, but presently stertorous breathingbegan.

  "Now get Georgie K. up," Gordon said hoarsely. "There is no further needfor us to be alone, and there will be directions to be given."

  James went out and found Georgie K. sitting up in his bar-room.

  "Doctor Gordon wants you," he said.

  "How is he?" asked Georgie K., following James.

  "Dying."

  Georgie K. made an indescribable sound in his throat as the two menascended the stair.

  The man was a long time dying. It seemed to James as if that awfulstruggle of the soul for release from the body would never cease. Heknew, or thought he knew, that there was no suffering to the dying man,but, after all, the sounds as of suffering seemed almost to prove it.Gordon whispered for a while to Georgie K., as if the dying man might bedisturbed by audible speech. Then Georgie K. tiptoed out in his creakingboots, and James knew that some arrangements were to be perfected forthe last services to the dead. Gordon stood over the bed, with his ownface as ghastly as that of its occupant. James dared not speak to him.

  It was midnight when the dreadful breathing ceased, and there wassilence. Georgie K. had returned. The three living men looked at oneanother with ghastly understanding of what had happened, then theyhastily arranged some matters. The dead man was decently composed anddressed, his throat swathed anew in linen handkerchiefs, and anotherhandkerchief laid over the discolored face, which had in death a strangepeace, as if relieved of an uneasy and wearing tenant. Before Georgie K.went out, the village undertaker had been summoned, and had been waitingfor some time in the parlor with a young assistant. They mounted thestairs bearing some appurtenances of their trade. Gordon addressed theundertaker briefly, giving some directions, then he motioned to James,and they passed out. Georgie K. remained in the room. He prevented theundertaker from removing the linen swathe on the dead man's throat. "Docsays it's catching," he said, and the undertaker drew back quickly.

  When Gordon and James were in the buggy on the way home, Gordon all atonce gave a great sigh, like that of a swimmer who yields to the forceof the current, or the fighter who sinks before his opponent. "I'm aboutdone, too," he said. "Here, take the lines, Elliot."

  James took the reins and looked anxiously at his companion's face, apale blue in the moonlight. "You are not ill?" he said.

  "No, only done up. For God's sake let me rest, and don't talk till weget home!" James drove on. Gordon's head sank upon his breast, and hebegan to breathe regularly. He did not wake until James roused him whenthey reached home.

  * * * * *

  The next morning before breakfast James was awakened by a loud voice inthe office, the high-pitched one of a woman. He recalled how exhaustedDoctor Gordon had been the night before, and rose and dressed quickly.When he entered the office Gordon was sitting huddled up in his oldarmchair before the fire, while bolt upright beside him sat Mrs. Slocum,discoursing in loud and angry tones, which Gordon seemed scarcely toheed. When James entered she turned upon him. "Now I'll see if I can gitanythin' out of you," she said. "He" (pointing to Gordon) "don't act asif he was half-alive. I'm goin' to have my rights if I have to go to lawto git 'em. Doctor Gordon took away my boarder. And if I'd had him sickand die to my house, I could have got extra. Now what I want is jestthis, an' I'm goin' to hev it, too! Doctor Gordon said Mr. Meservedidn't have money. I don't know nothin' about that. I ain't went throughhis pockets, but his trunk is to my house, and there's awful nice men'sclothes into it, and I mean to hev 'em. That ain't nothin' more'n fair.That's what I hev came here for, jest as soon as I heard the poor manhad passed away. I left my daughter to git the breakfast for theboarders, and I hev came here to see about that trunk, and hisn'sclothes."

  James laughed. "But, Mrs. Slocum," he said, "what on earth do you wantwith men's clothes? You can't wear them."

  To his intense surprise the great face of the woman suddenly reddenedlike that of a young girl, but the next moment she gave her head adefiant toss, and stared boldly at him. "What if I can't?" said she."There's other men as can wear 'em, and they'll jest fit Bill Todd. He'sbeen boardin' with me five year, and if he wants to git married and savehis board bill, it's his business and mine and nobody else's."

  James turned to Gordon, who seemed prostrated before this feminineonslaught. "Do you object to this woman's having the trunk?" he asked.

  Gordon made an effort and roused himself. "She can have it after I haveexamined it for papers," he said.

  "There ain't a scrap of writin' in the trunk," Mrs. Slocum vociferated."Me an' my boarder hev looked. There ain't no writin' an' no jewelry,an' no money. He used to carry his money with him, and he had a bankbook in his pocket, and a long, red book he used to git money out of thebank. I've seen 'em. Doctor Gordon said he didn't have no money. He didhev money. Once he left the long, red book on his bureau, and I lookedin it, and the leaves that are as good as money wan't a quarter tornout. I know he had money, an' I've been cheated out of it. But all I askis that trunk."

  "For God's sake take the trunk and clear out," shouted Gordon withunexpected violence, "but if there is a scrap of written paper in thattrunk, and you keep it, you'll be sorry."

  "There ain't," said the woman with evident truthfulness. She rose andclutched at the back of her skirt, and tugged at her boa and coat."Thank you, Doctor Gordon," said she. "When is the funeral goin' to be?"

  "Tell her to-morrow at two o'clock at the hotel, and tell her to leave,"said Gordon, and his voice was suddenly apathetic again.

  When the woman had gone Gordon turned to James. "How comedy will prickthrough tragedy," he said.

  "Yes," James answered vaguely. He looked anxiously at Gordon, whose eyeshad at once a desperate and an utterly wearied appearance. "I will makeall the arrangements for the funeral, if you wish, Doctor Gordon," hesaid. "I know the undertaker, and I can manage it as well as you. Youlook used up."

  "I am pretty nearly," muttered Gordon. Then he gave an almostaffectionate glance at James. "Do you think you can manage it?" he said.

  James smiled. "It is a new thing to me, but I have no doubt I can," hereplied.

  "You cannot imagine what a weight you would take off my shoulders. Don'tspare money. See to it that everything is good and as it should be. Thebills are to be sent to me."

  Gordon answered an unspoken question of James. "Yes," he said, "he hadmoney, a considerable fortune, and he has no heirs--at least, I am assure as I need be that he has none. In his pockets were two bank books,small check books, and a security register book. I have done them up ina parcel. See to it that they are buried with him."

  "But," said James.

  "Oh, yes, I know. Sooner or later there will be advertisements in thepapers, and that sort of thing, but that will pass. God knows I wouldnot touch his money with the devil's pitchfork, nor allow anybody whom Iloved to touch it. Let him be buried under the name by which he wasknown here. It is not the name, needless to say, on the bank books.While living under other than his rightful name, he must have gone toNew York in person to supply himself with cash. There was some twohundred dollars in bank notes in his wallet. That is with the otherthings. Let the whole be buried with him, and see to
it that Drake doesnot discover it. You had better take the parcel now. Open the rightdrawer of the table, and you will find it in the corner. Then, afterbreakfast, you had better see Drake at once. I will attend to thepatients to-day."

  "You are not able."

  "Able is a word which I have eliminated from my vocabulary as applied tomyself."

  The funeral, which was held the next afternoon in the parlor of thehotel, was at once a ghastly and a grotesque function. The two doctors,the undertaker and his assistant, Georgie K. and the bar-tender, andMrs. Slocum with a female friend, and a man, evidently the boarder towhom she had referred, were the only persons present. The boarder wore ahat which had belonged to the dead man. It was many sizes too large forhis grayish blond, foolish little head, and, when he put it on, itnearly obscured his eyes. Mrs. Slocum sniffed audibly through theservice, which was short, being conducted by the old Presbyterianclergyman of Alton. He hardly spoke above a whisper of "the stranger whohad passed from our midst into the beyond." His concluding prayer wasquite inaudible. Mrs. Slocum had brought a bouquet of cheerful pinkgeraniums from her window plants, which on the top of the closed blackcasket made an odd spot of color and life in the dim room. Among theblossoms were some rose-geranium leaves, whose fragrance seemed tomantle everything like smoke. While the clergyman conducted theinaudible services loud voices were heard in the bar-room, and the yelpof a dog. On one side of the house was the hush of death, on the otherthe din of life. James wondered what the clergyman found to say: allthat he had distinguished was the expression, "The stranger within ourmidst."

  It all seemed horribly farcical to him. The dead man in his casket hadno personality for him; the sniffs of Mrs. Slocum, her boarder with thehat, assumed, in his eyes, the character of a "Punch and Judy" show. Butalong with that feeling came the realization of a most terrible pathos.He felt a sort of pity for the dead man, whose very personality hadbecome nothing to him, and the pity was the greater because of that. Itbecame a pity for the very scheme of things, for man in the abstract,born perhaps, through no fault of his own, to sin and misery, bothmiserable and causing misery throughout his life, and then to end in thegrave, and vanish from the sight and minds of other men. He felt that itwould not be so sad if it were sadder, if Mrs. Slocum's sniffs had comefrom her heart, and not from her sentimentality. He felt that a funeralwhere love is not is the most mournful function on earth. Then, too, hefelt a great anxiety for Doctor Gordon, who sat shrugged up in his grayovercoat, with his gray grizzle of beard meeting the collar, and hisforehead heavily corrugated over pent and gloomy eyes.

  He was heartily glad when the service was over, when the casket had beenlowered into the grave, when the village hearse had turned off into astreet, the horse going at a sharp trot, and he and Doctor Gordon wereleft alone. He drove. Gordon sat hunched into a corner of the buggy, ashe had sat in the corner of the hotel parlor. James hesitated aboutsaying anything, but finally he spoke, he felt foolishly enough,although he meant the words to be comforting. "You did all you could tosave his life," he said.

  Gordon made no reply.

  When they reached the house, Clemency's head disappeared from thewindow, where she had evidently been watching. She met them at theoffice door, with an odd, shocked, inquiring expression on her littleface. James kissed her furtively, while Gordon's back was turned, as hedivested himself of his gray coat.

  "Dinner is nearly ready," Clemency said in an agitated voice.

  "How is she?" asked Gordon, then before she had time to reply, he addedalmost roughly, "What on earth are you fretting about?"

  "I am not fretting," Clemency answered in a weak little voice.

  "There is nothing in all this for you to concern yourself with. Put itout of your head!"

  "Yes, Uncle Tom."

  "How is she?"

  "She has been asleep all the afternoon."

  "She has not had another attack?"

  "No, Uncle Tom."

  Then the dinner-bell rang.

  To James's surprise, but everything surprised him now, Gordon seemed torecover his spirits. He ate heartily. He laughed and joked. After dinnerhe went upstairs to see Mrs. Ewing, and when he came down insisted thatJames should accompany him to the hotel for a game of euchre. Jameswould have preferred remaining with Clemency, whose eyes were wistful,but Gordon hurried him away. They remained until nearly midnight in theparlor, where the funeral had taken place a short time before, playingeuchre, telling stories, and drinking apple-jack. James noticed that thehotel man often cast an anxious and puzzled glance at Gordon. He beganto fancy that what seemed mirth and jollity was the mere bravado ofmisery and a ghastly mask of real enjoyment. He was glad when Gordonmade the move to leave. Georgie K. stood in the door watching the twomen untie the horse and get into the buggy. "Take care of yourself,Doc," he hallooed, and there was real affection and concern in hisvoice.

  Gordon drove now, and the mare, being on her homeward road, made goodtime. James helped Gordon unharness, as Aaron had gone to bed. His deepsnores sounded through the stable from his room above. "It's a pity towake up anything," Gordon said. "Guess well put the mare up ourselves."Now his voice was bitter again. Gordon had the key of the office door,and after locking the stable the two men entered. Gordon threw some woodon the fire. The lamp with its dangling prisms was burning. "Sit down aminute," Gordon said, "'I have something to tell you. I may as well getit off my mind now. It has got to come sometime."

  James sat down and lit a cigar. He felt himself in a nervous tension.Gordon filled his pipe and lit it, then he began to speak in an odd,monotonous voice, as though he were reciting.

  "That man's name was James Mendon. He was an Englishman. When I firstbegan practice it was in the West. That man had a ranch near the littletown where I lived with my sister Alice. Alice was a beautiful girl. Wehad lost our parents, and she kept house for me. The man was as handsomeas a devil, and he had the devil's own way with women. God only knowswhat a good girl like my sister saw in him. He had a bad name, even outin that rough country. Horrible tales were circulated about his crueltyto animals for one thing. His cowboys deserted him and told stories.His very dog turned on him, and bit him. God knows how he was torturingthe animal. I saw the scar on his hand when he lay on his death-bed.Well, however it was, my sister loved him and married him, and hetreated her like a fiend. She died, and it was a merciful release. Hedeserted her three months before her death. Sold out all he had, andleft her without a cent. She came back to me, and three months laterClemency was born."

  Gordon paused and looked at James. "Yes," he said, "that man wasClemency's father."

  He waited, but only for a second. The young man spoke, and his clearyoung voice rang out like a trumpet. "I never loved Clemency as I loveher now," he said.