Love Stories

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

  GOD'S FOOL

  I

  The great God endows His children variously. To some He givesintellect--and they move the earth. To some He allots heart--and thebeating pulse of humanity is theirs. But to some He gives only asoul, without intelligence--and these, who never grow up, but remainalways His children, are God's fools, kindly, elemental, simple, asif from His palette the Artist of all had taken one colour insteadof many.

  The Dummy was God's fool. Having only a soul and no intelligence, helived the life of the soul. Through his faded, childish old blueeyes he looked out on a world that hurried past him with, atbest, a friendly touch on his shoulder. No man shook his hand incomradeship. No woman save the little old mother had ever caressedhim. He lived alone in a world of his own fashioning, peopled bymoving, noiseless figures and filled with dreams--noiseless becausethe Dummy had ears that heard not and lips that smiled at akindness, but that did not speak.

  In this world of his there was no uncharitableness--no sin. Therewas a God--why should he not know his Father?--there were brasses toclean and three meals a day; and there was chapel on Sunday, whereone held a book--the Dummy held his upside down--and felt thevibration of the organ, and proudly watched the afternoon sunlightsmiling on the polished metal of the chandelier and choir rail.

  * * * * *

  The Probationer sat turning the bandage machine and watching theDummy, who was polishing the brass plates on the beds. The platessaid: "Endowed in perpetuity"--by various leading citizens, to whomGod had given His best gifts, both heart and brain.

  "How old do you suppose he is?" she asked, dropping her voice.

  The Senior Nurse was writing fresh labels for the medicine closet,and for "tincture of myrrh" she wrote absently "tincture of mirth,"and had to tear it up.

  "He can't hear you," she said rather shortly. "How old? Oh, I don'tknow. About a hundred, I should think."

  This was, of course, because of his soul, which was all he had, andwhich, having existed from the beginning, was incredibly old. Thelittle dead mother could have told them that he was less thanthirty.

  The Probationer sat winding bandages. Now and then they wentcrooked and had to be done again. She was very tired. The creakingof the bandage machine made her nervous--that and a sort ofdisillusionment; for was this her great mission, this sitting in asilent, sunny ward, where the double row of beds held only querulousconvalescent women? How close was she to life who had come to soothethe suffering and close the eyes of the dying; who had imagined thather instruments of healing were a thermometer and a prayer-book; andwho found herself fighting the good fight with a bandage machineand, even worse, a scrubbing brush and a finetooth comb?

  The Senior Nurse, having finished the M's, glanced up and surpriseda tear on the Probationer's round young cheek. She was wise, havingtrained many probationers.

  "Go to first supper, please," she said. First supper is the Senior'sprerogative; but it is given occasionally to juniors andprobationers as a mark of approval, or when the Senior is nothungry, or when a probationer reaches the breaking point, which isjust before she gets her uniform.

  The Probationer smiled and brightened. After all, she must be doingfairly well; and if she were not in the battle she was of it.Glimpses she had of the battle--stretchers going up and down in theslow elevator; sheeted figures on their way to the operating room;the clang of the ambulance bell in the courtyard; the occasional cryof a new life ushered in; the impressive silence of an old lifegoing out. She surveyed the bandages on the bed.

  "I'll put away the bandages first," she said. "That's what you said,I think--never to leave the emergency bed with anything on it?"

  "Right-oh!" said the Senior.

  "Though nothing ever happens back here--does it?'

  "It's about our turn; I'm looking for a burned case." TheProbationer, putting the bandages into a basket, turned and stared.

  "We have had two in to-day in the house," the Senior went on,starting on the N's and making the capital carefully. "There will bea third, of course; and we may get it. Cases always seem to run inthrees. While you're straightening the bed I suppose I might as wellgo to supper after all."

  So it was the Probationer and the Dummy who received the new case,while the Senior ate cold salmon and fried potatoes with otherseniors, and inveighed against lectures on Saturday evening andother things that seniors object to, such as things lost in thewash, and milk in the coffee instead of cream, and women from theAvenue who drank carbolic acid and kept the ambulance busy.

  The Probationer was from the country and she had never heard ofthe Avenue. And the Dummy, who walked there daily with thesuperintendent's dog, knew nothing of its wickedness. In his soul,where there was nothing but kindness, there was even a feeling oftenderness for the Avenue. Once the dog had been bitten by a terrierfrom one of the houses, and a girl had carried him in and washed thewounds and bound them up. Thereafter the Dummy had watched for herand bowed when he saw her. When he did not see her he bowed to thehouse.

  The Dummy finished the brass plates and, gathering up his rags andpolish, shuffled to the door. His walk was a patient shamble, but hecovered incredible distances. When he reached the emergency bed hestopped and pointed to it. The Probationer looked startled.

  "He's tellin' you to get it ready," shrilled Irish Delia, sitting upin the next bed. "He did that before you was brought in," she calledto Old Maggie across the ward. "Goodness knows how he finds out--buthe knows. Get the spread off the bed, miss. There's somethingcoming."

  * * * * *

  The Probationer had come from the country and naturally knew nothingof the Avenue. Sometimes on her off duty she took short walks there,wondering if the passers-by who stared at her knew that she was apart of the great building that loomed over the district, happilyignorant of the real significance of their glances. Once a girl,sitting behind bowed shutters, had leaned out and smiled at her.

  "Hot to-day, isn't it?" she said.

  The Probationer stopped politely.

  "It's fearful! Is there any place near where I can get some sodawater?"

  The girl in the window stared.

  "There's a drug store two squares down," she said. "And say, if Iwere you----"

  "Yes?"

  "Oh, nothing!" said the girl in the window, and quite unexpectedlyslammed the shutters.

  The Probationer had puzzled over it quite a lot. More than once shewalked by the house, but she did not see the smiling girl--only,curiously enough, one day she saw the Dummy passing the house andwatched him bow and take off his old cap, though there was no one insight.

  Sooner or later the Avenue girls get to the hospital. Sometimes itis because they cannot sleep, and lie and think things over--andthere is no way out; and God hates them--though, of course, there isthat story about Jesus and the Avenue woman. And what is the use ofgoing home and being asked questions that cannot be answered? Sothey try to put an end to things generally--and end up in theemergency bed, terribly frightened, because it has occurred to themthat if they do not dare to meet the home folks how are they goingto meet the Almighty?

  Or sometimes it is jealousy. Even an Avenue woman must love someone; and, because she's an elemental creature, if the object of heraffections turns elsewhere she's rather apt to use a knife or arazor. In that case it is the rival who ends up on the emergencybed.

  Or the life gets her, as it does sooner or later, and she comes inwith typhoid or a cough, or other things, and lies alone, day afterday, without visitors or inquiries, making no effort to get better,because--well, why should she?

  And so the Dummy's Avenue Girl met her turn and rode down the streetin a clanging ambulance, and was taken up in the elevator and alonga grey hall to where the emergency bed was waiting; and theProbationer, very cold as to hands and feet, was sending mentalappeals to the Senior to come--and come quickly. The ward got up onelbows and watched. Also it told the Probationer what to do.

  "Hot-water bottles
and screens," it said variously. "Take hertemperature. Don't be frightened! There'll be a doctor in a minute."

  The girl lay on the bed with her eyes shut. It was Irish Delia whosaw the Dummy and raised a cry.

  "Look at the Dummy!" she said. "He's crying."

  The Dummy's world had always been a small one. There was thesuperintendent, who gave him his old clothes; and there was theengineer, who brought him tobacco; and there were the ambulancehorses, who talked to him now and then without speech. And, ofcourse, there was his Father.

  Fringing this small inner circle of his heart was a kaleidoscope ofchanging faces, nurses, _internes_, patients, visitors--a wall oflife that kept inviolate his inner shrine. And in the holiest place,where had dwelt only his Father, and not even the superintendent,the Dummy had recently placed the Avenue Girl. She was his saint,though he knew nothing of saints. Who can know why he chose her? Aqueer trick of the soul perhaps--or was it super-wisdom?--to chooseher from among many saintly women and so enshrine her.

  Or perhaps---- Down in the chapel, in a great glass window, theyoung John knelt among lilies and prayed. When, at service onSundays, the sunlight came through on to the Dummy's polished choirrail and candles, the young John had the face of a girl, with shortcurling hair, very yellow for the colour scheme. The Avenue Girl hadhair like that and was rather like him in other ways.

  And here she was where all the others had come, and where countlessothers would come sooner or later. She was not unconscious and atDelia's cry she opened her eyes. The Probationer was off fillingwater bottles, and only the Dummy, stricken, round-shouldered,unlovely, stood beside her.

  "Rotten luck, old top!" she said faintly.

  To the Dummy it was a benediction. She could open her eyes. Themiracle of speech was still hers.

  "Cigarette!" explained the Avenue Girl, seeing his eyes still onher. "Must have gone to sleep with it and dropped it. I'm--all in!"

  "Don't you talk like that," said Irish Delia, bending over from thenext bed. "You'll get well a' right--unless you inhaled. Y'ought to'a' kept your mouth shut."

  Across the ward Old Maggie had donned her ragged slippers and a bluecalico wrapper and shuffled to the foot of the emergency bed. OldMaggie was of that vague neighbourhood back of the Avenue, wheresqualor and poverty rubbed elbows with vice, and scorned it.

  "Humph!" she said, without troubling to lower her voice. "I've seenher often. I done her washing once. She's as bad as they make 'em."

  "You shut your mouth!" Irish Delia rose to the defence. "She's introuble now and what she was don't matter. You go back to bed orI'll tell the Head Nurse on you. Look out! The Dummy----"

  The Dummy was advancing on Old Maggie with threatening eyes. As thewoman recoiled he caught her arm in one of his ugly, misshapen handsand jerked her away from the bed. Old Maggie reeled--almost fell.

  "You all seen that!" she appealed to the ward. "I haven't even spoketo him and he attacked me! I'll go to the superintendent about it.I'll----"

  The Probationer hurried in. Her young cheeks were flushed withexcitement and anxiety; her arms were full of jugs, towels,bandages--anything she could imagine as essential. She found theDummy on his knees polishing a bed plate, and the ward inorder--only Old Maggie was grumbling and making her way back to bed;and Irish Delia was sitting up, with her eyes shining--for had notthe Dummy, who could not hear, known what Old Maggie had said aboutthe new girl? Had she not said that he knew many things that werehidden, though God knows how he knew them?

  The next hour saw the Avenue Girl through a great deal. Her burnswere dressed by an _interne_ and she was moved back to a bed at theend of the ward. The Probationer sat beside her, having refusedsupper. The Dummy was gone--the Senior Nurse had shooed him off asone shoos a chicken.

  "Get out of here! You're always under my feet," she had said--notunkindly--and pointed to the door.

  The Dummy had stood, with his faded old-young eyes on her, and hadnot moved. The Senior, who had the ward supper to serve and beds tobrush out and backs to rub, not to mention having to make up theemergency bed and clear away the dressings--the Senior trieddiplomacy and offered him an orange from her own corner of themedicine closet. He shook his head.

  "I guess he wants to know whether that girl from the Avenue's goingto get well," said Irish Delia. "He seems to know her."

  There was a titter through the ward at this. Old Maggie's gossipingtongue had been busy during the hour. From pity the ward had veeredto contempt.

  "Humph!" said the Senior, and put the orange back. "Why, yes; Iguess she'll get well. But how in Heaven's name am I to let himknow?"

  She was a resourceful person, however, and by pointing to the AvenueGirl and then nodding reassuringly she got her message of cheer overthe gulf of his understanding. In return the Dummy told her bygestures how he knew the girl and how she had bound up the leg ofthe superintendent's dog. The Senior was a literal person and notoccult; and she was very busy. When the Dummy stooped to indicatethe dog, a foot or so from the ground, she seized that as the key ofthe situation.

  "He's trying to let me know that he knew her when she was a baby,"she observed generally. "All right, if that's the case. Come in andsee her when you want to. And now get out, for goodness' sake!"

  The Dummy, with his patient shamble, made his way out of the wardand stored his polishes for the night in the corner of ascrub-closet. Then, ignoring supper, he went down the stairs, flightafter flight, to the chapel. The late autumn sun had set behind thebuildings across the courtyard and the lower part of the silent roomwas in shadow; but the afterglow came palely through thestained-glass window, with the young John and tall stalks of whitelilies, and "To the Memory of My Daughter Elizabeth" beneath.

  It was only a coincidence--and not even that to the Dummy--butElizabeth had been the Avenue Girl's name not so long ago.

  The Dummy sat down near the door very humbly and gazed at thememorial window.

  II

  Time may be measured in different ways--by joys; by throbs of pain;by instants; by centuries. In a hospital it is marked by nightnurses and day nurses; by rounds of the Staff; by visiting days; bymedicines and temperatures and milk diets and fever baths; by thedistant singing in the chapel on Sundays; by the shift of themorning sun on the east beds to the evening sun on the beds alongthe west windows.

  The Avenue Girl lay alone most of the time. The friendly offices ofthe ward were not for her. Private curiosity and possible kindlinesswere over-shadowed by a general arrogance of goodness. The wardflung its virtue at her like a weapon and she raised no defence. Inthe first days things were not so bad. She lay in shock for a time,and there were not wanting hands during the bad hours to lift a cupof water to her lips; but after that came the tedious time whendeath no longer hovered overhead and life was there for the asking.

  The curious thing was that the Avenue Girl did not ask. She lay forhours without moving, with eyes that seemed tired with looking intothe dregs of life. The Probationer was in despair.

  "She could get better if she would," she said to the _interne_ oneday. The Senior was off duty and they had done the dressingtogether. "She just won't try."

  "Perhaps she thinks it isn't worth while," replied the _interne_,who was drying his hands carefully while the Probationer waited forthe towel.

  She was a very pretty Probationer.

  "She hasn't much to look forward to, you know."

  The Probationer was not accustomed to discussing certain things withyoung men, but she had the Avenue Girl on her mind.

  "She has a home--she admits it." She coloured bravely. "Why--whycannot she go back to it, even now?"

  The _interne_ poured a little rosewater and glycerine into the palmof one hand and gave the Probationer the bottle. If his fingerstouched hers, she never knew it.

  "Perhaps they'd not want her after--well, they'd never feel thesame, likely. They'd probably prefer to think of her as dead and letit go at that. There--there doesn't seem to be any way back, youknow."

  He
was exceedingly self-conscious.

  "Then life is very cruel," said the Probationer with rather shakylips.

  And going back to the Avenue Girl's bed she filled her cup with iceand straightened her pillows. It was her only way of showingdefiance to a world that mutilated its children and turned them outto die. The _interne_ watched her as she worked. It rather galledhim to see her touching this patient. He had no particular sympathyfor the Avenue Girl. He was a man, and ruthless, as men are apt tobe in such things.

  The Avenue Girl had no visitors. She had had one or two atfirst--pretty girls with tired eyes and apologetic glances; anegress who got by the hall porter with a box of cigarettes, whichthe Senior promptly confiscated; and--the Dummy. Morning and eveningcame the Dummy and stood by her bed and worshipped. Morning andevening he brought tribute--a flower from the masses that came indaily; an orange, got by no one knows what trickery from thekitchen; a leadpencil; a box of cheap candies. At first the girl hadbeen embarrassed by his visits. Later, as the unfriendliness of theward grew more pronounced, she greeted him with a faint smile. Thefirst time she smiled he grew quite pale and shuffled out. Late thatnight they found him sitting in the chapel looking at the window,which was only a blur.

  For certain small services in the ward the Senior depended on theconvalescents--filling drinking cups; passing milk at eleven andthree; keeping the white bedspreads in geometrical order. But theAvenue Girl was taboo. The boycott had been instituted by OldMaggie. The rampant respectability of the ward even went so far asto refuse to wash her in those early morning hours when the nightnurse, flying about with her cap on one ear, was carrying tin basinsabout like a blue-and-white cyclone. The Dummy knew nothing of thewashing; the early morning was the time when he polished the brassdoorplate which said: Hospital and Free Dispensary. But he knewabout the drinking cup and after a time that became hisself-appointed task.

  On Sundays he put on his one white shirt and a frayed collar twosizes too large and went to chapel. At those times he sat with hisprayer book upside down and watched the Probationer who cared forhis lady and who had no cap to hide her shining hair, and the_interne_, who was glad there was no cap because of the hair. God'sfool he was, indeed, for he liked to look in the _interne's_ eyes,and did not know an _interne_ cannot marry for years and years, andthat a probationer must not upset discipline by being engaged. God'sfool, indeed, who could see into the hearts of men, but not intotheir thoughts or their lives; and who, seeing only thus, on twodimensions of life and not the third, found the Avenue Girl holy andworthy of all worship!

  * * * * *

  The Probationer worried a great deal.

  "It must hurt her so!" she said to the Senior. "Did you see themcall that baby away on visiting day for fear she would touch it?"

  "None are so good as the untempted," explained the Senior, who hadbeen beautiful and was now placid and full of good works. "Youcannot remake the world, child. Bodies are our business here--notsouls." But the next moment she called Old Maggie to her.

  "I've been pretty patient, Maggie," she said. "You know what I mean.You're the ringleader. Now things are going to change, or--you'll goback on codliver oil to-night."

  "Yes'm," said Old Maggie meekly, with hate in her heart. She loathedthe codliver oil.

  "Go back and straighten her bed!" commanded the Senior sternly.

  "Now?"

  "Now!"

  "It hurts my back to stoop over," whined Old Maggie, with the wardwatching. "The doctor said that I----"

  The Senior made a move for the medicine closet and the bottleslabelled C.

  "I'm going," whimpered Old Maggie. "Can't you give a body time?"

  And she went down to defeat, with the laughter of the ward in herears--down to defeat, for the Avenue Girl would have none of her.

  "You get out of here!" she said fiercely as Old Maggie set to workat the draw sheet. "Get out quick--or I'll throw this cup in yourface!"

  The Senior was watching. Old Maggie put on an air of benevolence andcalled the Avenue Girl an unlovely name under her breath while shesmoothed her pillow. She did not get the cup, but the water out ofit, in her hard old face, and matters were as they had been.

  The Girl did not improve as she should. The _interne_ did thedressing day after day, while the Probationer helped him--the Seniordisliked burned cases--and talked of skin grafting if a new powderhe had discovered did no good. _Internes_ are always trying out newthings, looking for the great discovery.

  The powder did no good. The day came when, the dressing over and thewhite coverings drawn up smoothly again over her slender body, theAvenue Girl voiced the question that her eyes had asked each time.

  "Am I going to lie in this hole all my life?" she demanded.

  The _interne_ considered.

  "It isn't healing--not very fast anyhow," he said. "If we could geta little skin to graft on you'd be all right in a jiffy. Can't youget some friends to come in? It isn't painful and it's over in aminute."

  "Friends? Where would I get friends of that sort?"

  "Well, relatives then--some of your own people?"

  The Avenue Girl shut her eyes as she did when the dressing hurt her.

  "None that I'd care to see," she said. And the Probationer knew shelied. The _interne_ shrugged his shoulders.

  "If you think of any let me know. We'll get them here," he saidbriskly, and turned to see the Probationer rolling up her sleeve.

  "Please!" she said, and held out a bare white arm. The _interne_stared at it stupefied. It was very lovely.

  "I am not at all afraid," urged the Probationer, "and my blood isgood. It would grow--I know it would."

  The _interne_ had hard work not to stoop and kiss the blue veinsthat rose to the surface in the inner curve of her elbow. Thedressing screens were up and the three were quite alone. To keep hisvoice steady he became stern.

  "Put your sleeve down and don't be a foolish girl!" he, commanded."Put your sleeve down!" His eyes said: "You wonder! You beauty! Youbrave little girl!"

  Because the Probationer seemed to take her responsibilities ratherto heart, however, and because, when he should have been thinking ofother things, such as calling up the staff and making reports, hekept seeing that white arm and the resolute face above it, the_interne_ worked out a plan.

  "I've fixed it, I think," he said, meeting her in a hallway wherehe had no business to be, and trying to look as if he had not knownshe was coming. "Father Feeny was in this morning and I tackled him.He's got a lot of students--fellows studying for the priesthood--andhe says any daughter of the church shall have skin if he has to flay'em alive."

  "But--is she a daughter of the church?" asked the Probationer. "Andeven if she were, under the circumstances----"

  "What circumstances?" demanded the _interne_. "Here's a poor girlburned and suffering. The father is not going to ask whether she'sof the anointed."

  The Probationer was not sure. She liked doing things in the open andwith nothing to happen later to make one uncomfortable; but shespoke to the Senior and the Senior was willing. Her chief trouble,after all, was with the Avenue Girl herself.

  "I don't want to get well," she said wearily when the thing was putup to her. "What's the use? I'd just go back to the same old thing;and when it got too strong for me I'd end up here again or in themorgue."

  "Tell me where your people live, then, and let me send for them."

  "Why? To have them read in my face what I've been, and go back hometo die of shame?"

  The Probationer looked at the Avenue Girl's face.

  "There--there is nothing in your face to hurt them," she said,flushing--because there were some things the Probationer had neverdiscussed, even with herself. "You--look sad. Honestly, that's all."

  The Avenue Girl held up her thin right hand. The forefinger wasstill yellow from cigarettes.

  "What about that?" she sneered.

  "If I bleach it will you let me send for your people?"

  "I'll--perhaps," was
the most the Probationer could get.

  Many people would have been discouraged. Even the Senior was a bitcynical. It took a Probationer still heartsick for home to read inthe Avenue Girl's eyes the terrible longing for the things she hadgiven up--for home and home folks; for a clean slate again. TheProbationer bleached and scrubbed the finger, and gradually a littleof her hopeful spirit touched the other girl.

  "What day is it?" the Avenue Girl asked once.

  "Friday."

  "That's baking day at home. We bake in an out-oven. Did you eversmell bread as it comes from an out-oven?" Or: "That's a prettyshade of blue you nurses wear. It would be nice for working in thedairy, wouldn't it?"

  "Fine!" said the Probationer, and scrubbed away to hide the triumphin her eyes.

  III

  That was the day the Dummy stole the parrot. The parrot belonged tothe Girl; but how did he know it? So many things he should haveknown the Dummy never learned; so many things he knew that he seemednever to have learned! He did not know, for instance, of FatherFeeny and the Holy Name students; but he knew of the Avenue Girl'sloneliness and heartache, and of the cabal against her. It is one ofthe black marks on record against him that he refused to polish theplate on Old Maggie's bed, and that he shook his fist at her morethan once when the Senior was out of the ward.

  And he knew of the parrot. That day, then, a short, stout woman witha hard face appeared in the superintendent's office and demanded aparrot.

  "Parrot?" said the superintendent blandly.

  "Parrot! That crazy man you keep here walked into my house to-dayand stole a parrot--and I want it."

  "The Dummy! But what on earth----"

  "It was my parrot," said the woman. "It belonged to one of myboarders. She's a burned case up in one of the wards--and she owedme money. I took it for a debt. You call that man and let him lookme in the eye while I say parrot to him."

  "He cannot speak or hear."

  "You call him. He'll understand me!"

  They found the Dummy coming stealthily down from the top of thestable and haled him into the office. He was very calm--quiteimpassive. Apparently he had never seen the woman before; as sheraged he smiled cheerfully and shook his head.

  "As a matter of fact," said the superintendent, "I don't believe heever saw the bird; but if he has it we shall find it out and you'llget it again."

  They let him go then; and he went to the chapel and looked at a doveabove the young John's head. Then he went up to the kitchen andfilled his pockets with lettuce leaves. He knew nothing at all ofparrots or how to care for them.

  Things, you see, were moving right for the Avenue Girl. The stainwas coming off--she had been fond of the parrot and now it was closeat hand; and Father Feeny's lusty crowd stood ready to come into ahospital ward and shed skin that they generally sacrificed on thefootball field. But the Avenue Girl had two years to accountfor--and there was the matter of an alibi.

  "I might tell the folks at home anything and they'd believe itbecause they'd want to believe it," said the Avenue Girl. "Butthere's the neighbours. I was pretty wild at home. And--there's afellow who wanted to marry me--he knew how sick I was of the oldplace and how I wanted my fling. His name was Jerry. We'd have toshow Jerry."

  The Probationer worried a great deal about this matter of the alibi.It had to be a clean slate for the folks back home, and especiallyfor Jerry. She took her anxieties out walking several times on heroff-duty, but nothing seemed to come of it. She walked on the Avenuemostly, because it was near and she could throw a long coat over herblue dress. And so she happened to think of the woman the girl hadlived with.

  "She got her into all this," thought the Probationer. "She's justgot to see her out."

  It took three days' off-duty to get her courage up to ringing thedoorbell of the house with the bowed shutters, and after she hadrung it she wanted very much to run and hide; but she thought of thegirl and everything going for nothing for the want of an alibi, andshe stuck. The negress opened the door and stared at her.

  "She's dead, is she?" she asked.

  "No. May I come in? I want to see your mistress."

  The negress did not admit her, however. She let her stand in thevestibule and went back to the foot of a staircase.

  "One of these heah nurses from the hospital!" she said. "She wantsto come in and speak to you."

  "Let her in, you fool!" replied a voice from above stairs.

  The rest was rather confused. Afterward the Probationer rememberedputting the case to the stout woman who had claimed the parrot andfinding it difficult to make her understand.

  "Don't you see?" she finished desperately. "I want her to gohome--to her own folks. She wants it too. But what are we going tosay about these last two years?"

  The stout woman sat turning over her rings. She was mostuncomfortable. After all, what had she done? Had she not warned themagain and again about having lighted cigarettes lying round.

  "She's in bad shape, is she?"

  "She may recover, but she'll be badly scarred--not her face, but herchest and shoulders."

  That was another way of looking at it. If the girl was scarred----

  "Just what do you want me to do?" she asked. Now that it was downto brass tacks and no talk about home and mother, she was morecomfortable.

  "If you could just come over to the hospital while her people arethere and--and say she'd lived with you all the time----"

  "That's the truth all right!"

  "And--that she worked for you, sewing--she sews very well, shesays. And--oh, you'll know what to say; that she's been--all right,you know; anything to make them comfortable and happy."

  Now the stout woman was softening--not that she was really hard, butshe had developed a sort of artificial veneer of hardness, and goodimpulses had a hard time crawling through.

  "I guess I could do that much," she conceded. "She nursed me when Iwas down and out with the grippe and that worthless nigger was drunkin the kitchen. But you folks over there have got a parrot thatbelongs to me. What about that?"

  The Probationer knew about the parrot. The Dummy had slipped itinto the ward more than once and its profanity had delighted thepatients. The Avenue Girl had been glad to see it too; and as it saton the bedside table and shrieked defiance and oaths the Dummy hadsmiled benignly. John and the dove--the girl and the parrot!

  "I am sorry about the parrot. I--perhaps I could buy him from you."

  She got out her shabby little purse, in which she carried hermunificent monthly allowance of eight dollars and a little money shehad brought from home.

  "Twenty dollars takes him. That's what she owed me."

  The Probationer had seventeen dollars and eleven cents. She spreadit out in her lap and counted it twice.

  "I'm afraid that's all," she said. She had hoped the second countwould show up better. "I could bring the rest next month."

  The Probationer folded the money together and held it out. The stoutwoman took it eagerly.

  "He's yours," she said largely. "Don't bother about the balance.When do you want me?"

  "I'll send you word," said the Probationer, and got up. She wasalmost dizzy with excitement and the feeling of having no money atall in the world and a parrot she did not want. She got out into theair somehow and back to the hospital. She took a bath immediatelyand put on everything fresh, and felt much better--but verypoor. Before she went on duty she said a little prayer aboutthermometers--that she should not break hers until she had money fora new one.

  * * * * *

  Father Feeny came and lined up six budding priests outside the doorof the ward. He was a fine specimen of manhood and he had asked noquestions at all. The Senior thought she had better tell himsomething, but he put up a white hand.

  "What does it matter, sister?" he said cheerfully. "Yesterday isgone and to-day is a new day. Also there is to-morrow"--his Irisheyes twinkled--"and a fine day it will be by the sunset."

  Then he turned to his small army.

&n
bsp; "Boys," he said, "it's a poor leader who is afraid to take chanceswith his men. I'm going first"--he said fir-rst. "It's a smallthing, as I've told you--a bit of skin and it's over. Go in smilingand come out smiling! Are you ready, sir?" This to the _interne_.

  That was a great day in the ward. The inmates watched Father Feenyand the _interne_ go behind the screens, both smiling, and theywatched the father come out very soon after, still smiling but alittle bleached. And they watched the line patiently waiting outsidethe door, shortening one by one. After a time the smiles were ratherforced, as if waiting was telling on them; but there was nodeserter--only one six-foot youth, walking with a swagger tocontribute his little half inch or so of cuticle, added a sensationto the general excitement by fainting halfway up the ward; and heremained in blissful unconsciousness until it was all over.

  Though the _interne_ had said there was no way back, the first stephad really been taken; and he was greatly pleased with himself andwith everybody because it had been his idea. The Probationer triedto find a chance to thank him; and, failing that, she sent agrateful little note to his room:

  Is Mimi the Austrian to have a baked apple? [Signed] WARD A.

  P.S.--It went through wonderfully! She is so cheerful since it is over. How can I ever thank you?

  The reply came back very quickly:

  Baked apple, without milk, for Mimi. WARD A. [Signed] D.L.S.

  P.S.--Can you come up on the roof for a little air?

  She hesitated over that for some time. A really honest-to-goodnessnurse may break a rule now and then and nothing happen; buta probationer is only on trial and has to be exceedinglycareful--though any one might go to the roof and watch the sunset.She decided not to go. Then she pulled her soft hair down over herforehead, where it was most becoming, and fastened it with tinyhairpins, and went up after all--not because she intended to, butbecause as she came out of her room the elevator was going up--notdown. She was on the roof almost before she knew it.

  The _interne_ was there in fresh white ducks, smoking. At first theytalked of skin grafting and the powder that had not done what wasexpected of it. After a time, when the autumn twilight had fallen onthem like a benediction, she took her courage in her hands and toldof her visit to the house on the Avenue, and about the parrot andthe plot.

  The _interne_ stood very still. He was young and intolerant. Someday he would mellow and accept life as it is--not as he would haveit. When she had finished he seemed to have drawn himself into ashell, turtle fashion, and huddled himself together. The shell waspride and old prejudice and the intolerance of youth. "She had tohave an alibi!" said the Probationer.

  "Oh, of course," very stiffly.

  "I cannot see why you disapprove. Something had to be done."

  "I cannot see that you had to do it; but it's your own affair, ofcourse. Only----"

  "Please go on."

  "Well, one cannot touch dirt without being soiled."

  "I think you will be sorry you said that," said the Probationerstiffly. And she went down the staircase, leaving him alone. He wassorry, of course; but he would not say so even to himself. Hethought of the Probationer, with her eager eyes and shining hair andher warm little heart, ringing the bell of the Avenue house andmaking her plea--and his blood ran hot in him. It was just thenthat the parrot spoke on the other side of the chimney.

  "Gimme a bottle of beer!" it said. "Nice cold beer! Cold beer!"

  The _interne_ walked furiously toward the sound. Must this girl ofthe streets and her wretched associates follow him everywhere? Shehad ruined his life already. He felt that it was ruined. Probablythe Probationer would never speak to him again.

  The Dummy was sitting on a bench, with the parrot on his kneelooking rather queer from being smuggled about under a coat and fedthe curious things that the Dummy thought a bird should eat. It hada piece of apple pie in its claw now.

  "Cold beer!" said the parrot, and eyed the _interne_ crookedly.

  The Dummy had not heard him, of course. He sat looking over theparapet toward the river, with one knotted hand smoothing the bird'sruffled plumage and such a look of wretchedness in his eyes that ithurt to see it. God's fools, who cannot reason, can feel. Someinstinct of despair had seized him for its own--some conception,perhaps, of what life would never mean to him. Before it, the_interne's_ wrath gave way to impotency.

  "Cold beer!" said the parrot wickedly.

  IV

  The Avenue Girl improved slowly. Morning and evening came the Dummyand smiled down at her, with reverence in his eyes. She could smileback now and sometimes she spoke to him. There was a change in theAvenue Girl. She was less sullen. In the back of her eyes eachmorning found a glow of hope--that died, it is true, by noontime;but it came again with the new day.

  "How's Polly this morning, Montmorency?" she would say, and give hima bit of toast from her breakfast for the bird. Or: "I wish youcould talk, Reginald. I'd like to hear what Rose said when you tookthe parrot. It must have been a scream!"

  He brought her the first chrysanthemums of the fall and laid them onher pillow. It was after he had gone, while the Probationer wascombing out the soft short curls of her hair, that she mentioned theDummy. She strove to make her voice steady, but there were tears inher eyes.

  "The old goat's been pretty good to me, hasn't he?" she said.

  "I believe it is very unusual. I wonder"--the Probationer poised thecomb--"perhaps you remind him of some one he used to know."

  They knew nothing, of course, of the boy John and the window.

  "He's about the first decent man I ever knew," said the AvenueGirl--"and he's a fool!"

  "Either a fool or very, very wise," replied the Probationer.

  The _interne_ and the Probationer were good friends again, but theyhad never quite got back to the place they had lost on the roof.Over the Avenue Girl's dressing their eyes met sometimes, and therewas an appeal in the man's and tenderness; but there was pride too.He would not say he had not meant it. Any man will tell you that hewas entirely right, and that she had been most unwise and needed agood scolding--only, of course, it is never the wise people who makelife worth the living.

  And an important thing had happened--the Probationer had beenaccepted and had got her cap. She looked very stately in it, thoughit generally had a dent somewhere from her forgetting she had it onand putting her hat on over it. The first day she wore it she kneltat prayers with the others, and said a little Thank You! for gettingthrough when she was so unworthy. She asked to be made clean andpure, and delivered from vanity, and of some use in the world. And,trying to think of the things she had been remiss in, she went outthat night in a rain and bought some seed and things for the parrot.

  Prodigal as had been Father Feeny and his battalion, there was moregrafting needed before the Avenue Girl could take her scarred bodyand soul out into the world again. The Probationer offered, but wasrefused politely.

  "You are a part of the institution now," said the _interne_, withhis eyes on her cap. He was rather afraid of the cap. "I cannotcripple the institution."

  It was the Dummy who solved that question. No one knew how he knewthe necessity or why he had not come forward sooner; but come he didand would not be denied. The _interne_ went to a member of the staffabout it.

  "The fellow works round the house," he explained; "but he's taken agreat fancy to the girl and I hardly know what to do."

  "My dear boy," said the staff, "one of the greatest joys in theworld is to suffer for a woman. Let him go to it."

  So the Dummy bared his old-young arm--not once, but many times.Always as the sharp razor nicked up its bit of skin he looked at thegirl and smiled. In the early evening he perched the parrot on hisbandaged arm and sat on the roof or by the fountain in thecourtyard. When the breeze blew strong enough the water flung overthe rim and made little puddles in the hollows of the cementpavement. Here belated sparrows drank or splashed their dustyfeathers, an
d the parrot watched them crookedly.

  The Avenue Girl grew better with each day, but remainedwistful-eyed. The ward no longer avoided her, though she was neverone of them. One day the Probationer found a new baby in thechildren's ward; and, with the passion of maternity that is the realreason for every good woman's being, she cuddled the mite in herarms. She visited the nurses in the different wards.

  "Just look!" she would say, opening her arms. "If I could only stealit!"

  The Senior, who had once been beautiful and was now calm and placid,smiled at her. Old Maggie must peer and cry out over the child.Irish Delia must call down a blessing on it. And so up the ward tothe Avenue Girl; the Probationer laid the baby in her arms.

  "Just a minute," she explained. "I'm idling and I have no businessto. Hold it until I give the three o'clocks." Which means thethree-o'clock medicines.

  When she came back the Avenue Girl had a new look in her eyes; andthat day the little gleam of hope, that usually died, lasted andgrew.

  At last came the day when the alibi was to be brought forward. Thegirl had written home and the home folks were coming. In his strangeway the Dummy knew that a change was near. The kaleidoscope wouldshift again and the Avenue Girl would join the changing anddisappearing figures that fringed the inner circle of his heart.

  One night he did not go to bed in the ward bed that was his onlyhome, beside the little stand that held his only possessions. Thewatchman missed him and found him asleep in the chapel in one of theseats, with the parrot drowsing on the altar.

  Rose--who was the stout woman--came early. She wore a purple dress,with a hat to match, and purple gloves. The ward eyed her with scornand a certain deference. She greeted the Avenue Girl effusivelybehind the screens that surrounded the bed.

  "Well, you do look pinched!" she said. "Ain't it a mercy it didn'tget to your face! Pretty well chewed up, aren't you?"

  "Do you want to see it?"

  "Good land! No! Now look here, you've got to put me wise or I'llblow the whole thing. What's my little stunt? The purple's all rightfor it, isn't it?"

  "All you need to do," said the Avenue Girl wearily, "is to say thatI've been sewing for you since I came to the city. And--if you cansay anything good----"

  "I'll do that all right," Rose affirmed. She put a heavy silver bagon the bedside table and lowered herself into a chair. "You leave itto me, dearie. There ain't anything I won't say."

  The ward was watching with intense interest. Old Maggie, working thecreaking bandage machine, was palpitating with excitement. From herchair by the door she could see the elevator and it was she whoannounced the coming of destiny.

  "Here comes the father," she confided to the end of the ward. "Guessthe mother couldn't come."

  It was not the father though. It was a young man who hesitated inthe doorway, hat in hand--a tall young man, with a strong and notunhandsome face. The Probationer, rather twitchy from excitement andanxiety, felt her heart stop and race on again. Jerry, without adoubt!

  The meeting was rather constrained. The girl went whiter than herpillows and half closed her eyes; but Rose, who would have beenterrified at the sight of an elderly farmer, was buoyantly relievedand at her ease.

  "I'm sorry," said Jerry. "I--we didn't realise it had been so bad.The folks are well; but--I thought I'd better come. They'reexpecting you back home."

  "It was nice of you to come," said the girl, avoiding his eyes."I--I'm getting along fine."

  "I guess introductions ain't necessary," put in Rose briskly. "I'mMrs. Sweeney. She's been living with me--working for me, sewing.She's sure a fine sewer! She made this suit I'm wearing."

  Poor Rose, with "custom made" on every seam of the purple! But Jerrywas hardly listening. His eyes were on the girl among the pillows.

  "I see," said Jerry slowly. "You haven't said yet, Elizabeth. Areyou going home?"

  "If--they want me."

  "Of course they want you!" Again Rose: "Why shouldn't they? You'vebeen a good girl and a credit to any family. If they say anythingmean to you you let me know."

  "They'll not be mean to her. I'm sure they'll want to write andthank you. If you'll just give me your address, Mrs. Sweeney----"

  He had a pencil poised over a notebook. Rose hesitated. Then shegave her address on the Avenue, with something of bravado in hervoice. After all, what could this country-store clerk know of theAvenue? Jerry wrote it down carefully.

  "Sweeney--with an e?" he asked politely.

  "With three e's," corrected Rose, and got up with dignity.

  "Well, good-bye, dearie," she said. "You've got your friends now andyou don't need me. I guess you've had your lesson about going tosleep with a cig--about being careless with fire. Drop me a postalwhen you get the time."

  She shook hands with Jerry and rustled and jingled down the ward,her chin well up. At the door she encountered Old Maggie, her armsfull of bandages.

  "How's the Avenue?" asked Old Maggie.

  Rose, however, like all good actresses, was still in the partas she made her exit. She passed Old Maggie unheeding, severerespectability in every line of her figure, every nod of her purpleplumes. She was still in the part when she encountered theProbationer.

  "It's going like a house afire!" she said. "He swallowed itall--hook and bait! And--oh, yes, I've got something for you." Shewent down into her silver bag and pulled out a roll of bills. "I'vefelt meaner'n a dog every time I've thought of you buying thatparrot. I've got a different view of life--maybe--from yours; butI'm not taking candy from a baby."

  When the Probationer could speak Rose was taking herself and thepurple into the elevator and waving her a farewell.

  "Good-bye!" she said. "If ever you get stuck again just call on me."

  With Rose's departure silence fell behind the screen. The girl brokeit first.

  "They're all well, are they?"

  "All well. Your mother's been kind of poorly. She thought you'dwrite to her." The girl clenched her hands under the bedclothing.She could not speak just then. "There's nothing much happened. Thepost office burned down last summer. They're building a new one.And--I've been building. I tore down the old place."

  "Are you going to be married, Jerry?"

  "Some day, I suppose. I'm not worrying about it. It was something todo; it kept me from--thinking."

  The girl looked at him and something gripped her throat. He knew!Rose might have gone down with her father, but Jerry knew! Nothingwas any use. She knew his rigid morality, his country-bred horror ofthe thing she was. She would have to go back--to Rose and theothers. He would never take her home.

  Down at the medicine closet the Probationer was carbolisingthermometers and humming a little song. Everything was well. TheAvenue Girl was with her people and at seven o'clock the Probationerwas going to the roof--to meet some one who was sincerely repentantand very meek.

  In the convalescent ward next door they were singing softly--one ofthose spontaneous outbursts that have their origin in the hearts ofpeople and a melody all their own:

  _'Way down upon de S'wanee Ribber, Far, far away, Dere's wha my heart is turnin' ebber-- Dere's wha de old folks stay._

  It penetrated back of the screen, where the girl lay in whitewretchedness--and where Jerry, with death in his eyes, sat rigid inhis chair.

  "Jerry?"

  "Yes."

  "I--I guess I've been pretty far away."

  "Don't tell me about it!" A cry, this.

  "You used to care for me, Jerry. I'm not expecting that now; but ifyou'd only believe me when I say I'm sorry----"

  "I believe you, Elizabeth."

  "One of the nurses here says----Jerry, won't you look at me?" Withsome difficulty he met her eyes. "She says that because one startswrong one needn't go wrong always. I was ashamed to write. She mademe do it."

  She held out an appealing hand, but he did not take it. All his lifehe had built up a house of morality. Now his house was crumbling andhe stood terrified in the wreck. "It i
sn't only because I've beenhurt that I--am sorry," she went on. "I loathed it! I'd havefinished it all long ago, only--I was afraid."

  "I would rather have found you dead!"

  There is a sort of anesthesia of misery. After a certain amount ofsuffering the brain ceases to feel. Jerry watched the white curtainof the screen swaying in the wind, settled his collar, glanced athis watch. He was quite white. The girl's hand still lay on thecoverlet. Somewhere back in the numbed brain that would think onlylittle thoughts he knew that if he touched that small, appealinghand the last wall of his house would fall.

  It was the Dummy, after all, who settled that for him. He came withhis afternoon offering of cracked ice just then and stood inside thescreen, staring. Perhaps he had known all along how it would end,that this, his saint, would go--and not alone--to join the vanishingcircle that had ringed the inner circle of his heart. Just at thetime it rather got him. He swayed a little and clutched at thescreen; but the next moment he had placed the bowl on the stand andstood smiling down at the girl.

  "The only person in the world who believes in me!" said the girlbitterly. "And he's a fool!"

  The Dummy smiled into her eyes. In his faded, childish eyes therewas the eternal sadness of his kind, eternal tenderness, and theblur of one who has looked much into a far distance. Suddenly hebent over and placed the man's hand over the girl's.

  The last wall was down! Jerry buried his face in the whitecoverlet.

  * * * * *

  The _interne_ was pacing the roof anxiously. Golden sunset had fadedto lavender--to dark purple--to night.

  The Probationer came up at last--not a probationer now, of course;but she had left off her cap and was much less stately.

  "I'm sorry," she explained; "but I've been terribly busy. It wentoff so well!"

  "Of course--if you handled it."

  "You know--don't you?--it was the lover who came. He looks so strongand good--oh, she is safe now!"

  "That's fine!" said the _interne_ absently. They were sitting on theparapet now and by sliding his hand along he found her fingers."Isn't it a glorious evening?" He had the fingers pretty close bythat time; and suddenly gathering them up he lifted the hand to hislips.

  "Such a kind little hand!" he said over it. "Such a dear, tenderlittle hand! My hand!" he said, rather huskily.

  Down in the courtyard the Dummy sat with the parrot on his knee. Athis feet the superintendent's dog lay on his side and dreamed ofbattle. The Dummy's eyes lingered on the scar the Avenue Girl hadbandaged--how long ago!

  His eyes wandered to the window with the young John among thelilies. In the stable were still the ambulance horses that talked tohim without words. And he had the parrot. If he thought at all itwas that his Father was good and that, after all, he was not alone.The parrot edged along his knee and eyed him with saturnineaffection.