“They have camera-men everywhere, looking for some picture worth while.” explained Mrs. Montrose. “If there’s a fire, the chances are a camera-man is on the spot before the firemen arrive. If there’s an accident, it is often caught by the camera before the victim realizes what has happened. Perhaps a camera-man has been at the beach for weeks, waiting patiently for some tragedy to occur. Anyway, he was on hand yesterday and quietly ran his film during the excitement of the rescue. He was in rare luck to get Maud, because she is a favorite with the public; but it was not fair to connect her name with the picture, when they know she is employed by the Continental.”
Young Jones rose from his chair with a gesture of weariness.
“If you will excuse me,” he said, “I will go to my room. Our little conversation has given me much pleasure; I’m so alone in the world. Perhaps you will allow me to join you again — some other time?”
They hastened to assure him his presence would always be welcome. Patsy even added, with her cheery smile, that they felt a certain proprietorship in him since they had dragged him from a watery grave. The boy showed, as he walked away, that he was not yet very steady on his feet, but whether the weakness was the result of his malady or his recent trying experience they could not determine.
“What staggers me,” said Maud, looking after him, “is the effect his name had on Goldstein, who has little respect or consideration for anyone. Who do you suppose A. Jones is?”
“Why, he has told us,” replied Louise. “He is an islander, on his first visit to this country.”
“He must be rather more than that,” declared Arthur. “Do you remember what the manager said to him?”
“Yes,” said Beth. “He had heard that A. Jones was in this neighborhood, but had never met him. A. Jones was a person of sufficient importance to make the general manager of the Continental Film Company tremble in his boots.”
“He really did tremble,” asserted Patsy, “and he was abject in his apologies.”
“Showing,” added Flo Stanton, “that Goldstein is afraid of him.”
“I wonder why,” said Maud.
“It is all very easy of solution,” remarked Arthur. “Goldstein believes that Jones is in the market to buy films. Perhaps he’s going to open a motion picture theatre on his island. So the manager didn’t want to antagonize a good customer.”
“That’s it,” said Uncle John, nodding approval. “There’s no great mystery about young Jones, I’m sure.”
CHAPTER IX
DOCTOR PATSY
Next morning Uncle John and the Weldons — including the precious baby — went for a ride into the mountains, while Beth and Patsy took their embroidery into a sunny corner of the hotel lobby.
It was nearly ten o’clock when A. Jones discovered the two girls and came tottering toward them. Tottering is the right word; he fairly swayed as he made his way to the secluded corner.
“I wish he’d use a cane,” muttered Beth in an undertone. “I have the feeling that he’s liable to bump his nose any minute.”
Patsy drew up a chair for him, although he endeavored to prevent her.
“Are you feeling better this morning?” she inquired.
“I — I think so,” he answered doubtfully. “I don’t seem to get back my strength, you see.”
“Were you stronger before your accident?” asked Beth.
“Yes, indeed. I went swimming, you remember. But perhaps I was not strong enough to do that. I — I’m very careful of myself, yet I seem to grow weaker all the time.”
There was a brief silence, during which the girls plied their needles.
“Are you going to stay in this hotel?” demanded Patsy, in her blunt way.
“For a time, I think. It is very pleasant here,” he said.
“Have you had breakfast?”
“I took a food-tablet at daybreak.”
“Huh!” A scornful exclamation. Then she glanced at the open door of the dining-hall and laying aside her work she rose with a determined air and said:
“Come with me!”
“Where?”
For answer she assisted him to rise. Then she took his hand and marched him across the lobby to the dining room.
He seemed astonished at this proceeding but made no resistance. Seated at a small table she called a waitress and said:
“Bring a cup of chocolate, a soft-boiled egg and some toast.”
“Pardon me, Miss Doyle,” he said; “I thought you had breakfasted.”
“So I have,” she replied. “The breakfast I’ve ordered is for you, and you’re going to eat it if I have to ram it down your throat.”
“But — Miss Doyle!”
“You’ve told us you are doomed. Well, you’re going to die with a full stomach.”
“But the doctor — ”
“Bother the doctor! I’m your doctor, now, and I won’t send in a bill, thank your stars.”
He looked at her with his sad little smile.
“Isn’t this a rather high-handed proceeding, Miss Doyle?”
“Perhaps.”
“I haven’t employed you as my physician, you know.”
“True. But you’ve deliberately put yourself in my power.”
“How?”
“In the first place, you tagged us here to this hotel.”
“You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not in the least. It’s a public hostelry. In the second place, you confided to us your disease and your treatment of it — which was really none of our business.”
“I — I was wrong to do that. But you led me on and — I’m so lonely — and you all seemed so generous and sympathetic — that I — I — ”
“That you unwittingly posted us concerning your real trouble. Do you realize what it is? You’re a hypo — hypo — what do they call it? — hypochondriac!”
“I am not!”
“And your doctor — your famous specialist — is a fool.”
“Oh, Miss Doyle!”
“Also you are a — a chump, to follow his fool advice. You don’t need sympathy, Mr. A. Jones. What you need is a slapstick.”
“A — a — ”
“A slapstick. And that’s what you’re going to get if you don’t obey orders.”
Here the maid set down the breakfast, ranging the dishes invitingly before the invalid. His face had expressed all the emotions from amazement to terror during Patsy’s tirade and now he gazed from her firm, determined features to the eggs and toast, in an uncertain, helpless way that caused the girl a severe effort to curb a burst of laughter.
“Now, then,” she said, “get busy. I’ll fix your egg. Do you want more sugar in your chocolate? Taste it and see. And if you don’t butter that toast before it gets cold it won’t be fit to eat.”
He looked at her steadily now, again smiling.
“You’re not joking, Miss Doyle?”
“I’m in dead earnest.”
“Of course you realize this is the — the end?”
“Of your foolishness? I hope so. You used to eat like a sensible boy, didn’t you?”
“When I was well.”
“You’re well now. Your only need is sustaining, strengthening food. I came near ordering you a beefsteak, but I’ll reserve that for lunch.”
He sipped the chocolate.
“Yes; it needs more sugar,” he said quietly. “Will you please butter my toast? It seems to me such a breakfast is worth months of suffering. How delicious this egg is! It was the fragrance of the egg and toast that conquered me. That, and — ”
“And one sensible, determined girl. Don’t look at me as if I were a murderess! I’m your best friend — a friend in need. And don’t choke down your food. Eat slowly. Fletcherize — chew your food, you know. I know you’re nearly famished, but you must gradually accustom yourself to a proper diet.”
He obeyed meekly. Patsy’s face was calm, but her heart beat fast, with a thrill of fear she could not repress. Acting on impulse, as she had, the girl
now began to consider that she was personally responsible for whatever result might follow this radical treatment for dyspepsia. Had she been positive it was dyspepsia, she would never have dared interfere with a doctor’s orders; but she felt that the boy needed food and would die unless he had it. He might die from the effect of this unusual repast, in which case she would never forgive herself.
Meantime, the boy had cast aside all fear. He had protested, indeed, but his protests being overruled he accepted his food and its possible consequences with philosophic resignation and a growing satisfaction.
Patsy balked on the third slice of toast and took it away from him. She also denied him a second cup of chocolate. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh of content and said:
“Bless the hen that laid that egg! No dainty was ever more delicious. And now,” he added, rising, “let us go and inquire the address of a good undertaker. I have made my will, and I’d like to be cremated — it’s so much nicer than the old-fashioned burial, don’t you think?”
“I’ll attend to all that, if you wish,” she replied, trying to repress a shudder as she followed him from the room. “Do you smoke?”
“I used to, but the doctor forbade it; so I gave it up entirely.”
“Go over to that stand and buy a cigar. Then you may sit beside Beth and me and smoke it.”
The girl did not wholly approve of smoking and had often chided Uncle John and her father and Arthur Weldon for indulging in the habit; but this advice to young Jones was given in desperation, because all the men of her family stoutly affirmed that a cigar after a meal assisted digestion. She resumed her former seat beside Beth, and her cousin quickly read the anxiety on her face.
“What did you do, Patricia?”
“I fed him.”
“Did he really eat?”
“Like a starved cat.”
“Hm-m-m,” said Beth. “What next, I wonder?”
Patsy wondered, too, the cold shivers chasing one another up and down her back. The boy was coming toward them, coolly puffing a cigar. He did not seem to totter quite so much as before, but he was glad to sink into an easy chair.
“How do you feel?” asked Beth, regarding him curiously.
“Like one of those criminals who are pampered with all the good things of life before being led to the scaffold.”
“Any pains?”
He shook his head.
“Not yet. I’ve asked the clerk, whenever I signal him, to send someone to carry me to my room. If I’m not able to say good-bye to you, please accept now my thanks for all your kindness to a stranger. You see, I’m not sure whether I’ll have a sudden seizure or the pains will come on gradually.”
“What pains?” demanded Patsy.
“I can’t explain them. Don’t you believe something is bound to happen?” he inquired, nervously removing the ash from his cigar.
“To be sure. You’re going to get well.”
He made no reply, but sat watching Beth’s nimble fingers. Patsy was too excited to resume her embroidery.
“I wonder if you are old enough to smoke?” remarked Beth.
“I’m over twenty-one.”
“Indeed! We decided you were about eighteen.”
“But we are not Spanish in Sangoa.”
“What are your people?”
“Formerly all Americans. The younger generation are, like myself I suppose, Sangoans by birth. But there isn’t a black or yellow or brown man on our island.”
“How many inhabitants has Sangoa?”
“About six hundred, all told.”
There was silence for a while.
“Any pains yet?” inquired Beth.
“Not yet. But I’m feeling drowsy. With your permission I’ll lie down and take a nap. I slept very little last night.”
He threw away his cigar, which he had smoked nearly to the end, and rising without assistance, bowed and walked away.
“Will he ever waken, I wonder?” said Beth softly.
“Of course,” declared Patsy. “He has crossed the Rubicon and is going to get well. I feel it in my bones!”
“Let us hope,” responded Beth, “that Ajo also feels it in his bones, rather than in his stomach.”
CHAPTER X
STILL A MYSTERY
The day advanced to luncheon time and Uncle John and the Weldons came back from their mountain trip. Hollywood is in the foothills and over the passes are superb automobile roads into the fruitful valleys of San Fernando and La Canada.
“Seen anything of the boy — A. Jones?” inquired Arthur.
“Yes; and perhaps we’ve seen the last of him,” answered Beth.
“Oh. Has he gone?”
“No one knows. Patsy fed him and he went to sleep. What has happened since we cannot tell.”
The girls then related the experiences of the morning, at which both Uncle John and Arthur looked solemn and uncomfortable. But Louise said calmly:
“I think Patsy was quite right. I wouldn’t have dared such a thing myself, but I’m sure that boy needed a square meal more than anything. If he dies, that breakfast has merely hastened his end; but if he doesn’t die it will do him good.”
“There’s another possibility,” remarked Uncle John. “He may be suffering agonies with no one to help him.”
Patsy’s face was white as chalk. The last hour or two had brought her considerable anxiety and her uncle’s horrible suggestion quite unnerved her. She stole away to the office and inquired the number of Mr. Jones’ room. It was on the ground floor and easily reached by a passage. The girl tiptoed up to the door and putting her ear to the panel listened intently. A moment later a smile broke over her face; she chuckled delightedly and then turned and ran buck to her friends.
“He’s snoring like a walrus!” she cried triumphantly.
“Are you sure they are not groans?” asked Arthur.
“Pah! Can’t I recognize a snore when I hear it? And I’ll bet it’s the first sound sleep he’s had in a month.”
Mr. Merrick and Arthur went to the door of the boy’s room to satisfy themselves that Patsy was not mistaken, and the regularity of the sounds quickly convinced them the girl was right. So they had a merry party at luncheon, calling Patsy “Doctor” with grave deference and telling her she had probably saved the life of A. Jones for a second time.
“And now,” proposed Uncle John, when the repast was over, “let us drive down to the sea and have a look at that beautiful launch that came in yesterday. Everyone is talking about it and they say it belongs to some foreign prince.”
So they motored to Santa Monica and spent the afternoon on the sands, watching the bathers and admiring the graceful outlines of the big yacht lying at anchor a half mile from the shore. The boat was something of a mystery to everybody. It was named the “Arabella” and had come from Hawaii via San Francisco; but what it was doing here and who the owner might be were questions no one seemed able to answer. Rumor had it that a Japanese prince had come in it to inspect the coast line, but newspaper reporters were forbidden to scale the side and no satisfaction was given their eager questioning by the bluff old captain who commanded the craft. So the girls snapped a few kodak pictures of the handsome yacht and then lost interest in it.
That evening they met Mrs. Montrose and the Stanton girls at dinner and told them about the boy, who still remained invisible. Uncle John had listened at his door again, but the snores had ceased and a deathlike silence seemed to pervade the apartment. This rendered them all a trifle uneasy and when they left the dining room Arthur went to the hotel clerk and asked:
“Have you seen Mr. Jones this evening?”
“No,” was the reply. “Do you know him?”
“Very slightly.”
“Well, he’s the queerest guest we’ve ever had. The first day he ate nothing at all. This morning I hear he had a late breakfast. Wasn’t around to lunch, but a little while ago we sent a meal to his room that would surprise you.”
“Indeed!”
&
nbsp; “Yes. A strange order it was! Broiled mushrooms, pancakes with maple syrup and ice cream. How is that for a mix-up — and at dinner time, too!” said the clerk, disgustedly.
Arthur went back and reported.
“All right,” said Patsy, much relieved. “We’ve got him started and now he can take care of himself. Come, Uncle; let’s all go down town and see the picture that drove Mr. Goldstein crazy.”
“He was very decent to us to-day,” asserted Flo Stanton.
“Did he ask any explanation about Maud’s appearing in the picture of a rival company?” inquired Arthur.
“No, not a word.”
“Did he mention Mr. Jones, who conquered him so mysteriously?” asked Beth.
“Not at all. Goldstein confined himself strictly to business; but he treated us with unusual courtesy,” explained Maud.
They were curious to see the films of the rescue, and the entire party rode to the down-town theatre where the Corona picture was being run. Outside the entrance they found the audacious placard, worded just as Goldstein had reported, and they all agreed it was a mean trick to claim another firm’s star as their own.
“I do not think the Corona Company is responsible for this announcement,” said Uncle John. “It is probably an idea of the theatre proprietor, who hoped to attract big business in that way.”
“He has succeeded,” grumbled Arthur, as he took his place at the end of a long line of ticket buyers.
The picture, as it flashed on the screen, positively thrilled them. First was shown the crowd of merry bathers, with Patsy and Maud standing in the water a little apart from the others. Then the boy — far out beyond the rest — threw up his arms, struggling desperately. Maud swam swiftly toward him, Patsy making for the shore. The launching of the boat, the race to rescue, Maud’s effort to keep the drowning one afloat, and the return to the shore, where an excited crowd surrounded them — all was clearly shown in the picture. Now they had the advantage of observing the expressions on the faces of the bathers when they discovered a tragedy was being enacted in their midst. The photographs were so full of action that the participants now looked upon their adventure in a new light and regarded it far more seriously than before.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 510
