VI
JANET
As the train drew up at the station platform, Dr. Price came forwardfrom the white waiting-room, and stood expectantly by the door of thewhite coach. Miller, having left his car, came down the platform in timeto intercept Burns as he left the train, and to introduce him to Dr.Price.
"My carriage is in waiting," said Dr. Price. "I should have liked tohave you at my own house, but my wife is out of town. We have a goodhotel, however, and you will doubtless find it more convenient."
"You are very kind, Dr. Price. Miller, won't you come up and dine withme?"
"Thank you, no," said Miller, "I am expected at home. My wife and childare waiting for me in the buggy yonder by the platform."
"Oh, very well; of course you must go; but don't forget our appointment.Let's see, Dr. Price, I can eat and get ready in half an hour--that willmake it"--
"I have asked several of the local physicians to be present at eighto'clock," said Dr. Price. "The case can safely wait until then."
"Very well, Miller, be on hand at eight. I shall expect you withoutfail. Where shall he come, Dr. Price?"
"To the residence of Major Philip Carteret, on Vine Street."
"I have invited Dr. Miller to be present and assist in the operation,"Dr. Burns continued, as they drove toward the hotel. "He was a favoritepupil of mine, and is a credit to the profession. I presume you saw hisarticle in the Medical Gazette?"
"Yes, and I assisted him in the case," returned Dr. Price. "It was acolored lad, one of his patients, and he called me in to help him. He isa capable man, and very much liked by the white physicians."
Miller's wife and child were waiting for him in fluttering anticipation.He kissed them both as he climbed into the buggy.
"We came at four o'clock," said Mrs. Miller, a handsome young woman, whomight be anywhere between twenty-five and thirty, and whose complexion,in the twilight, was not distinguishable from that of a white person,"but the train was late two hours, they said. We came back at six, andhave been waiting ever since."
"Yes, papa," piped the child, a little boy of six or seven, who satbetween them, "and I am very hungry."
Miller felt very much elated as he drove homeward through the twilight.By his side sat the two persons whom he loved best in all the world. Hisaffairs were prosperous. Upon opening his office in the city, he hadbeen received by the members of his own profession with a cordialitygenerally frank, and in no case much reserved. The colored population ofthe city was large, but in the main poor, and the white physicians werenot unwilling to share this unprofitable practice with a colored doctorworthy of confidence. In the intervals of the work upon his hospital, hehad built up a considerable practice among his own people; but except inthe case of some poor unfortunate whose pride had been lost in povertyor sin, no white patient had ever called upon him for treatment. He knewvery well the measure of his powers,--a liberal education had given himopportunity to compare himself with other men,--and was secretlyconscious that in point of skill and knowledge he did not suffer bycomparison with any other physician in the town. He liked to believethat the race antagonism which hampered his progress and that of hispeople was a mere temporary thing, the outcome of former conditions, andbound to disappear in time, and that when a colored man shoulddemonstrate to the community in which he lived that he possessedcharacter and power, that community would find a way in which to enlisthis services for the public good.
He had already made himself useful, and had received many kind words andother marks of appreciation. He was now offered a further confirmationof his theory: having recognized his skill, the white people were nowready to take advantage of it. Any lurking doubt he may have felt whenfirst invited by Dr. Burns to participate in the operation, had beendispelled by Dr. Price's prompt acquiescence.
On the way homeward Miller told his wife of this appointment. She wasgreatly interested; she was herself a mother, with an only child.Moreover, there was a stronger impulse than mere humanity to draw hertoward the stricken mother. Janet had a tender heart, and could haveloved this white sister, her sole living relative of whom she knew. Allher life long she had yearned for a kind word, a nod, a smile, the leastthing that imagination might have twisted into a recognition of the tiebetween them. But it had never come.
And yet Janet was not angry. She was of a forgiving temper; she couldnever bear malice. She was educated, had read many books, andappreciated to the full the social forces arrayed against any suchrecognition as she had dreamed of. Of the two barriers between them aman might have forgiven the one; a woman would not be likely to overlookeither the bar sinister or the difference of race, even to the slightextent of a silent recognition. Blood is thicker than water, but, if itflow too far from conventional channels, may turn to gall and wormwood.Nevertheless, when the heart speaks, reason falls into the background,and Janet would have worshiped this sister, even afar off, had shereceived even the slightest encouragement. So strong was this weaknessthat she had been angry with herself for her lack of pride, or even of adecent self-respect. It was, she sometimes thought, the heritage of hermother's race, and she was ashamed of it as part of the taint ofslavery. She had never acknowledged, even to her husband, from whom sheconcealed nothing else, her secret thoughts upon this lifelong sorrow.This silent grief was nature's penalty, or society's revenge, forwhatever heritage of beauty or intellect or personal charm had come toher with her father's blood. For she had received no other inheritance.Her sister was rich by right of her birth; if Janet had been fortunate,her good fortune had not been due to any provision made for her by herwhite father.
She knew quite well how passionately, for many years, her proud sisterhad longed and prayed in vain for the child which had at length broughtjoy into her household, and she could feel, by sympathy, all thesickening suspense with which the child's parents must await the resultof this dangerous operation.
"O Will," she adjured her husband anxiously, when he had told her of theengagement, "you must be very careful. Think of the child's poor mother!Think of our own dear child, and what it would mean to lose him!"
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