she chortled in her joy.
(The small boy of the household had been reading “Alice” and consequently declaiming the Jabberwock from morning till night, till its weird strains had become fixed in the various minds of the household and notably in Gertrude's.)
“It will simplify matters,” said her mother, smiling, “but liberty is not for us. That tuneful peal will still ring on,” and as she looked at the Citizens' 'phone the peal came.
CHAPTER III.
One Monday evening the doctor and his wife sat chatting cosily before the fire. In the midst of their conversation, Mary looked up suddenly. “I had a queer little experience this morning, John, I want to tell you about it.”
“Tell ahead,” said John, propping his slippered feet up on the fender.
“Well, I got my pen and paper ready to write a letter to Mrs. E. I wanted to write it yesterday afternoon and tell her some little household incidents just while they were taking place, as she is fond of the doings and sayings of boys and they are more realistic if reported in the present tense. But I couldn't get at it yesterday afternoon. When I started to write it this morning it occurred to me to date the letter Sunday afternoon and write it just as I would have done yesterday—so I did. When I had got it half done or more I heard the door-bell and going to open it I saw through the large glass—”
Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling.
The doctor went to the 'phone.
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Where do you live?”
“I'll be right down.”
He went back, hastily removed his slippers and began putting on his shoes. Mary saw that he had clean forgotten her story. Very well. It wouldn't take more than a minute to finish it—there would be plenty of time while he was getting into his shoes—but if he was not enough interested to refer to it again she certainly would not. In a few minutes the doctor was gone and Mary went to bed. An hour or two later his voice broke in upon her slumber. “Back again,” he said as he settled down upon his pillow. In a minute he exclaimed, “Say, Mary, what was the rest of that story?”
“O, don't get me roused up. I'm so sleepy,” she said drowsily.
“Well, I'd like to hear it.” The interest in her little story which had not been exhibited at the proper time was being exhibited now with a vengeance. She sighed and said, “I can't think of it now—tell you in the morning. Good night,” and turned away.
When morning came and they were both awake, the doctor again referred to the unfinished story.
“It's lost interest for me. It wasn't a story to start with, just a little incident that seemed odd—”
“Well, let's have it.”
“Well, then,” said Mary, “I was writing away when the door-bell rang. I went to open it and saw through the glass the laundry man—”
Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling.
“Go on!” exclaimed her husband, hurriedly, “I'll wait till you finish.”
“I'll not race through a story in any such John Gilpin style,” said Mary, tartly. “Go, John!”
The doctor arose and went.
“No.”
“I think not.”
“Has she any fever?”
“All right, I'll be down in a little bit.”
Then he went back. “Now you can finish,” he said.
“Finis is written here,” said Mary. “Don't say story to me again!” So Mary's story remained unfinished.
But a few days later, when she was in the buggy with her husband she relented. “Now that the 'phone can't cut me short, John, I will finish about the odd incident just because you wanted to know. But it will fall pretty flat now, as all things do with too many preliminary flourishes.”
“Go on,” said the doctor.
“Well, you know I told you I dated my letter back to Sunday afternoon, and was writing away when I heard the door-bell ring. As I started toward the door I saw the laundry man standing there. I was conscious of looking at him in astonishment and in a dazed sort of way as I walked across the large room to open the door. I am sure he must have noticed the expression on my face. When I opened the door he asked as he always does, ‘Any laundry?’”
“‘Any laundry today?’ The words were on my tongue's end but I stopped them in time. You see it was really Sunday to me, so deep into the spirit of it had I got, and it was with a little shock that I came back to Monday again in time to answer the man in a rational way. And now my story's done.”
“Not a bad one, either,” said John, “I'm glad you condescended to finish it.”
The doctor came home at ten o'clock and went straight to bed and to sleep. At eleven he was called.
“What is it?” he asked gruffly.
“It's time for Silas to take his medicine and he won't do it.”
“Won't, eh?”
“No, he vows he won't.”
“Well, let him alone for a while and then try again.”
About one came another ring.
“We've both been asleep, Doctor, but I've been up fifteen minutes trying to get him to take his medicine and he won't do it. He says it's too damned nasty and that he don't need it anyhow.”
“Tell him I say he's a mighty good farmer, but a devilish poor doctor.”
“I don't know what to do. I can't make him take it.”
“You'll have to let him alone for awhile I guess, maybe he'll change his mind after awhile.”
At three o'clock the doctor was again at the telephone.
“Doctor, he just will not take it,” the voice was now quite distressed. “I can't manage him at all.”
“You ought to manage him. What's a wife for? Well, go to bed and don't bother him or me any more tonight.”
But early next morning Silas' wife telephoned again.
“I thought I ought to tell you that he hasn't taken it yet.”
“He'll get well anyway. Don't be a bit uneasy about him,” said the doctor, laughing, as he rung off.
“It's time to go, John.”
Mary was drawing on her gloves. She looked at her moveless husband as he sat before the crackling blaze in the big fireplace.
“This is better than church,” he made reply.
“But you promised you would go tonight. Come on.”
“It isn't time yet, is it?”
“The last bell will ring before we get there.”
“Well, let's wait till all that singing's over. That just about breaks my back.”
Mary sat down resignedly. If they missed the singing perhaps John would not look at his watch and sigh so loud during the sermon. And it might not be a bad idea to miss the singing for another reason. The last time John had gone to church he had astonished her by sliding up beside her, taking hold of the hymn-book and singing! It happened to be his old favorite, “Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood.”
Of course it was lovely that he should want to sing it with her—but the way he sang it! He was in the wrong key and he came out two or three syllables behind on most of the lines, but undismayed by the sudden curtailment went boldly ahead on the next. And Mary had been much relieved when the hymn was ended and the book was closed. So now she waited very patiently for her husband to make some move toward starting. By and by he got up and they went out. No sooner was the door closed behind them than the “ting-a-ling-ling-ling” was heard. The doctor threw open the door and went back. Mary, waiting at the threshold, heard one side of the dialogue.
“Yes.”
“Down where?”
“Shake up your 'phone. I can't hear you.”
“That's better. Now what is it?”
“Swallowed benzine, did she? How much?... That won't kill her. Give her some warm water to drink. And give her a spoonful of mustard—anything to produce vomiting...... She has? That's all right. Tell her to put her finger down her throat and vomit some more..... No, I think it won't be necessary for me to come down..... You would? Well, let me hear again in the next hour or two, and if you still want me I'll come. Good-bye.”
They walked down the street and as they drew near the office they saw the figure of the office boy in the doorway silhouetted against the light within. He was looking anxiously in their direction. Suddenly he disappeared and the faint sound of a bell came to their ears. They quickened their pace and as they came up the boy came hurriedly to the door again.
“Is that you, Doctor?” he asked, peering out.
“Yes.”
“I told a lady at the 'phone to wait a minute, she's 'phoned twice.” Mary waited at the door while her husband went into the office and over to the 'phone.
“Yes. What is it?.... No. No. No!.... Listen to me..... Be still and listen to me! She's in no more danger of dying than you are. She couldn't die if she tried..... Be still, I say, and listen to me!” He stamped his foot mightily. Mary laughed softly to herself. “Now don't hang over her and sympathize with her; that's exactly what she don't need. And don't let the neighbors hang around her either. Shut the whole tea-party out..... Well, tell 'em I said so..... I don't care a damn what they think. Your duty and mine is to do the very best we can for that girl. Now remember..... Yes, I'll be down on the nine o'clock train tomorrow morning. Good-bye.” He joined his wife at the door. “If anybody wants me, come to the church,” he said, turning to the boy.
Mary laid her hand within her husband's arm and they started on. They met a man who stopped and asked the doctor how soon he would be at the office, as he was on his way there to get some medicine.
“I'd better go back,” said the doctor and back they went. It seemed to Mary that her husband might move with more celerity in fixing up the medicine. He was deliberation itself as he cut and arranged the little squares of paper. Still more deliberately he heaped the little mounds of white powder upon them. She looked on anxiously. At last he was ready to fold them up! No, he reached for another bottle. He took out the cork, but his spatula was not in sight. Nowise disturbed, he shifted bottles and little boxes about on the table.
“Can't you use your knife, Doctor?” asked Mary.
“O, I'll find it—it's around here somewhere.” In a minute or two the missing spatula was discovered under a paper, and then the doctor slowly, so slowly, dished out little additions to the little mounds. Then he laid the spatula up, put the cork carefully back in the bottle, turned in his chair and put two questions to the waiting man, turned back and folded the mounds in the squares with the most painstaking care. In spite of herself Mary fidgeted and when the powders with instructions were delivered and the man had gone, she rose hastily. “Do come now before somebody else wants something.”
The singing was over and the sermon just beginning when they reached the church. It progressed satisfactorily to the end. The doctor usually made an important unit in producing that “brisk and lively air which a sermon inspires when it is quite finished.” But tonight, a few minutes before the finale came, Mary saw the usher advancing down the aisle. He stopped at their seat and bending down whispered something to the doctor, who turned and whispered something to his wife.
“No, I'll stay and walk home with the Rands. I see they're here,” she whispered back.
The doctor rose and went out. “Who's at the office?” he asked, as he walked away with the boy.
“She's not there yet, she telephoned. I told her you was at church.”
“Did she say she couldn't wait?”
“She said she had been at church too, but a bug flew in her ear and she had to leave, and she guessed you'd have to leave too, because she couldn't stand it. She said it felt awful.”
“She was at a house by the Methodist church, she said, when she 'phoned to see if you was at the office. When I told her I'd get you from the other church, she said she'd be at the office by the time you got there.”
And she was, sitting uneasily in a big chair.
“Doctor, I've had a flea in my ear sometimes, but this is a different proposition. Ugh! Please get this creature out now. It feels as big as a bat. Ugh! It's crawling further in, hurry!”
“Maybe we'd better wait a minute and see if it won't be like some other things, in at one ear and out at the other.”
“O, hurry, it'll get so far in you can't reach it.”
“Turn more to the light,” commanded the doctor, and in a few seconds he held up the offending insect.
“O, you only got a little of it!”
“I got it all.”
“Well, it certainly felt a million times bigger than that,” and she departed radiantly happy.
CHAPTER IV.
One day in early spring the doctor surprised his wife by asking her if she would like to take a drive.
“In March? The roads are not passable yet, surely.”
But the doctor assured her that the roads were getting pretty good except in spots. “I have such a long journey ahead of me today that I want you to ride out as far as Centerville and I can pick you up as I come back.”
“That's seven or eight miles. I'll go. I can stop at Dr. Parkin's and chat with Mrs. Parkin till you come.”
Accordingly a few minutes later the doctor and Mary were speeding along through the town which they soon left far behind them.
About two miles out they saw a buggy down the road ahead of them which seemed to be at a stand-still. When they drew near they found a woman at the horses' heads with a broken strap in her hand. She was gazing helplessly at the buggy which stood hub-deep in mud. She recognized the doctor and called out, “Dr. Blank, if ever I needed a doctor in my life, it's now.”
“Stuck fast, eh?”
The doctor handed the reins to his wife and got out.
“I see—a broken single-tree. Well, I always unload when I get stuck, so the first thing we do we'll take this big lummox out of here,” he said picking his way to the buggy. The lummox rose to her feet with a broad grin and permitted herself to be taken out. She was a fat girl about fourteen years old.
“My! I'll bet she weighs three hundred pounds,” observed the doctor when she was landed, which was immediately resented. Then he took the hitching-rein and tied the tug to the broken end of the single-tree; after which he went to the horses' heads and commanded them to “Come on.” They started and the next instant the vehicle was on terra firma. Mother and daughter gave the doctor warm thanks and each buggy went its separate way.
Mary was looking about her. “The elms have a faint suspicion that spring is coming; the willows only are quite sure of it,” she said, noting their tender greenth which formed a soft blur of color, the only color in all the gray landscape. No, there is a swift dash of blue, for a jay has settled down on the top of a rail just at our travelers' right.
Soon they were crossing a long and high bridge spanning a creek which only a week before had been a raging torrent; the drift, caught and held by the trunks of the trees, and the weeds and grasses all bending in one direction, told the story. But the waters had subsided and now lay in deep, placid pools.
“Stop, John, quick!” commanded Mary when they were about half way across. The doctor obeyed wondering what could be the matter. He looked at his wife, who was gazing down into the pool beneath.
“I suppose I'm to stop while you count all the fish you can see.”
“I was looking at that lovely concave sky down there. See those two white clouds floating so serenely across the blue far, far below the tip-tops of the elm trees.”
The doctor drove relentlessly on.
“Another mudhole,” said Mary after a while, “but this time the travelers tremble on the brink and fear to launch away.”
When they came up they found a little girl standing by the side of the horse holding up over its back a piece of the harness. She held it in a very aimless and helpless way. “See,” said Mary, “she doesn't know what to do a bit more than I should. I wonder if she can be alone.”
The doctor got out and went forward to help her and discovered a young man sitting cozily in the carriage. He glanced at him contemptuously.
“Your harness is broken, have you got a string?” he asked abruptly.
“N-n-o, I haven't,” said the youth feeling about his pockets.
“Take your shoe-string. If you haven't got one I'll give you mine,” and he set his foot energetically on the hub of the wheel to unlace his shoe.
“Why, I've got one here, I guess,” and the young man lifted a reluctant foot. The doctor saw and understood. The little sister was to fix the harness in order to save her brother's brand new shoes from the mud.
“You'd better fix that harness yourself, my friend, and fix it strong,” was the doctor's parting injunction as he climbed into the buggy and started on.
“I don't like the looks of this slough of despond,” said Mary. The next minute the horses were floundering through it, tugging with might and main. Now the wheels have sunk to the hubs and the horses are straining every muscle.
“Merciful heaven!” gasped Mary. At last they were safely through, and the doctor looking back said, “That is the last great blot on our civilization—bad roads.”
After a while there came from across the prairie the ascending, interrogative boo-oo-m of a prairie chicken not far distant, while from far away came the faint notes of another. And now a different note, soft, melodious and mournful is heard.
“How far away do you think that dove is?” asked the doctor.
“It sounds as if it might be half a mile.”
“It is right up here in this tree in the field.”
“Is it,” said Mary, looking up. “Yes, I see, it's as pretty and soft as its voice. But I'm getting sunburned, John. How hot a March day can get!”
“Only two more miles and good road all the way.”
A few minutes more and Mary was set down at Centerville, “I'll be back about sunset,” announced her husband as he drove off.
A very pleasant-faced woman answered the knock at the door. She had a shingle in her hand and several long strips of muslin over her arm. She smilingly explained that she didn't often meet people at the door with a shingle but that she was standing near the door when the knock came.
Mary, standing by the bed and removing hat and gloves, looked about her.
“What are you doing with that shingle and all this cotton and stuff, Mrs. Parkin?” she asked.
“Haven't you ever made a splint?”
“A splint? No indeed, I'm not equal to that.”
“That's what I'm doing now. There's a boy with a broken arm in the office in the next room.”
“Oh, your husband has his office here at the house.”
“Yes, and it's a nuisance sometimes, too, but one gets used to it.”
“I'll watch you and learn something new about the work of a doctor's wife.”
“You'll learn then to have a lot of pillow slips and sheets on hand. Old or new, Dr. Parkin just tears them up when he gets in a hurry—it doesn't matter to him what goes.”
The doctor's wife put cotton over the whole length of the shingle and wound the strips of muslin around it; then taking a needle and thread she stitched it securely. Mary sat in her chair watching the process with much interest. “You have made it thicker in some places than in others,” she said.
“Yes; that is to fit the inequalities of the arm.” Mary looked at her admiringly. “You are something of an artist,” she observed.
Just as Mrs. Parkin finished it her husband appeared in the doorway.
“Is it done?” he asked.
“It's just finished.”
“May I see you put it on, Doctor?” asked Mary, rising and coming forward.
“Why, good afternoon, Mrs. Blank. I'm glad to see you out here. Yes, come right in. How's the doctor?”
“Oh, he is well and happy—I think he expects to cut off a foot this afternoon.”
A boy with a frightened look on his face stood in the doctor's office with one sleeve rolled up. The doctor adjusted the fracture, then applied the splint while his wife held it steady until he had made it secure. When the splint was in place and the boy had gone a messenger came to tell the doctor he was wanted six miles away.
About half an hour afterward a little black-eyed woman came in and said she wanted some more medicine like the last she took.
“The doctor's gone,” said Mrs. Parkin, “and will not be back for several hours.”
“Well, you can get it for me, can't you?”
“Do you know the name of it?”
“No, but I believe I could tell it if I saw it,” said the patient, going to the doctor's shelves and looking closely at the bottles and phials with their contents of many colors. She took up a three-ounce bottle. “This is like the other bottle and I believe the medicine is just the same color. Yes, I'm sure it is,” she said, holding it up to the light. Mary looked at her and then at Mrs. Parkin.
“I wouldn't like to risk it,” said the latter lady.
“Oh, I'm not afraid. I don't want to wait until the doctor comes and I know this must be like the other. It's exactly the same color.”
“My good woman,” said Mary, “you certainly will not risk that. It might kill you.”
“No, Mrs. Dawson, you must either wait till the doctor comes or come again,” said Mrs. Parkin. The patient grumbled a little about having to make an extra trip and took her leave.
When the door had closed behind her Mary asked the other doctor's wife if she often had patients like that.
“Oh, yes. People come here when the doctor is away and either want me to prescribe for them or to prescribe for themselves.”
“You don't do it, do you?”
“Sometimes I do, when I am perfectly sure what I am doing. Having the office here in the house so many years I couldn't help learning a few things.”
“I wouldn't prescribe for anything or anybody. I'd be afraid of killing somebody.” About an hour later Mary, looking out of the window, saw a wagon stopping at the gate. It contained a man and a woman and two well-grown girls.
“Hello!” called the man.
“People call you out instead of coming in. That is less trouble,” observed Mary. The doctor's wife went to the door.
“Is Doc at home?”
“No, he has gone to the country.”
“How soon will he be back?”
“Not before supper time, probably.”
The man whistled, then looked at his wife and the two girls.
“Well, Sally,” he said, “I guess we'd better git out and wait fur 'im.”
“W'y, Pa, it'll be dark long before we git home, if we do.”
“I can't help that. I'm not agoin' to drive eight miles tomorry or next day nuther.”
“If ye'd 'a started two hour ago like I wanted ye to do, maybe Doc'd 'a been here and we c'd 'a been purty nigh home by this time.”
“Shet up! I told ye I wasn't done tradin' then.”
“It don't take me all day to trade a few aigs for a jug o' m'lasses an' a plug o' terbacker.”
For answer the head of the house told his family to “jist roll out now.” They rolled out and in a few minutes they had all rolled in. Mrs. Parkin made a heroic effort not to look inhospitable which made Mary's heroic effort not to look amused still more heroic.
When at last the afternoon was drawing to a close Mary went out into the yard to rest. She wished John would come. Hark! There is the ring of horses' hoofs down the quiet road. But these are white horses, John's are bays. She turns her head and looks into the west. Out in the meadow a giant oak-tree stands between her and the setting sun. Its upper branches are outlined against the grey cloud which belts the entire western horizon, while its lower branches are sharply etched against the yellow sky beneath the grey.
What a calm, beautiful sky it was!
She thought of some lines she had read more than once that morning ... a bit from George Eliot's Journal:
“How lovely to look into that brilliant distance and see the ship on the horizon seeming to sail away from the cold and dim world behind it right into the golden glory! I have always that sort of feeling when I look at sunset. It always seems to me that there in the west lies a land of light and warmth and love.”
A carriage was now coming down the road at great speed. Mary saw it was her husband and went in to put on her things. In a few minutes more she was in the buggy and they were bound for home. It was almost ten o'clock when they got there. The trip had been so hard on the horses that all the spirit was taken out of them. The doctor, too, was exceedingly tired. “Forty-two miles is a long trip to make in an afternoon,” he said.
“I hope Jack and Maggie are not up so late.”
“It would be just like them to sit up till we came.”
The buggy stopped; the door flew open and Jack and Maggie stood framed in the doorway with the leaping yellow firelight for a background.
CHAPTER V.
Once in a while sympathy for a fellow mortal kept the doctor's wife an interested listener at the 'phone. Going, one morning, to speak to a friend about some little matter she heard her husband say:
“What is it, doctor?” A physician in a little town some ten or twelve miles distant, who had called Dr. Blank in consultation a few days before, was calling him.
“I think our patient is doing very well, but her heart keeps getting a little faster.”
“How fast is it now?”
“About 120.”
“But the disease is pretty well advanced now—that doesn't mean as much as it would earlier. But you might push a little on the brandy, or the strychnine—how much brandy have you given her since I saw her?”
“I have given her four ounces.”
“Four ounces!”
“Yes.”
“Four ounces in three days? I think you must mean four drachms.”
“Yes. It is drachms. Four ounces would be fixing things up. I've been giving her digitalis; what do you think about that?”
“That's all right, but I think that strychnine would be a little better.”
“Would you give her any aromatic spirits of ammonia?”
“Does she rattle?”
“A little.”
“Then you might give her a little of that. And keep the room open and stick right to her and she ought to get along. Don't give her much to eat.”
“Is milk all right?”
“Yes. You bet it is.”
“All right then, doctor, I believe that's all. Good-bye.”
On another occasion, Mary caught this fragment:
“She's so everlastin' sore that she just hollers and yells every time I go near her. Would you give her any more morphine?”
“Morphine's a thing you can't monkey with you know, Doctor. You want to be mighty careful about that.”
“Yes. I know. How long will that morphine last?”
“That depends on how you use it. It won't last long if you use too much and neither will she.”
“I mean how long will it last in the system?”
“O! Why, three or four hours.”
“Well, I think she don't need no more medicine.”
Mary smiled at the double negative and when she laughingly spoke of it that night her husband assured her that that doctor's singleness of purpose more than offset his doubleness of negative. That he was a fine fellow and a good physician just the same.
One morning in March just as the doctor arose from the breakfast table he was called to the 'phone.
“Is this Dr. Blank?”
“Yes.”
“Doctor, will it hurt the baby to bathe it every morning? I've been doing that but some of the folks around here say I oughtn't to do it; they say it isn't good for a baby to bathe it so often.”
The doctor answered solemnly, “The baby's fat and healthy isn't it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And pretty?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Likes to see its mamma?”
“You know it.”
“Likes to see its papa?”
“He does that!” said the young mother.
“Then ask me next fall if it will hurt to bathe the baby every morning.”
“All right, Doctor,” laughed the baby's mamma.
“The fools are not all dead yet,” said John, as he took his hat and departed. On the step he turned back and put his head in at the door. “Keep an ear out, Mary. I'm likely to be away from the office a good bit this morning.”
An hour later a call came. Mary put the ear that was “out” to the receiver:
“It's on North Adams street.”
“All right. I'll be out there after awhile,” said her husband's placid voice.
“Don't wait too long. He may die before you git here.”
“No, he won't. I'll be along pretty soon.”
“Well, come just as quick as you can.”
“All right,” and the listener knew that it might be along toward noon before he got there.
About eleven o'clock the 'phone rang sharply.
“Is this Dr. Blank's house?”
“Yes.”
“Is he there?”
“I saw him pass here about twenty minutes ago. I'm sure he'll be back to the office in a little bit.”
“My land! I've been here three or four times. Looks like I'd ketch him some time.”
“You are at the office then? If you will sit down and wait just a little while, he will be in.”
“I come six miles to see him. I supposed of course he'd be in some time,” grumbled the voice (of course a woman's).
“But when he is called to visit a patient he must go, you know,” explained Mary.
“Y-e-s,” admitted the voice reluctantly. “Well, I'll wait here a little while longer.”
Ten minutes later Mary rang the office. Her husband replied.
“How long have you been back, John?”
“O, five or ten minutes.”
“Did you find a woman waiting for you?”
“No.”
“Well, I assured her you'd be there in a few minutes and she said she'd wait.”
“Do you know who she was?”
“No. Some one from the country. She said she came six miles to see you and she supposed you'd be in your office some time, and that sometime was mightily emphatic.”
“O, yes, I know now. She'll be in again,” laughed the doctor and Mary felt relieved, for in the querulous tones of the disappointed woman she had read disapproval of the doctor and of herself too, as the partner not only of his joys and sorrows, but of his laggard gait as well. The people who wait for a doctor are not apt to consider that a good many more may be waiting for him also at that particular moment of time.
CHAPTER VI.
One of the most discouraging things I have encountered is a great blank silence. The doctor asks his wife to keep a close watch on the telephone for a little while, and leaves the office. Pretty soon it rings and she goes to answer it.
“Hello?” Silence. “What is it?” More silence. She knows that “unseen hands or spirits” did not ring that bell. She knows perfectly well that there is a listening ear at the other end of the line. But you cannot converse with silence any more than you can speak to a man you meet on the street if he purposely looks the other way.
Mary knew that the listening ear belonged to someone who recognized that it was the wife who answered instead of the doctor, and therefore kept silent. She smiled and hung up the receiver—sorry not to be able to help her husband and to give the needed information to the patient.
But when this had happened several times she thought of a more satisfactory way of dealing with the situation. She would take down the receiver and ask, “What is it?” She would wait a perceptible instant and then say distinctly and pleasantly, “Doctor Blank will be out of the office for about twenty minutes. He asked me to tell you.” That never failed to bring an answer, a hasty, shame-voiced, “Oh, I—well—thank you, Mrs. Blank, I'll call again, then.”
The doctor's absence from town has its telephonic puzzles. One day during Dr. Blank's absence his wife was called to the 'phone.
“Mrs. Blank, a telegram has just come for the doctor. What must I do with it?” It was the man at the office who put the question.
“Do you know what it is, or where it's from?”
“I asked the operator and he says it's from Mr. Slocum, who is in Cincinnati. He telegraphed the doctor to go and see his wife who is sick.”
“Well, take it over to Dr. Brown's office and ask him to go and see her.”
About half an hour later the thought of the telegram came into her mind. “I wonder if he found Dr. Brown in. I'd better find out.”
She rang the office. “Did you find Dr. Brown in?”
“Yes, he was there.”
“And you gave the message to him?”
“Yes, he took it.”
“I hope he went right down?”
“No, he said he wouldn't go.”
“Wouldn't go!” exclaimed Mary, much astonished.
“He said he knew Slocum and he was in all probability drunk when he sent the message.”
“Why, what a queer conclusion to arrive at. The doctor may be right but I think we ought to know.”
“I called up their house after I came back from Dr. Brown's office, but nobody answered. So she can't be very sick or she'd be at home.”
Mary put up the receiver hesitatingly. She was not satisfied about this matter. She went about her work, but her thoughts were on the message and the sick wife. Suddenly she thought of something—the Slocum children were in school. The mother had not been able to get to the 'phone to answer it. The thought of her lying there alone and helpless was too much. Mary went swiftly to the telephone and called the office.
“Johnson, you have to pass Mrs. Slocum's on your way to dinner. I think she may have been too ill to go to the 'phone. Please stop and find out something definite.”
“All right.”
“And let me know as soon as you can. If she isn't sick don't tell her anything about the telegram. Think up some excuse as you go along for coming in, in case all is well.”
In about twenty minutes the expected summons came.
“Well, I stopped, Mrs. Blank.”
“What did you find?”
“Well, I found a hatchet close to Slocum's gate.”
“I took it in to ask if it was theirs.”
“Was it?”
“No, it wasn't.”
“Who told you so?”
“Mrs. Slocum, herself, and she's about the healthiest looking invalid I've seen lately.”
“I'm much relieved. Thank you, Johnson.” And as she left the 'phone she meditated within herself, “Verily, the tender thoughtfulness of the husband drunk exceedeth that of the husband sober.”
When night came and Mary was preparing for bed she thought, “It will be very unpleasant to be called up only to tell people the doctor is not here.” She rose, went to the 'phone and called central.
“This is Mrs. Blank, central. If anyone should want the doctor tonight, or for the next two nights, please say he is out of town and will not be home until Saturday.”
Then with a delicious sense of freedom she went to bed and slept as sweetly as in the long-ago when the telephone was a thing undreamed of.
The ting-a-ling-ling-ling—came as Mary was pouring boiling water into the teapot, just before six on a cool July evening. The maid was temporarily absent and Mary had been getting supper in a very leisurely way when she saw her husband step up on the porch. Then her leisure was exchanged for hurry. The doctor's appearance before meal time was the signal to which she responded automatically—he had to catch a train—someone must have him right away, or what not? She must not keep him waiting a minute. She pushed the teapot back on the stove and went swiftly to the 'phone.
“Is this Dr. Blank's office?” asked a disturbed feminine voice.
“No, his residence. He is here. Wait a minute, please, and I will call him.”
She hurried out to the porch, “Isn't papa here?” she asked of her small boy sitting there.
“He was.”
“Well, where is he now?”
“I don't know where he is.”
Provoking! She hurried back. He must be in the garden. An occasional impulse to hoe sometimes came over him (especially if the day happened to be Sunday).
In the kitchen her daughter stood at a table cutting the bread for supper. “Go quick, and see if papa's in the garden. Tell him to come to the 'phone at once.”
Then she hurried back to re-assure the waiting one. But what could she tell her? Perhaps the doctor was not in the garden. She rushed out and beat her daughter in the race toward it. She sent her voice ahead, “John!” she called.
“Yes.”
“Come to the 'phone this minute.” Back she ran. Would she still be waiting?
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Yes, the doctor's here. He's in the garden but will be in in just a minute. Hold the 'phone please.”
“Very well, thank you.”
It was a minute and a half before the doctor got there.
“Hello.” No answer.
“Hello!” Silence.
“Hello!” Still no reply. The doctor rang sharply for central.
“Who was calling me a minute ago.”
“I don't know—we can't keep track of everybody who calls.”
The doctor hung up the receiver with an explosive monosyllable. Mary's patience was giving out too. “She couldn't wait one half minute. I told her you would be here in a minute and it took you a minute and a half.”
“She may be waiting at the office, I'll go down there.”
“I wouldn't do it,” said Mary, warmly. “It's much easier for her to stay a half minute at the 'phone than for you to tramp back to the office.”
But he went. As his wife went back to the kitchen her daughter called, “Mother, did you take the loaf of bread in there with you?”
“Why, no.”
“Well, it's not on the table where I was cutting it when you sent me after father.”
“It's on the floor!” shouted the small boy, peering through the window. “I won't eat any of it!”
“Don't, exquisite child,” said his sister, stooping over to recover the loaf, dropped in her haste. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Mary went.
“Isn't the doctor coming?”
“He came. He called repeatedly, but got no reply.”
“I was right here with my ear to the 'phone the whole time.”
“He concluded it might be someone waiting for him at the office, so he has gone down there.”
“I'm not there. I'm here at home.”
“Hello,” broke in the doctor's voice.
“O, here you are!”
“Doctor, I've been taking calomel today and then I took some salts and I thoughtlessly dissolved them in some lemonade I had handy!”
A solemn voice asked, “Have you made your will?”
A little giggle before the patient said “No.”
“You'll have plenty of time. You needn't hurry about it.”
“You don't think it will hurt me then?”
“No. Not a bit.”
“I was afraid the acid might salivate me.”
“Yes, that's an old and popular idea. But it won't.”
“That sounds good, Doctor. I was awfully scared. Much obliged. Good-bye.”
A week or two after the above incident the doctor was seated at his dinner, a leisurely Sunday dinner. The telephone called and he rose and went to it. The usual hush fell upon the table in order that he might hear.
“Is this Dr. Blank?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Doctor, this is Mrs. Abner. Would it be too much trouble for you to step into Hall's and ask them to send me up a quart of ice-cream for dinner?”
“Certainly not. A quart?”
“Yes, please. I'm sorry to bother you with it. They ought to have a 'phone.”
“No trouble.”
The doctor hung up the receiver and reached for his hat.
“Why, John, you surely can finish your dinner before you go!” exclaimed Mary.
“Then I'd spoil Mrs. Abner's dinner.”
“Mrs. Abner!”
“Yes, she wants a quart of ice-cream for dinner.”
“I'd like to know what you've got to do with it,” said Mary tartly.
“She thinks I'm at the office.”
“And the office is next door to Hall's and Hall's have no 'phone,” said Mary smiling. “Of course you must go. Wouldn't Mrs. Abner feel mortified though if she knew you had to leave your home in the midst of dinner to order her ice-cream. But do hurry back, John.”
“Maybe I'd better stay there till the dinner hour is well over,” laughed John. “Every now and then someone wants me to step into Hall's and order up something.”
He went good-naturedly away and his wife looked after him marveling, but withal admiring.
The doctor and his wife had been slumbering peacefully for an hour or two. Then came a loud ring and they were wide awake at once.
“That wasn't the telephone, John, it was the door-bell.”
The doctor got into his dressing-gown and went to the door.
His wife heard a man's voice, then her husband reply, then the door shut. She lay back on her pillow but it was evident John was not coming back. She must have dozed, for it seemed to her a long time had gone by when she started to hear a noise in the other room. John had not yet got off.
“You have to go some place, do you?” she called.
“Yes,—just a little way. Look out for the 'phone, Mary. I think I'll have to go down to Hanson's tonight, to meet the stork.”
“But how can I get word to you? They have no 'phone or that man wouldn't have come after you.”
“Well, I have promised Hanson and I'll have to go there. If he 'phones before I get back tell him he'll have to come down to Stetson's after me. Or, you might wake one of the boys and send him over.”
“I'd rather try to wake Rip Van Winkle,” said Mary, in a tone that settled it.
In about an hour the doctor was back and snuggling down under the covers.
“They've got a fine boy over to Stetson's,” he announced to his sleepy wife.
“They have!” she exclaimed, almost getting awake. Again they slept.
Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling.
“That's Hanson,” exclaimed the doctor springing up and groping his way to the 'phone.
“Yes.”
“Out where?”
“Smith's on Parks avenue?.... Not Smith's?.... I understand—a little house farther down that street..... Yes, I'll come..... O, as soon as I can dress and get there.”
Mary heard, but when he had gone, was soon in a deep sleep.
By and by she found herself flinging off the covers and hurrying guiltily toward the summoning tyrant, her subconscious self telling her that this was the third peal.
“Is the doctor there, Mrs. Blank?”
“No, he is over at Stetson's. He said if you 'phoned to tell you you would have to come there as they have no 'phone.”
“Wait a minute, Mrs. Blank,” said the voice of central, “some one is trying to speak—”
“What have I said!” thought Mary suddenly, thoroughly awake. “He got back from Stetson's and went to another place. But I don't know what place nor where it is.”
The kindly voice of central went on:
“It's the doctor who is talking, Mrs. Blank. I understand now. He says if that message comes you are to 'phone him at James Smith's on Parks avenue.”
Mary looked at the clock. “So he's been there all this time. That stork is a little too busy tonight,” she thought as she went shivering back to bed.
Toward daylight she was roused by the return of her husband, who announced a new daughter in the world and then they went to sleep. The next morning she said, “John, I've just thought of something. Why didn't you have central 'phone you at Smith's if Hanson called and save me all that bother?”
“I guess it's because I'm so used to bothering you Mary, that I didn't think of it.”
Mary was upstairs cleaning house most vigorously when the ring came. She stopped and listened. It came again—three. She set the dust pan down and went.
“I'll have to be out for an hour or more, Mary,” said the doctor.
“I heard that sigh,” he laughed, “but it won't be very hard to sort of keep an ear on the 'phone, will it? Johnson may get in soon and then it won't be necessary.”
“Very well, then, John,” and she went upstairs, leaving the doors open behind her.
She had just reached the top when she had to turn about and retrace her steps.
“Hello.” No answer.
“Is someone calling Dr. Blank's house or office?”
“I rang your 'phone by mistake,” said central. Mary trudged up the stairs again. “This is more tiresome than cleaning house,” she said to herself as she went along.
In twenty minutes the summons came. She leaned her broom against the wall and went down.
“O, this is Mrs. Blank. I'm very sorry to have put you to this trouble—I wanted the doctor.”
She recognized the voice of her old pastor for whom she had a most kindly regard.
“He is out, but will be back within half an hour now, Mr. Rutledge.”
“Thank you, I'll call again, but I wonder that you knew my voice.” Mary laughed.
“I haven't heard it for awhile, but maybe I'll be at church next Sunday, if minding the telephone doesn't make me feel too wicked.”
“It's the wicked that church is for—come by all means.”
“I didn't mean to detain you, Mr. Rutledge. It is restful, though, after dragging one's weary feet down to the 'phone to hear something beside all the ills that flesh is heir to. Come to see us soon—one day next week.”
Once more she wended her way upstairs and in about fifteen minutes came the ting-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling. “I surrender!” she declared.
When she had gone down and put the receiver to her ear her husband's voice spoke kindly,
“I'm back, Mary, you're released.”
“Thank you, John, you are very thoughtful,” and she smiled as she took off her sun-bonnet and sat herself down. “Not another time will I climb those stairs this morning.”
Mary sat one evening dreamily thinking about them—these messages that came every day, every day!
Doctor, will it hurt Jennie to eat some tomatoes this morning—she craves them so?
Will is a great deal better. Can he have some ice-cream for dinner?
I can hardly manage Henry any longer, Doctor, he's determined he will have more to eat. Can I begin giving him a little more today?
Lemonade won't hurt Helen, will it? She wants some.
Doctor, I forget how many drops of that clear medicine I am to give..... Ten, you say? Thank you.
Dr. Blank, is it after meals or before that the dark medicine is to be given..... I thought so, but I wanted to be sure.
We are out of those powders you left. Do you think we will need any more?.... Then I'll send down for them.
How long will you be in the office this morning, Doctor?...... Very well, I'll be down in about an hour. I want you to see my throat.
You wanted me to let you know how Johnny is this morning. I don't think he has any fever now and he slept all night, so I guess you won't need to come down today.
Dr. Blank, I've got something coming on my finger. Do you suppose it's a felon?.... You can tell better when you see it?.... Well, I suppose you can. I'll be down at the office pretty soon and then I want you to tell me it's not a felon.
Mary seems a good deal better this morning, but she still has that pain in her side.
Doctor, I don't believe Joe is as well as he was last night. I think you had better come down.
As these old, old stories came leisurely into Mary's thoughts the telephone rang three times. She rose from her chair before the fire and went to answer it.
“Is this Dr. Blank's office?”
“No, his residence.”
“Is the doctor there?”
“No, but he will be down on the seven o'clock train.”
“And it's now not quite six. This is Mr. Andrews.”
Mary knew the name and the man.
“My wife is sick and I want to get a pint of alcohol for her.”
“An old subterfuge,” thought Mary, “I'm afraid he wants it for himself.” She knew that he was often under its influence.
“I can't get it without a prescription from a physician, you know. She needs it right away.”
“The thirst is on him,” thought our listener, pityingly.
The voice went on, “Mrs. Blank, couldn't you just speak to the druggist about it so I could get it right away?”
“Mr. Andrews,” she said hastily, “the druggist would pay no attention to me. I'm not a physician, you know. The doctor will be here in an hour—see him,” and she hurried the receiver into its place, anxious to get away from it. This was a story that was entirely new to her. Never before had she been asked to procure a prescription for alcohol or any of its attendant spirits. She liked the old stories best.
The doctor had been to the city and had got home at four o'clock in the morning. He had had to change cars in the night and consequently had had little sleep. When the door-bell rang his wife awakened instantly at the expected summons and rose to admit him. In a little while both were fast asleep. The wife, about a half hour later, found herself struggling to speak to somebody about something, she did not know what. But when the second long peal came from the 'phone she was fully awakened. How she hated to rouse the slumberer at her side.
“John,” she called softly. He did not move.
“John!” a little louder. He stirred slightly, but slept on.
“John, John!”
“Huh-h?”
“The telephone.”
He threw back the covers, and rising, stumbled to the 'phone.
“Hello.”
The voice of a little boy came to his half-awakened ear.
“Say, Pa, I can't sell these papers an' git through in time fer school.”
“Yes, you can!” roared a voice. “You jist want to fool around.” The doctor went back to bed.
“Wasn't the message for you?” inquired his wife. “What a shame to rouse you from your sleep for nothing.”
The doctor told her what the message was and was back in slumberland in an incredibly short space of time. Not so his wife. She was too thoroughly awake at last and dawn was beginning to peep around the edges of the window shades. She would not court slumber now but would lie awake with her own thoughts which were very pleasant thoughts this morning. By and by she rose softly, dressed and went out onto the veranda and looked long into the reddening eastern sky. Ever since she could remember she had felt this keen delight at the aspect of the sky in the very early morning. She stood for awhile, drinking in the beauty and the peacefulness of it all. Then she went in to her awakening household, glad that the little boy had 'phoned his “Pa” and by some means had got her too.
One midsummer night a tiny ringing came faintly and pleasantly into Mary's dreams. Not till it came the second or third time did she awaken to what it was. Then she sat up in bed calling her husband, who had just awakened too and sprung out of bed. Dazed, he stumbled about and could not find his way. With Mary's help he got his bearings and the next minute his thunderous “Hello” greeted her ears.
“Yes.”
“Worse tonight? In what way?”
An instant's silence. “Mrs. Brownson?” Silence. “Mrs. Brownson!” Silence.
“Damn that woman! She's rung off.”
“Well, don't swear into the 'phone, John. It's against the rules. Besides, she might hear you.”
The doctor was growling his way to his clothes.
“I suppose I've got to go down there,” was all the answer he made. When he was dressed and the screen had banged behind him after the manner of screens, Mary settled herself to sleep which came very soon. But she was soon routed out of it. She went to the 'phone, expecting to hear a querulous woman's voice asking, “Has the doctor started yet?” and her lips were framing the old and satisfactory reply, “Yes, he must be nearly there now,” when a man's voice asked, “Is this Dr. Blank's residence?”
“Yes.”
“Is the doctor there?”
“No, but he will be back in about twenty minutes.”
“Will you please tell him to come to J. H. Twitchell's?”
“Yes, I'll send him right down.”
“Thank you.”
She went back to her bed room then, turning, retraced her steps. The doctor could come home by way of Twitchell's as their home was not a great distance from the Brownson's.
She rang the Brownson's and after a little while a voice answered.
“Is this Mrs. Brownson?”
“Yes.”
“May I speak to Dr. Blank. I think he must be there now.”
“He's been here. He's gone home.”
Mary knew by the voice that its owner had not enjoyed getting out of bed. “I wonder how she would like to be in my place,” she thought, smiling. She dared not trust herself to her pillow. She might fall asleep and not waken when her husband came in. She wondered what time it was. Up there on the wall the clock was ticking serenely away—she had only to turn the button beside her to find out. But she did not turn it. In the sweet security of the dark she felt safe. In one brief flash of light some prowling burglar might discover her.
She sat down by the open window and looked up into the starlit sky. They were out tonight in countless numbers. Over there toward the northwest, lying along the tops of the trees was the Great Dipper. Wasn't it? Surely that particular curve in the handle was not to be found in any other constellation. She tried to see the Dipper itself but a cherry tree near her window blotted it out. Bend and peer as she might the branches intervened. It was tantalizing. She rose irresolute. Should she step out doors where the cherry tree would not be in the way? Not for a thousand dippers! She walked to another window. That view shut even the handle out. She looked for the Pleiades. They were not in the section of sky visible from the window where she stood. She turned and listened. Did she hear footsteps down the walk? She ought to be hearing her husband's by this time. He could not be walking at his usual gait. There he came! She went to the door looked through the screen and halted him as he drew near the steps.
“John, you'll have to take another trip. Mr. Twitchell has 'phoned for you.”
He turned and was soon out of sight. “Now! I can go to bed with a clear conscience,” and Mary sought her pillow. But she had better stay awake until he had time to get there lest Mr. Twitchell should 'phone again. In five or ten minutes the danger would be over. She waited. At last she closed her eyes to sleep. But what would be the use? In twenty minutes more her husband would come in and rouse her out of it. She had better just keep awake till he got back. And the next thing Mary heard was a snore. She opened her eyes to find it was broad daylight and her husband was sleeping soundly beside her.