Chapter 3

A BAD SPELL

The nurse wheeled Aunt Mary back to her room to rest, and we others
rose. Our breakfast had been pretty effectually spoiled; none of us,
except Aunt Mary, had managed to eat much. The old lady, however, had
put away an excellent meal in spite of her sufferings.

“Poor old dear!” sighed Lewis. “Honey, I’m afraid we’ve been selfish in
our happiness; we haven’t thought enough of Aunt Mary. After all she’s a
great sufferer.”

I started; that was so exactly Miss McGregor’s opinion. Dorothy looked
at her lover almost suspiciously, but he was perfectly serious. As I
have said, my nephew was very serious-minded.

The girl sighed in relief and flashed an impudent glance at me. “Yes,
poor aunty,” she said. “She’s a great sufferer, and she never
complains.”

“That’s what makes it so pitiful,” declared Lewis soberly. “But come out
doors a minute, honey; let’s look over things and see if we can’t locate
those quail.”

Knowing very well that I wasn’t wanted, I watched through the window, as
the two young folks walked, hand in hand, down the path, which led
through the pines at the east of the old house, into the thick scrub oak
jungle behind it. Although in the heart of a sizable village, it was a
solitary spot. The grounds of Fort House took in an entire block; and in
its center one might well have fancied himself in the heart of the
wilderness.

Thinking themselves out of sight, no doubt, the two lovers stood very
close. Dorothy’s head rested against my nephew’s shoulder; her face was
upturned to his. I sighed and turned away. I am a lonely old man.

Then I heard Rosina’s voice behind me. “Mist’ Uhlman, is Mist’ Lewis
done gone? They’s a telegrum comed, an’ the boy done fotch it oveh,
seein’ they wa’n’t nobody home to his place.”

I took the yellow envelope. “All right, Rosina. He’s out back with Miss
Dorothy. There they come, now!” I stepped through the open French doors
to meet them.

Lewis took the telegram, with that hint of flurry which touches every
one at sight of the yellow envelope.

“What? Oh, yes! It’s from old Floyd Somers. He was my classmate at
medical school, you know; he’s on the staff of some hospital for the
insane up North. See what he says.” He read the message over and scowled
and smiled rather doubtfully, then scowled again. “‘Sincere condolences.
Glad to act as chief mourner. Arrive Monday.’”

Dorothy flushed and bit her lip. “I don’t care, I think that’s a great
way to promise he’ll be your best man. No wonder he’s in a lunatic
asylum.”

My nephew laughed rather uneasily. “Oh, that’s just Somers’ way. He’s a
queer old chap, but I’m sure you’ll like him, honey.”

“I’m not, then! ‘Condolences!’ The very idea!” Then she chuckled. “After
all, it is kind of a funny telegram. Maybe he won’t be so sure you need
condolences”--very demurely--“after he’s seen me!”

“You little minx!” Lewis kissed her soundly. “But really, honey, Floyd
Somers is a fine old chap. He may seem queer at first, but, when you get
to know him, he’s one of the very best.”

“Huh!” Dorothy made a little face. “Run along now, boy, and get to work.
You’re going to have a very expensive wife presently, and you can’t
afford to neglect your practice.”

As we came down the front steps, Doctor Gaskell’s big twin-six coupe
backed silently out of the garage behind his house, just opposite, and
started down street. I caught a glimpse of the doctor’s face,
incongruously young beneath his crown of snow-white hair; he smiled and
raised an arm in greeting.

I lifted my hat. To my mind Gaskell was a fine chap. Some twenty-five
years older than Lewis he had been located in Pinelands for more than
twenty years, and the cream of the practice was naturally his. But he
had been very gracious to my nephew and had sent him more than one case.

Lewis, however, was less grateful. Now he scowled blackly. “Darn his
patronizing ways!”

“My boy, he’s been awfully good to you.”

“Huh? Oh, yes--very good! He’s sent me a few dead beats because he was
tired of treating them for nothing; and he’s turned over half a dozen
night calls because he hates to get out of bed. And he goes round
saying: ‘Parker? Oh, yes, Doctor Parker. Yes, hum, hum! Fine young chap,
that; bright, too. Of course he hasn’t had much experience yet.’ And it
does me more harm than if he’d slam me outright.”

I was silenced. So we went on home, only a short block, and the boy got
out his modest flivver to begin his own rounds, which were short enough.
As I have said, Lewis had been only a year in Pinelands. He was making a
living--and no more. Fortunately I had some money.

But he was not destined to make his calls yet. For, just as he climbed
into the little car, while I stood on the steps to watch him off, Rosina
came panting around the corner.

“Oh, Mist’ Lewis!” she wheezed. “Mist’ Doctah! Come a-runnin’! Miss
Dor’thy’s Aunt Ma’y, she’s done been took dretful bad.” Rosina’s eyes
rolled fearsomely. “She’s a-hollerin’ an’ a-takin’ on terrible. Yassuh!
Whyn’t you-all answer the phone? Miss Dor’thy, she wants you t’ come
a-runnin’. Yassuh!”

“Oh, the poor old lady! I’ll be there directly. Come along, Uncle
George; you can help, maybe. Quick!”

Lewis urged me into the little car and, scarce waiting for me to close
its door, started at top speed for Fort House. In thirty seconds the
flivver was sliding to a stop, and my nephew leaped out, leaving me to
turn off the engine and follow.

I entered to find Aunt Mary in her wheel chair in the big living room.
Dorothy, white-faced, stood at one side, wringing her hands; the nurse,
Miss Christie, was behind the chair, bathing the old lady’s forehead. As
I came in the nurse yawned widely. She did not seem one to distress
herself unduly.

Lewis leaned over the chair, counting Miss McGregor’s pulse. The old
lady was very pale; her eyelids fluttered, her head drooped, as if she
were half fainting; she talked in a weak, trembling voice.

“No, I can’t go to bed. I can’t lie down; I couldn’t breathe, my heart
pounds so. I--I think I’m going to faint. I have such queer feelings all
down my left arm, and my limbs are just numb, way up to the hips. Am I
having a stroke, doctor? I’m afraid so. Oh, my heart! There’s a great
ball in my throat, and the back of my neck knots so terribly! Miss
Christie! Not there? Please, rub my neck very gently. Ah-h-h! I’m a
great sufferer--a great sufferer! Don’t trouble about me, Dorothy--run
off and do your shopping. I know you’ve lots to do, getting ready to be
married. Ah, well! I shan’t be here long to be a trouble to you!”

She groaned aloud; her face began to twitch alarmingly; her eyes rolled
up until only the whites were visible. “I--I’m f-fainting!”

My nephew put his stethoscope to her chest, felt her pulse once more,
then stepped back, irresolute.

“Lewis! Lewis!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Aren’t you going to do anything for
poor auntie? Quick!”

The boy frowned deeper. He opened his bag and produced a bottle. “A
spoon, please, with a cup and some hot water.”

When they were brought he poured out some potion that diffused a strong
scent of ammonia and ether. Aunt Mary swallowed it with faint gurglings,
and her eyelids drooped once more.

Lewis scowled and rubbed his chin. “I don’t understand it,” he said.
“Her heart’s all right--strong and regular. But she’s in dreadful pain;
one can see that. I--I’d like to have somebody else see her. Well, we
must get her into bed first.”

As she was wheeled back into her own room, where she was shut in with
nurse and physician, Dorothy and I looked at each other in some doubt.

“It’s no wonder if Lewis is puzzled,” declared the girl loyally. “Aunt
Mary’s is a very unusual case; I don’t know how many doctors have
disagreed about it. She’s often told me so herself.” The girl paused,
looked guiltily about and then came very close. “You know, Uncle
George,” she whispered, her fragrant breath on my cheek, “sometimes I
wonder if auntie is really as bad off as she thinks. Oh, she’s
paralyzed, of course, and it’s an awful thing to be tied to a chair like
she is, not able to stand or walk or do anything for herself. But, I
know it’s just horrid of me, I do wonder if she suffers as much as she
makes out sometimes? I know I stayed with her one night, when Miss
Christie was away, and she slept every minute! And next morning she
swore up and down she’d never closed her eyes, and she was real mad at
me for saying she had.”

“Your aunt has a hard time, my dear,” I told her. “And----”

Lewis emerged from the sick room, still frowning. “She doesn’t seem a
bit better. I wish----” He was staring out of the window at Doctor
Gaskell’s big car, just stopping in front of his house. “I
believe----Darn it, I hate to ask any favors of Gaskell, but he’s older
than I am, and he is mighty clever. I believe I’ll ask him to come over
and see Aunt Mary. Something’s got to be done for her right away; she’s
in dreadful pain, one can see.”

Without more words he ran out, calling aloud.

I felt a surge of pride. It must have been hard for Lewis to admit any
uncertainty before his best-beloved, and doubly hard to ask aid of
Gaskell, whom he disliked so heartily. Yet the boy was big enough to
submerge his pride for the sake of his patient’s well-being.

“He’s a good boy, Dorothy,” I whispered, and she nodded, squeezing my
hand.

Then Lewis returned, escorting Doctor Gaskell. I had to admit that the
latter’s very manner inspired confidence. His deep-set eyes were bright
and steady, and his smile was disarmingly cordial. He smoothed back his
thick, snow-white hair.

“Well, Miss Dorothy! In trouble? We’ll go right in, doctor. Have to do
something for the old lady right away; can’t have her sick now, with a
wedding coming on.” His smile broadened, and a dimple showed at the
corner of his mouth.

Bowing, he turned away, and presently we heard his deep voice in the
bedroom. “What? Sitting up? Fine! Hum, hum. Just wheel her back out,
nurse. Better light in the big room.”

Miss McGregor reappeared in her chair. “She wouldn’t get into bed,
doctor,” explained Miss Christie. “Said it would kill her to be moved.”

“Hum, hum. Not quite that bad,” rumbled Doctor Gaskell, chuckling.

Aunt Mary opened one eye to shoot a curiously vindictive glance at him,
then she groaned aloud and let her head drop limply forward again.

“Hum, hum, hum,” remarked Doctor Gaskell, unmoved. “Let’s look at you
now.”

With swift, practiced hands he made a brief examination; taking the old
lady’s pulse, listening to her heart, tapping her knees and doing all
the mysteriously impressive things that doctors do.

Presently he straightened up. “She’s all right,” he declared brusquely.
“Not a thing the matter with her; a bit tired, that’s all. Go to bed,
madam, and get a nap, and you’ll feel better.”

Miss McGregor’s head jerked up; she opened her eyes wide and fixed the
physician with a baleful glare. I caught my breath in wonder that an old
lady so patient and sweet-tempered could be capable of such viciousness.

But it was over in a breath, and Aunt Mary’s features had resumed their
accustomed expression of suffering sweetness.

“No doubt you’re right, doctor. I--I do feel better.” So gentle and
kindly was her smile that I wondered if my eyes had not deceived me just
now. “The worst is over, I hope. I’m in a great deal of pain, but I can
bear it!”

She looked so white, so fragile; her weary face, her colorless,
quivering lips, told such a tale of suffering bravely borne that my
heart swelled with anger at the callousness of this doctor.

Lewis shared my feelings, I think, for he drew Gaskell to one side and
seemed to remonstrate with him in low, angry whispers. The older man
shrugged and smiled.

“It’s all right, my boy,” he answered aloud. “I admire your soft heart,
but this is plain hysteria. What? Paralyzed? Oh, yes, she’s paralyzed,
but she’s not suffering. When you’ve seen as many women as I have with
‘knots in the back of their necks,’ you’ll realize that the best thing
to do is treat ’em rough. Sympathy only makes ’em worse; and it’s the
poor folks that have to live with ’em who really need your sympathy.
Hum, hum! You go to bed, madam, and behave yourself. And, if you stop
taking out your bad temper on your family, with ‘bad spells’ like this,
you’ll feel better--and so will they.”

It was brutal--even if it had been true it would have been brutal--but
it seemed efficacious. Aunt Mary straightened, with more color in her
thin face than I had ever seen there. Her voice was full and strong, not
sweet and gentle now, but sharp enough.

“You get out!” she said. “Dorothy, pay him and send him away.
You--you’re no doctor! I’ve always said you didn’t know your business,
insulting poor, helpless women like me!”

My nephew interposed. He was perfectly white, and he trembled visibly.

“Let me, Aunt Mary! Doctor Gaskell, you are a cad, sir! A cad and an
ignoramus! You’re a disgrace to our profession. I--I”--he mouthed
inarticulately, almost beside himself with rage--“I--we’ll dispense with
your services, sir. I may be young and inexperienced, but I’m not
heartless. I--I----Get out, sir!”

I caught the boy’s arm. “Softly, Lewis, softly! Don’t forget yourself.
You’d better go, Doctor Gaskell. I--I’m sorry. I apologize, sir. My
nephew is excited.”

“Hum,” said Doctor Gaskell quite calmly. “Hum, hum! Yes, well--good
day!” He bowed to Aunt Mary, to Dorothy, to Lewis, and me, with the most
exact courtesy and went out.

“The beast!” exclaimed Lewis.

“Stop that!” I said to him severely. “He may have been wrong; he was too
abrupt, no doubt. But he gave his honest opinion; and that’s what you
wanted, wasn’t it? And he showed much more courtesy than you did, my
boy.”