Chapter III: 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.”