Chapter IV

When he had gone, Edith stood thoughtfully looking at her hand. How his own had trembled! Then she went to the telephone and called Helena.

“Have you had your breakfast, you old dear?”

“_Have_ I? I’m so happy and so hungry. Has the doctor gone, and is John up?”

“John is not up, and the doctor has gone. He is terribly tired, Helena.”

“Of course he is. He hasn’t had his clothes off for two nights. You should have seen him, Edith. He chummed with Bobbie like a boy, and then when the little man was asleep he’d sit and watch him like a marble statue. I had the queerest feeling about it. He didn’t seem quite human. What fools we women are. Edith, I think I’m going to cry.”

“Don’t you dare, Helena Drummond! Be cold, be cold like Dr. Trench, for I want some advice.”

The telephone seemed to blow its nose violently, and resumed its calm. “What advice do you want?”

“Helena, I want to do something. Bobbie is just as much mine as he is yours. So be a good girl and point out a dove for my offering, and I’ll go after it, even if it flies out the window.”

“It’s dear of you, Edith. I suppose you can send a check to some of the organisations for children. There’s the Welfare Association, and the Home for the Friendless, and St. Joseph’s Home.”

“I was going to do that, anyhow. Which one shall I send it to?”

“I don’t know that it makes any difference. When the husband is a deserter, the children have to be sent to one of the homes for a while, and there are so many deserters that both places need money all the while. Dr. Trench told me last night of a deserted Greek woman he saw last week. Her husband went home to fight the Turks, and survived, but didn’t come back to her. She was trying to keep her family from going to either home. She has a baby two months old, and she was starving herself and the baby to get food for the other two children. His young Mr. Deland got track of her and took her two quarts of milk one evening after the children had gone to bed, and she made gruel for herself with the whole two quarts, and ate till midnight. I think the doctor tries to handle such cases personally. He keeps his family of students looking after them, and doubtless pays the bills himself. But it doesn’t cure desertion.”

“No, I suppose not. But I want action. Can’t I work for the United Charities? It won’t cost them a cent, and I’ll try not to bungle the job.”

“You can telephone and find out. I don’t know how much responsibility they would let you assume.”

“What would I do?”

“I suppose it would depend on whether you were in the office, or out as a visitor. You might ask to specialise in desertion. But you won’t get any thanks.”

“I don’t want thanks.”

“Perhaps not, dear, but you want to consider. A friend of the doctor’s was in the Court of Domestic Relations the other day for the United, asking to have a professional beggar sent to the Bridewell. A paper wrote him up as the authorised beggar trying to suppress competition!”

“Helena, are you trying to stop me?”

“You know I am not. I just want you to know what you’re entering upon.”

“Well, Helena, I give you warning that I’m about to enter upon something. I’ll send beggars to the Bridewell, or I’ll bring the deserted here and enlarge the family circle, unless you object.”

“Edith—you might consult Dr. Trench.”