Rose left her seat and stole to her father's side. "What does it mean, pater?" she whispered.
"Ask your mother," was all the satisfaction she received, and walked, crestfallen, back to her chair; for when had her father refused her anything?
"When will you tell us, anyway?" said Budd, a little gruffly. He hated a secret.
"I can't tell you that either," said his mother, "and I don't know that I shall tell you until the very last, if you ask in that voice."
Budd screwed his mouth into a smile, and, unbeknown to the rest of the family, reached under the cloth for his mother's hand. He sat next to her, and that had been his way of saying "Forgive me," ever since he was a tiny boy.
He had a squeeze in return and felt happier.
"I say, let's guess," said Cherry. "If I don't do something, I shall burst."
"You express my feelings perfectly, Cherry," said March, gravely, and the guessing began.
"A St. Bernard puppy?" said Budd, who coveted one.
"A Shetland pony," said Cherry.
"The Doctor's coming up here, himself." That was Rose's guess.
"'T ain't likely," growled Budd.
"A tunning 'ittle baby," chirped May.
March failed to think of any live thing the Doctor was likely to send unless it might be a Wyandotte blood-rooster, such as he and the Doctor had talked about last summer.
"You 're all cold, cold as ice," laughed their mother, using the words of the game she had so often played with them when they were younger.
"Oh, mother!" they protested. They were almost indignant.
Chi rose and left the table. "Beats me," he muttered, as he took down his axe from a beam in the woodshed. "What in thunder can it be? I ain't goin' to ask questions, but I 'll ferret it out,--by George Washin'ton;" and that was Chi's most solemn oath.
III
A CURIOUS CASE
"What is it, dear?"
"Bothered--bothered."
"A case?"
"Yes, and I must get it off my mind this evening."
The Doctor set down his after-dinner coffee untasted on the library table, and rose with a half sigh from his easy chair before the blazing wood-fire. His heavy eyebrows were drawn together into a straight line over the bridge of his nose, and that, his wife knew full well, was an ominous sign.
"Must you go to-night? It's such a fearful storm; just hear it!"
"Yes, I must; just to get it off my mind. I sha'n't be gone long, and I 'll tell you all about it when I get home." The Doctor stooped and kissed the detaining hand that his wife had laid lovingly on his arm; then, turning to the telephone, he bespoke a cab.
As the vehicle made its way up Fifth Avenue in the teeth of a February, northeast gale that drove the sleet rattling against the windows, Doctor Heath settled back farther into his corner, growling to himself, "I wish some people would let me manage their affairs for them; it would show their common sense to let me show them some of mine."
A few blocks north of the park entrance, the cab turned east into a side street, and stopped at Number 4.
"Mr. Clyde in, Wilkins?" asked the Doctor of the colored butler, who opened the door.
"Yes, sah; jes' up from dinner, sah, to see Miss Hazel."
"Tell him I want to see him in the library."
"Yes, sah." He took the Doctor's cloak and hat, hesitating a moment before leaving, then turning, said: "'Scuse me, sah, but Miss Hazel ain't more discomposed?"
"No, no, Wilkins; Miss Hazel is doing fairly well."
"Thank you, sah;" and Wilkins ducked his head and sprang upstairs.
"Why, Dick," said Mr. Clyde, as he entered the library hurriedly, "what's wrong?"
"The world in general, Johnny, and your world in particular, old fellow."
"Is Hazel worse?" The father's anxiety could be heard in the tone with which he put the question.
"I 'm not satisfied, John, and I 'm bothered."
When Doctor Heath called his friend "John," Mr. Clyde knew that the very soul of him was heavily burdened. The two had been chums at Yale: the one a rich man's son; the other a country doctor's one boy, to whom had been bequeathed only a name honored in every county of his native state, a good constitution, and an ambition to follow his father's profession.
The boy had become one of the leading physicians of the great city in which he made his home; his friend one of the most sought-after men in the whirling gayeties of the great metropolis. As he stood on the hearth with his back to the mantel waiting for the physician's next word, he was typical of the best culture of the city, and the Doctor looked up into the fine face with a deep affection visible in his eyes.
"Going out, as usual, John?"
"Only to the Pearsells' reception. Don't keep me waiting, old fellow; speak up."
"How the deuce am I to make things plain to you, John? Here, draw up your chair a little nearer mine, as you used in college when you knew I had a four A.M. lecture awaiting you, after one of your larks."
The two men helped themselves to cigars; and the Doctor, resting his head on the back of the chair, slowly let forth the smoke in curling rings, and watched them dissolve and disperse.
"Come, Dick, go ahead; I can stand it if you can."
"Well, then, I 've done all I can for Hazel, and shall have to give up the case unless you do all you can for her."
Now the Doctor had not intended to make his statement in such a blunt fashion, and he could not blame Mr. Clyde for the touch of resentment that was so quick to show in his answer.
"I did n't suppose you went back on your patients in this way, Richard; much less on a friend. I have done everything I can for Hazel. If there is anything I've omitted, just tell me, and I 'll try to make it good."
The Doctor nodded penitently. "I know, John, I 've said it badly; and I don't know but that I shall make it worse by saying you 've done too much."