Part 11

He watched her go, and looked out of the window, and fell to thinking of the things life was bringing him.... Everything seemed coming to him out of this great, comfortable hospital--that he had looked forward to with dread!... A wife for Julian--He might have searched the world over to find a girl like that! Straight, and as true as steel, and best of all--she was poor; she would know the value of money. She had had to work for it-- He had always spoiled Julian. He knew it, guiltily. Julian had never known what it was to want for anything that money could get--except, perhaps, a widow or two! The millionaire's lips smiled grimly. That danger was over--thank Heaven! The boy would marry a poor girl--and a lady!... Herman Medfield had perhaps old-fashioned ideas as to what makes a lady; and the nurse who moved so noiselessly about his room suited him to perfection.... His thought dwelt on her happily.... Then there was this man, Dalton--Thanks to Aunt Jane!... Ah, that was the secret! "Thanks to Aunt Jane!"

The millionaire leaned back in his chair, smiling thoughtfully. He had known that he was coming to that--as he sat there in the window, looking idly down into the little squares of back yards--he had known all along--under his thankfulness for Julian--that he was coming to the thought of Aunt Jane.... He had held it to the last.... It was not Julian he was thinking of now--with the little smile that kept coming to his lips.

He was smiling at Aunt Jane and her crispness and her goodness and her little managing wilful ways that kept him straight.... He was like a small boy in the very thought of her. A man ought to feel that way toward his wife, he told himself--all men really feel like that!

There was a gentle tap on the door and he sat up. He smoothed the dreams from his face.

"Come in!"

The whole room seemed to become a place of comfort, as she came leisurely across to him.

"I hear you've been doing considerable this morning." She looked at him uncritically.

His response was guilty. "Only a letter or two-- Sit down, won't you?" He reached out to a chair for her.

But Aunt Jane interposed--"When you're well enough to wait on folks, you're well enough to go home," she said.

"Oh-- I'm not well enough for that--I feel sure!" He sank back in his chair. "I shall be very careful what I do!"

She surveyed him. "I liked the roses you sent-- They're real handsome!... I don't know as I ever had any handsomer roses sent to me!"

"I am glad you liked them." He was suddenly a little formal and polite. He had not expected quite such frank and open delight in his offering.

"And the card--" he said softly, after a minute. "I hoped you liked that, too?" He was almost shy about it!

Aunt Jane looked at him inquiringly and rocked a little. "Was there a card--?" She seemed considering it. "Maybe it got lost out." She shook her head.

The shadow crossed his face. "You're sure there wasn't a card with them--no message?" His tone was vexed and he sat up.

"That's Munson's carelessness!" he said dryly.

"I can't seem to remember any card," said Aunt Jane.

A little smile broke up his face.

"You would remember it--if you had read it! I made sure of that!" He chuckled gently.... "Never mind--I will send you another--with some more roses."

"You don't need to send them right away--not for some time," said Aunt Jane hastily. "These will last quite a spell. I cut the stems every day, you know--same as if I was a patient!" Her eyes twinkled at him.

And he smiled at the round trustfulness of her face. He was vexed at Munson for carelessness. But there was plenty of time--to send roses! And he enjoyed sitting there and teasing her a little and watching the guileless face, turned so comfortably upon him.... She little knew what was on that card!

He chuckled.

"You'll be ready to go home in a day or two now," she said impersonally.

He cast a quick look at the face in its cap. "No use to borrow trouble!" he responded lightly.... "I have some news for you!"

"For me!" A quick flush swept under the cap and subsided. "I hope it's good news," she said tranquilly.

"Yes--It's good for you.... You'll think it's good some day! My son is going to be married." He leaned back to watch the effect.

She nodded. "We talked about that yesterday."

"But it hadn't happened then!"

"Hadn't it?" There was no contradiction in the response. But it brought him to a sudden pause.

"Why--of course not! I don't believe it had! Do you know anything?" He turned on her swiftly.

"No, I don't know anything." Aunt Jane was cheerful. "Not anything I could put my finger on," she added slowly. "But I kind of sensed, somehow, that they'd got things settled--between 'em."

"Oh, you 'sensed'!" he scoffed gently.

"Well--she'll make him a good wife," Aunt Jane rocked. "Of course, he don't need a rich wife----"

"No, I don't want him to marry money!" Medfield spoke with satisfaction. His magnanimity overspread the poverty of his son's wife--and welcomed it and exulted in it.

Aunt Jane's face was tranquil--and somewhere deep below, little twinkles came up to the surface and stirred it.

"Well, he doesn't need to marry her money--" she said slowly. "He can't help her having it, of course. But she'll make him just as good a wife."

He stared. "I must have given you a wrong impression." He was polite about it. "Julian is going to marry Miss Canfield."

"Mary Canfield has money--more money than most folks. She's going to make a good nurse, though. She came in and took the training as if she hadn't a cent to her name--She said she wanted to be something besides Sheldon Canfield's----"

"Sheldon Canfield!" He took it up. "Was Sheldon Canfield her father?"

"His name was Sheldon," said Aunt Jane. "Maybe you've heard of him?"

Herman Medfield laughed shortly. "He did me out of a million dollars! Sheldon Canfield!" He looked at the thought and shook it. "I fought him for ten years. I swore I would break him before I died-- But _he_ died first! Sheldon Canfield's daughter!" He held it before him. "So Sheldon Canfield's daughter has been taking care of _me_!"

"She's taken good care of you!" said Aunt Jane. It was almost defensive; and he gave her a quick look.

"The best of care!" he said emphatically. "Couldn't have been better--unless you had done it yourself," he ended gallantly.

Aunt Jane's look cleared, and then became a little confused--under something that danced in the eyes bent upon her.

"I must go do my work," she said.

"And leave me to my Juliet?"

"Julian, I suppose you mean," Aunt Jane corrected him kindly.

"He's Romeo--of the house of Montague!" he said dreamily.

She stared a little. He waved a hand.

"Go away, Aunt Jane, and do your work. You have disturbed me--even more than usual. I want to collect my thoughts!"

She went out almost soberly, turning it in her mind, on the way to her office. She had upset him and she was a little remorseful! She ought not to have let him run on like that! There was no telling that he would not have a setback.... And they needed Suite A for Dr. Carmon's new patient Friday.... He had said Herman Medfield was well enough to go home--that he would be better off at home.

She entered the office--and stopped.

On a chair across the room, was a long, light box.

Aunt Jane almost fancied she had been dreaming, and had never opened that box.... She contemplated it and went over to it slowly--and looked at her desk, where the great flaming roses gave out their fragrance.... She went back to the box and took it up slowly, and undid the tape.

It was filled to the brim with roses--great pink-and-white heads glowed through the transparent waxed paper at her--and on top of the paper lay a card--with the name uppermost----

"Dr. Frederic H. Carmon."

Aunt Jane stared at it.

She reached out a hand to it--as if fascinated and almost afraid--and took it up and turned it over slowly.... There was no writing! She laid it back with a little quick sigh of relief--and stared down at it.... Presently a shrewd look of amusement overspread the stupefaction in her face and she nodded to the little card and took it up and carried it to her desk and unlocked a drawer--moving the great flaming roses to reach it. She dropped the card beside the other one that lay there--and the amusement in her face grew to soft chuckles that filled all the spaces in her roundness.

When she had arranged the pink-and-white roses and carried them to her desk and placed them opposite the flaming ones, she stood back and surveyed them--and shook her head--and smiled radiantly to them.

A man, who had come quietly down the hall, stood in the open door of the office. He watched her a minute.

He cleared his throat circumspectly.

She turned swiftly--and saw him--and moved a reproachful hand to the flowers.

"You never ought to have done it!"

He smiled on the roses complacently and removed his gloves.

"Like 'em?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I haven't any call to like them--or not to like them!" It was severe disapproval. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

"I'm not!" He looked at them with satisfaction. He was whistling softly. "I didn't know you wanted flowers--or I'd have sent them before."

He had turned--his glance was on her face.

Something in the glance sent Aunt Jane hastily across the room. She straightened the furniture a little and came back to the desk and looked at the bunches of roses on either side, regarding them impartially.

"I hadn't ought to want flowers--goodness knows!" she said slowly. "I see enough of 'em, around every day, to make any one sick of them for life." She paused and studied the pink-and-white blossoms.

"Somehow, it's different--when they're your own! I guess maybe I did need to have them sent to me--so I'd know how folks feel inside--when I open their boxes for them and they look in and see the flowers and see somebody's card on top--somebody that's thought about them--somebody that loves 'em!" she ended it triumphantly and happily and smiled--sharing it with him.

Dr. Carmon looked at the two great bunches of flowers--and grunted--and went out.

XXXVIII

The sunshine in the Children's Ward glinted happily; it touched on bits of brass here and there and gleamed, and slipped across the skylight, making shadows in the room. The white-capped nurses had finished their work. Every bed was freshly made, picture-books and toys were scattered through the ward. Flowers stood on the little stands by the beds; and a great bunch of roses was on the table in the centre, under the skylight.

Aunt Jane standing at the door of the ward, looked in, touching the arm of the man beside her. "Those are your roses over there--the ones that came yesterday-- They look nice, don't they?" She spoke in a half-whisper--not to attract the attention of the children.

She had wanted him to see the ward like this; and she had wanted him to see Jimmie Sullivan's new leg. And, most of all, she had wanted a good excuse for persuading Herman Medfield to try his strength a little.... If Dr. Carmon's new patient was to have Suite A on Friday, there was no time to waste; and Herman Medfield had been obstinate in refusing to exert himself.

"I'm very comfortable where I am!" he had declared. And he had refused to budge, or to wear anything except the ├Žsthetic, blue quilted gown.

It was only by deep guilelessness that Aunt Jane had succeeded in bringing him as far as the door of the Children's Ward.

Herman Medfield's glance followed the motion of her hand and rested on the roses. It grew interested as it travelled slowly through the ward to the faces of the children. He was taking in the clean, cool look of the place and the sunlight coming in and the happiness that shone everywhere. It was not what he had imagined the Children's Ward in a hospital would be.... And he had a suspicion that all Children's Wards were not like this--a suspicion that the woman beside him had more to do with the quiet charm of the room than one might have guessed from the unconcerned look of her face.

Beyond the ward, opening out through big doors and the low, wide windows, he had a glimpse of a balcony--with growing plants along its edge and a striped awning; and drifting clouds and the blue sky beyond the awning. His glance came back to his roses in the centre of the room. They were a great bunch of the choicest ones that grew in his garden. They looked very well there, he admitted.

"But I did not intend them for the Children's Ward--" he said, turning and looking down at her.

"I told them Mr. Herman sent them," said Aunt Jane. "I knew you'd like them to have 'em. They take comfort with 'em, you see." She nodded to a child who was lying with her eyes fixed on the flowers. There was a patient look in the small, shrewd face.

"She likes 'em," said Aunt Jane. "They'll do her a world of good!"

She avoided Herman Medfield's eye. She had been a little surprised to find that it was difficult to meet his gaze.... He was almost like a stranger--dressed in the gray business suit and looking down on her with keen, clear eyes.... She had forgotten that Herman Medfield was tall. As she had remembered him, that first day when she went into the waiting-room with his card in her hand, he had not been so tall. She seemed to remember that she had looked down on him and had put him in his place--easily.... Perhaps his thinness made him seem taller--or was it the little triumphing twinkle that had crept into his eyes.

Aunt Jane refused to see the twinkle. She felt sorry for Herman Medfield--somewhere in the back of her mind.

"There's Jimmie Sullivan!" she said. "That's your leg--the one you got for him!"

"Looks like his own," commented Medfield.

Aunt Jane opened the door--and a child looked up from her picture-book.

"Aunt Jane's come!" The ward took it up.

Aunt Jane looked up at Herman Medfield, half apologizing for the commotion they made.

"It helps them get well," she said.

He nodded. "I know all about that."

They went slowly down the ward to the big chair by the table. She stopped by it. "You can sit down here and rest if you want to-- You've done first-rate. You'll be well enough to go, Friday, I guess."

She arranged the chair for him and he sat down. "I'm pretty well tired out!" he remarked.

"That's natural enough-- You see how nice Jimmie gets around on your leg? Come here, Jimmie, and make your manners to Mr. Herman."

Jimmie came up proudly, hardly limping at all as he approached the man sitting in the big chair. He stood very straight on his frame leg, his hands in his pockets, and looked him in the eye.

"I thank you for my leg!" he said. "It's fine!"

"You are welcome." Medfield was smiling.

"Show him how it walks, Jimmie."

Jimmie strutted off, swinging it proudly.

"You see--it hardly shows at all!" she said, as they watched him cross the room. "And the older he gets, the better he'll manage. You've made a man of him!" She beamed approval on Medfield and on Jimmie and the frame leg and on the whole ward.

Medfield, leaning back in his chair, smiled at her whimsically.

"You spoil everybody!" he said.

She ignored it. "You sit there and rest a spell--till I'm ready to go."

She moved to a bed near by and leaned over to the child and said something. The girl put up a quick hand and listened and glanced at the man in the big chair and nodded happily.

"That's him!" said Aunt Jane looking back to the child and smiling as she went to the next bed.

"We like your flowers, Mr. Herman." The child was speaking softly to him.

Medfield started and turned.

"We like them very much!" said the child, regarding him gravely.

"Yes, we do like them!" came from the next bed. "We like them!" "We do like them!" The call was from farther off. "They're fine, you know!"

It came from all sides now! Medfield glanced from one to the other, a little bewildered and touched.

"We like Mr. Herman's flowers!" they called out.

"I told you they liked 'em," said Aunt Jane. She had come back and was standing smiling at the children. "I thought you'd just like to see how it was yourself!"

"You have them well trained!" replied Medfield, "--all but the name," he added.

"The name doesn't matter--I thought you'd like it better?"

"I do!" He got up, half embarrassed. "I'd better hide somewhere! I never had such an ovation--for a few flowers!"

He turned toward the balcony that opened from the side of the room--with its flower-boxes, and the striped awning covering it from the sun.

He stepped out into the balcony. Below him were the roofs of houses; and the city stretched away in the distance to a sunny haze.

XXXIX

Medfield looked back into the ward. The children had returned to their picture-books and toys. They were not thinking of Mr. Herman any more. The quiet look had returned to the room.

"That was very pretty," he said. "Thank you!" His eyes were gentle, and a little moist, as they met hers for a moment.

"Don't thank me!" said Aunt Jane hastily. "I didn't do anything!"

"Didn't you tell them to do it?"

"I didn't tell them anything, except that you were Mr. Herman. They did the rest themselves.... Children generally do things--nice things, if you let 'em alone--and don't meddle too much."

"You better go out and preach that doctrine to the world," said Medfield laughing. He was looking out over the city.

"I haven't time to preach," said Aunt Jane.... "Sometimes I wish I had--I've got a good many things I'd like to say!" Her eyes twinkled swiftly.

He nodded. "I've heard them--some of them--when I was cantankerous."

"You're doing pretty well, now," responded Aunt Jane.

"Fair." His tone was cautious. He was not to be inveigled into acknowledging complete recovery--yet. His glance travelled out over the roofs--and he started and leaned forward.

"I believe that is my place--over there!" He was pointing off into the haze where a greenhouse caught the sun on its glass and flashed back from the distance.

She nodded toward it. "That's your place, yes. I was noticing it the other day--when Julian and Mary Canfield went out there. I happened to be up here--and looked off and saw it." She regarded the flashing glass in the haze.

"It's quite a ways off," she said.

"Not very far--with a machine." His tone was aggressive and a little masterful. It seemed to pick her up and whirl her away through distance. Aunt Jane's face was meek.

"I'm glad you've got along so fast," she replied.

He regarded her suspiciously.

"And having your own car so--you won't mind the trip----"

"I'm not going!" said Medfield. He was chuckling a little.

She turned a distressed face to him. "I don't see how we're going to manage--if you don't!"

"I am not in anybody's way," said Medfield.... "I'll be good!" He was watching her expressive face.

"Yes, you're good! You are always good!" Aunt Jane's diplomacy was at its best.

He laughed out.

"You see--we need your room--your suite."

"What for?-- I pay as much as anybody, don't I?" He turned on her quickly.

"You pay more.... Don't you remember I told you about that?"

"Yes." He recalled the facts. "I'm to pay for a Mrs. Pelton, too."

"That's it. I let you pay for her----"

"Thank you"--a little ironical and smiling.

"_She_ wants to thank _you_," said Aunt Jane quietly. "I told her you'd let her."

"Keep her away!" He put out his hand to ward it off. "I've made out a check for her--you remind me to give it to you."

"A check?"

"You said she could use a hundred dollars," he replied.

"Now, wasn't that good in you!" She beamed on him and on his goodness.

He received it complacently. "I only wish there were something more I could do--for you." He said it carefully. He did not look at her now. He wanted to be sure she took it in--and he did not want to flustrate the meek quiet of her face.

A little light crept into the face--half guilty. "I've been planning to ask you for something," she said, "kind of screwing up my courage."

"Ask away--what is it?" He looked at her as Ahasuerus may have looked on Esther.

"You sit down, Mr. Medfield," said Aunt Jane.

"Is it as bad as that?" He laughed and sat down, regarding her quizzically.

"Go ahead!"

"It's a new wing--" said Aunt Jane.

"One of yours worn out?" Pretended astonishment and happiness was in the tone and she smiled at him tolerantly.

"It's for contagion-- It will cost fifty thousand dollars-- I thought maybe you'd like to give it." She flung the words at him. She had been meaning to do it all day--"screwing up her courage" to it.... She fired her bomb and she watched, waiting for it to go off. She sat alert and anxious.

He chuckled. "I'm glad I have enough!"

She wheeled quickly-- "You're going to do it?"

"I'm going to think about it--look into it," said the man of business. A little keen look had come into his face, breaking its lazy quiet.

Aunt Jane regarded it without fear. She was her tranquil self again. "If you look into it, you'll find we need it pretty bad," she said.

He had taken out his pencil and was making a note. "All right. I may give you _two_ wings ... if you really _need_ them!" The tone was teasing again.

"I don't need two," said Aunt Jane composedly. "Of course, we may need another--some time," she added thoughtfully.

His laugh was happy.

"You'll let me stay now, won't you?" He put back his pencil and settled reposefully in his chair and watched her.

She turned on him. "Now you are being selfish!--and spoiling everything!" It was full of reproach, but tinged with the happiness of the new wing....

"You see it's a child!" said Aunt Jane.

"A child?" He sat up. "Put her in there!" He motioned to the ward.

She shook her head. "She can't be put there at first--not right off. Her mother's coming with her-- Your suite is the only place we've got." She gazed out over the balcony-rail--not to disturb his feelings--but he stirred uncomfortably.

"Of course the mother'll go home in a day or two," went on Aunt Jane. "They generally do go home.... They come here thinking nobody can do for their children but themselves--and then, somehow--in a day or two, they go home." She sat looking at him and beaming, and Medfield laughed.

"And you're proud of it!" he said.

"I'm not proud--exactly," said Aunt Jane. "But I do take comfort, doing for them--and knowing they're all happy--as happy as they can be, with their sufferings.... They are coming Friday afternoon, along about four. So if you could be ready to go at three----"

"I'm not going!"

She regarded him mildly.

"You can have your old suite for them--" He was like a boy, laughing at her. "But I won't go home!"

"There isn't any other place for you," said Aunt Jane calmly. "I told you about it--we haven't any other room."

He looked about him. "I'll sleep anywhere--! I'll sleep in the Children's Ward!" He waved a hand.

Aunt Jane's face was vexed. Of course, he was going to give the wing--and it softened her austerity a little. But he was a grown man. He ought to behave better. She got up quickly. "I can't have you upsetting everything!" she said.

She went into the ward, leaving him in solitary state.

He watched the plump figure moving among the beds, and the faces turned to it; and he smiled whimsically.... "I mean to upset things a good deal more for you--before I'm done, Aunt Jane!" he said softly.

He sat looking out over the city and dreaming contentedly. When Aunt Jane appeared again in the door, he turned to her.

"I've decided," he said.

She came out.

"I'll go," he said, looking up at her. "I'll go--if you will go with me."

Up above them they could hear the awning flapping a little in the wind, and the children's voices from the ward.

Aunt Jane's gaze travelled out over the roofs, to the greenhouse and its glass flashing back the sunlight. She sighed.

"Well--I'll go. I'm too busy, and I ought not to take time.... I don't see how I can spare time to go. But you're so obstinate--" She looked at him appealingly.

He shook his head.