Part 6

He shook his head. "You'd be wrong. She doesn't care any more for me than--that clothes-pole there!"

Aunt Jane looked at it uncritically.

"She sent those--" He motioned to the flowers, "to Herman Medfield's money! She began on the boy," he said scornfully. "She's a dozen years older than Julian and twice as clever. I packed him off to Europe when I found out--then she started in on the old man!"

Aunt Jane looked at him with interest. "I didn't know as you had a boy--how old is he?" she said quickly.

"Twenty-two," said Medfield.

"That's an interesting age, isn't it?" Aunt Jane was thoughtful. "That's just the age my boy would have been--if he'd lived. I'm always wondering what he would be doing now." She was silent a minute. Then she looked at him and smiled. "Europe isn't so very far off," she said.

She gathered up the flowers in her lap, and glanced toward the door.

Herman Medfield's dinner was being brought in.

Miss Canfield carried the big tray in both hands. Aunt Jane glanced at it and got up.

"I guess I'll give your flowers to Mrs. Pelton," she said slowly. "She doesn't happen to have any flowers. Nobody's sent her any--yet. She'll be real pleased with 'em."

She cast another glance at the tray. "They've brought you a good dinner to-day--beefsteak and onions and green peas."

From the door she looked back. "I'll tell her Mr. Herman sent them."

The nurse who was bending over Herman Medfield, tucking the napkin into his coat, saw a quick flush come in the thin face. She seemed not to notice it as she placed the tray before him.

"Shall I cut your meat?"

"Yes--please."

He watched the efficient fingers cut the juicy steak in strips and he glanced at the face bending above the tray. The reddish hair drawn trimly up under the cap and the look of competence in the face and in the firm hands.

She gave him the knife and fork and glanced at the tray. "You have everything you need? Here's your bell."

She placed the cord where he could reach it and turned away.

But Herman Medfield's look stayed her. "You didn't know my name was Herman, did you?" He said it with a little quizzical smile.

"I thought it was Medfield," replied the girl. She looked at him with clear, straight eyes. "The flowers come to Herman Medfield."

"That was a mistake," he said. "They got it wrong when I came--on the books--And it was in the papers, I suppose.... It's quite a joke that I should have had all Herman Medfield's flowers." He chuckled a little. "He's a distant relative of mine--Herman Medfield-- But quite a different sort of man," he added quietly. "I don't see any salt here----"

She glanced quickly at the tray and went out to bring the salt.

He smiled at his dinner blandly and began to eat. He would get rid of the incubus of Herman Medfield's money for a while--and see how it felt.

His whole body relaxed as the weight of Herman Medfield went sliding from his shoulders.... No more suspicions, no more watching while people talked to him, for the inevitable money to crop up, or for some philanthropic scheme to put its hand in his pocket, on the sly.... They seemed to think, if a man had money, that he doted on orphan asylums and libraries and dormitories! He wished, fervently, that he might never hear of another college or foundation, or any sort of institution for doing good. He longed to be rid of it all. He wanted to be like other men--a human being--for a month, for six weeks.... He began to wonder how long a patient could stay in the Berkeley House of Mercy--how sick he had to be?... They shouldn't turn him out _too_ soon. He could invent an ache or two. He would take a long vacation from his money.

Miss Canfield brought the salt. She looked at his face as she put it down. "You're feeling better, aren't you?" she said.

He relaxed the cheerful look. "A little better," he admitted. "Some pain still."

She smiled. It was only in the Children's Ward that they were glad to let the pains go--that they ignored them or forgot them as quickly as they could.... Men were all alike--men and women were the same in cherishing their pains and the memory of their pains--women a little more reluctant than men, perhaps, to see them go. Men were more like children.

This gray-haired man, eating his dinner happily, was a little like a child, she thought as she watched him. He seemed to have grown younger--even in a day.... It was curious they should have got his name wrong on the books.... It was probably because of the aristocratic look. He was a very stately figure, leaning back there against the pillows, in his embroidered Chinese coat, with his gray hair and little pointed beard.... She turned to go.

"Won't you sit down? Can't you stay?" said Medfield politely.

"There's another patient waiting. They've put me on double special since you are better." She nodded to him and went out.

He watched her go, almost regretfully. It was wonderful what a difference it made, wanting to have people around--now that money could not get between.... He would have liked to talk with the girl. Ask her about her family and how she came to be a nurse. He wondered what sort of a home a girl like that had come out of, and what she expected to do.

More than once, as he had watched her moving about the room, absorbed in her work, he had thought of Julian.... It occurred to him to wonder what Julian would be like now. He had not seen the boy for two years--not since he sent him off to Europe. He glanced a little resentfully at the black-edged card lying on the stand beside him.... If it had not been for Julia Cawein and her airs and fascinations, the boy would be here now.

His thought recurred to the girl who had just left him. He had never seen any one work just the way she worked--as if she loved it. She moved quietly and easily, as if there were plenty of time to do all that must be done in the day.... She would make a good wife for some man.... And it suddenly struck him that a rich young fellow would be lucky to marry a girl like that.... He wondered when Julian would be coming home.

XXII

He had finished his dinner and pushed aside the tray. He wondered where Julian was--whether he had got his letter and whether he would care--a little.... It was ten days now since he sent the letter--just before the doctor told him ... that was the day Aunt Jane took charge of his case.

He smiled a little, thinking of Aunt Jane and her ways.... Since she took him in hand, he had eaten and breathed and slept only as she permitted.... But, after all, it was a relief to get rid of thinking and do what one was told--like a boy.... He wished his own boy were here--to play with.... He found his imagination always coming back to Julian. He had hardly thought of the boy before as an individual; he had been a responsibility--some one to be kept out of scrapes--and, in a vague way, he was the successor to the Medfield fortune and business.... Now he wondered what the boy was really like.... Two years might have changed him--body and soul almost.

He closed his eyes a little wearily, and rested back against the pillows. The room was quiet and filled with sunshine. He felt suddenly at home in it--as he had never felt at home in his own house across the town.... The rooms were very lonely there.... He rested quietly.

A knock came on the door--perhaps the nurse for the tray. He did not turn his head or open his eyes. He was resting in the quiet.

A light step crossed the room and stopped--and presently Herman Medfield looked up.

The boy was smiling down at him. "Hallo, Father!"

He put up a swift hand to brush the vision away.

And the boy took it, and bent down and kissed him, almost shyly.

Then Herman Medfield reached out both hands. "Why--Julian! I was thinking about you!" He threw his arms around him hungrily. "I was wishing you would come!"

"Were you?" The young man laughed happily and drew up a chair to the bed. "I'm just in time, then."

He sat looking at his father; and it came to Herman Medfield that the boy was fond of him. There was a look in the clear eyes of affection and pride.

He gazed at it. "You didn't get my letter?"

"Which? The one with the check for three thousand?"

"The one telling you I was--here."

The boy shook his head. "I got Ballantine's cable, and took the next boat."

"I didn't know Ballantine cabled," said Medfield thoughtfully.

"It came ten days ago--the thirtieth, wasn't it--just as I was starting for Norway. I'm pretty glad it didn't miss me!"--They sat quiet a minute. Then the boy looked at him. "You're looking fine, sir!"

"I'm all right! Doing splendidly!"

He felt suddenly that he could let his pains go. The house across the town was not so empty, after all. He had a sudden vision of Julian running up the long stairs--two at a time--and he looked at him happily.

The boy leaned forward. His eye fell on the black-edged card; he looked at it and smiled and half reached out a hand, incredulous.

"How is--" He hesitated. He had always been afraid of his father. But the man on the pillows was, somehow, a different sort of father; he leaned forward with a swift twinkle at the card.

"How is the--widow?" he asked.

"Very well, I suppose," said Medfield. "It is some time since I saw her." He spoke a little formally. But his heart leaped at the touch of comradeship.

"How about this?" said Julian. He touched the black-edged card.

Herman Medfield's face flushed--almost guiltily. "Flowers," he said.

"I say!" The boy whistled softly. Then he laughed. "I say!" He put down the card and looked at it.

"Three boxes!" acknowledged Medfield.

The boy held out his hand. "Would you mind shaking hands, sir?"

Herman Medfield took the hand, laughing a little, and his eyes filled with quiet pride and happiness. "I am glad you've come home, Julian."

"Looks to me about time!" said the youth. He glanced again at the card and chuckled.

Then he stood up.

It was Miss Canfield for the tray.

She came around to the other side of the bed; and Herman Medfield looked up at her--and glanced from her to his boy.

"This is my son, Julian, Miss Canfield." He was watching the two faces that confronted each other across the bed.

The young man's had lighted with a little look of admiration.

He held out his hand across the bed. "It's a long-distance introduction, isn't it?"

The girl took the hand quietly. "How do you do, Mr. Herman," she said pleasantly.

"I'm glad to meet you," said Julian out of a puzzled look; and the two hands fell apart.

Herman Medfield flashed a twinkle at her. "His name is not Herman," he remarked dryly. "Nor mine," he added after a minute. "'Herman' is for the hospital-- Aunt Jane invented it."

"I see." The girl held it. "I wondered a little----"

"Don't let anybody else wonder," said Medfield. "I want to get rid of myself--for a while."

The young man smiled whimsically. "Where do I come in, sir?"

"You stay where you are," said his father tolerantly. "You're well enough as it is--if you behave!" He was looking with satisfaction from his son to the young girl. She had turned to the tray and her fingers were busy with the dishes.

"She takes good care of me," said Medfield, with a little gesture toward the competent fingers.

"I don't doubt it, sir.... I might almost say I wouldn't mind being ill--myself!" A kind of shyness in the words redeemed them and the girl smiled.

"People who are not ill, generally think they wouldn't mind," she said quietly.

She lifted the tray and set it aside.

"I'll take out your pillows now. It's time for you to rest." She removed the pillows and shook them a little and placed the fresh one beneath his head and straightened the clothes for him, with her firm, competent, comfortable hands.

The boy's eyes followed the white figure as it left the room, carrying the tray lightly. They came back to his father's face.

"I think I've had my orders," he said laughingly. "I'm to go now, I understand. I'll be back by and by, sir--when you are 'rested.'" He hesitated a minute. Then he bent down and kissed his father, almost shyly, and left the room.

The door closed behind him and Herman Medfield fell asleep and dreamed--"as if he really cared," thought Herman Medfield, as he drifted away into sleep.

XXIII

In Room 5, Mrs. Pelton was sitting in a big rocking-chair by the window, her feet on a hassock and her eyes fixed on the great bowl of blue forget-me-nots on the table beside her.

She had been looking at the forget-me-nots ever since Aunt Jane appeared with the big box, just before dinner.... She could hardly eat her dinner for looking at them. She had had the bowl of flowers set on her tray--where they crowded the soup and vegetables, and made her happy.... She wished John could see them, and the children could see them--or that there was somebody she could divide with. The beauty of the forget-me-nots was too much for her. It was such a great bunch--it filled the bowl and overflowed the sides. She had never seen so many forget-me-nots in one bunch!... Now and then, sitting in the big chair, she reached out a hand to them and touched the flowers delicately. She wished she were bigger--the happiness of the flowers crowded on her. Perhaps if she were bigger, she could enjoy them more.

Aunt Jane had not seemed overcome by the flowers when she brought them in. She had taken them from the box and shaken them apart with brisk fingers and arranged them in the bowl and moved the stand over by the window close to Mrs. Pelton's chair.

"There!" she had said. "Makes you quite a nice bunch, don't it!" She stood off and admired them.... Mrs. Pelton was thinking now of Aunt Jane, and she was thinking that she did not even know who had sent them--"A man by the name of Herman," Aunt Jane had said.

Mrs. Pelton had gone over in her mind all the people she had ever known--but there were no Hermans that she knew, or that John knew. It seemed very strange for any one to send a great bunch of flowers to her--any one she didn't know!

She wished she could thank him. She wished Mamie could see them. Mamie loved flowers so. She looked at the flowers and thought of Mamie and the children and John--and her face was happy. She looked at the row of photographs ranged along the bureau in front of the mirror.... It had been such a comfortable time at the hospital. And she had dreaded it so before she came! And there wasn't anything to dread. Somehow, it was a beautiful place.... And there was the man who was going to pay for her being here.... She had gone over and over it, in her mind--his paying for her--wondering about it.... They had worried, she and John, and they had turned and twisted every penny, and after all there was not enough.... But of course she had to come. The doctor had said it wouldn't do to put it off; and so she had come, worried and anxious about it all--and right in the room next to her, while she waited--was the man who had offered to pay everything.... It was a beautiful place--with such a good man in it--and Aunt Jane, always doing something for her--and the forget-me-nots. She sighed happily, her eyes on the flowers.

Aunt Jane appeared in the doorway, and surveyed her shrewdly. "Tired?" she asked.

"Not a bit." Mrs. Pelton shook her head. "I don't feel as if I could ever be tired any more."

She was dressed in a long blue garment--one of Aunt Jane's wrappers--that enveloped her from head to foot. Her parted hair, smooth and shining, was combed close to her head and she looked very small in the big rocking-chair, but resolute and brave.

Aunt Jane regarded her mildly. "I reckon you'll get around to being tired, after a while--like the rest of us." She glanced at the bowl of forget-me-nots. "You enjoy your flowers, don't you!"

"They make me 'most _too_ happy--they're so beautiful!"

"I guess they won't hurt," said Aunt Jane. "Being happy don't hurt--though sometimes it feels as if it hurt," she added thoughtfully. "--as you just couldn't hold any more."

"Yes. That's it! That's the way I feel!" The little woman spoke eagerly and sat up.

"I've been thinking--" she waited a minute, looking at the flowers. "Maybe I ought to go in the ward. I always meant to go in the ward, you know."

Aunt Jane regarded her. "You like it here, don't you?"

"I like it--yes!" She looked about her with grateful eyes--at the photographs and flowers and then at Aunt Jane's face. "It's beautiful!" she said softly.

"Well, I don't know as it's so beautiful." Aunt Jane was looking thoughtfully before her. She was thinking of Suite A, perhaps. "It's a good, comfortable room and you get a little sun--along toward sunset." She glanced at the window, where the streak of sunshine was creeping in on the sill, and a little glow came from the sky. "It's a comfortable room--yes."

"The ward would be cheaper," said the woman. She hesitated. "It don't seem quite fair to him--the man that's paying, I mean--not to get along as cheap as we can."

"I wouldn't worry about getting along cheap," said Aunt Jane. "Some folks need one thing, and some another. What _you_ need is to keep still a spell and rest.... You don't feel lonesome, do you?"

"Lonesome! Oh, no!" She gave a little sigh. Her thin hands were clasped in her lap. "It is so _good_ to be quiet!" she said.

"I thought likely," Aunt Jane nodded. "You just sit still and enjoy your quiet and get well ... you don't need to worry about the man that's going to pay. He wouldn't want you to worry. He's comfortable and he'd want _you_ to be comfortable. _He's_ got a good room."

The woman's eyes brooded on it. "I can't thank him, or do anything," she said a little wistfully. "I'd like to have him know how we feel about his doing it."

"Well, you can thank him by and by, when you get round to it--if you want to," said Aunt Jane. "I guess he'll let you thank him. You want to get well first."

"Yes." Her eyes were on the forget-me-nots and she reached out a hand to them. "I might send him some of my flowers," she said eagerly.

Aunt Jane's face wrinkled at the forget-me-nots--a little perplexed and surprised and amused look.

"I _could_ send them to him, couldn't I? It would be proper to send them to him?"

"Yes--I guess it's proper," said Aunt Jane dryly. "I don't believe he's got any flowers in his room." Her eyes twinkled.

"I'll send them to him now--right off! You pick out a nice bunch for him." She reached to them with a happy gesture.

Aunt Jane bent over the forget-me-nots, her smile full of gentle chuckles. "We'll make him a nice bunch," she said cheerfully. She selected a few meagre blossoms here and there.

"You're not getting the best ones!" The little woman was excited and eager. "They're better on this side. See--there's one--and there!" Her face had the soft, clear color of happiness.

Aunt Jane drew out the flowers with half-reluctant touch and arranged them slowly. "Seems 'most too bad to spoil your bunch," she said.

"Oh, I like it!" The woman laughed a little tremulously. "I told you it kind of hurt me to have so many, and it's a way of thanking him, isn't it? Here, take this one!"

Her eyes were shining. "Don't they look nice! You tell him I thank him, please, and I hope he's doing well."

"I'll tell him," said Aunt Jane. Her eyes rested on the flowers. "I shouldn't wonder if he'd be real pleased with them." She held them off and surveyed them thoughtfully. "I'll tell him what you said and I guess maybe he'll get a good deal of comfort out of it. He needs flowers--and some one to think about him--as much as anybody ever I see."

XXIV

Aunt Jane came in, bearing the forget-me-nots before her.

The millionaire raised a hand. "Take them a----!"

But she came tranquilly on.

"They were sent to you--special." She held them out.

He scowled at them. Then his look broke to bewilderment and a little amusement.

"They're the ones you carried off!" he exclaimed.

"The same ones," replied Aunt Jane with satisfaction. "A woman sent them to you."

"I know who sent them!"

"You don't know this one--it's a Mrs. Pelton."

He stared at her. "The one I sent them to--the one you took them to?"

She nodded. "She's sent 'em back."

"Didn't she like them?" His tone was hurt--almost stiff.

"Oh, she _liked_ 'em. She said they made her 'most _too_ happy." Aunt Jane was arranging the flowers and smiling at them. "She only sent part of them you see. She's divided with you."

"I see!" He looked at the flowers vaguely.

"She didn't know it was you that sent them," said Aunt Jane. She stood off to get the effect.

"Who did she think sent them?" he demanded.

"Why--'Mr. Herman,' I told her.... You know about Mr. Herman?" She looked at him.

"Yes," meekly.

"I told her about him. So she's feeling thankful to him." Her eyes twinkled a little.

"But why should she send flowers to _me_?" He looked at her almost suspiciously, as if he had caught her.

Aunt Jane shook her head reprovingly. "She sent them to you because you happened to come the same day she did. She saw you through the door whilst she was waiting for me to come in, and it made her feel acquainted with you, coming the same day--so--and both having suffering to go through with---- There, they look nice, don't they!" She gave a final touch to them and sat down.

He glanced at them grudgingly.

"I'll take them out if you say so--if you'd rather not have them?"

"No, leave them.... I--want them." The words came almost quickly.

"I thought you'd like them," she said placidly, "when you'd made up your mind to it. It's hard for any one to make up his mind sometimes."

The millionaire was looking at the flowers. "I've been thinking about what you told me this morning," he motioned to the bowl of forget-me-nots, "--about Mrs. Pelton.... This hospital business must be a big bill for a workingman to meet.... I was wondering if it couldn't be arranged so that I could pay--without their knowing, of course," he added hastily.

Aunt Jane was silent a minute. Then, a little guiltily, she looked at him. "You _have_ paid already," she said.

He had been looking dreamily before him, pleased with Aunt Jane, and with the flowers--and with himself--pleased with everybody. He moved irritably and stared.

She nodded, the little wrinkles gathering about her eyes. "I didn't mean that you should find it out--not right off.... But it's just as well, I guess."

"What do you mean?"

"Well." She rocked a little. "She was kind of anxious--the day she came, you know.... I see, as soon as I came into the room that she was worrying--" Aunt Jane rocked placidly, looking back to Mrs. Pelton's worrying face. "Pretty soon it came out--they hadn't got the money; and she'd been just drove to come--as you might say--Dr. Carmon makes 'em come whether they want to or not, you know?" She looked at him inquiringly over her glasses.

"Yes, I know." The words were remote and dry.

Aunt Jane smiled a little. "And just then I caught sight of you through the door, and your coat lying on a chair--it was a silk-lined coat, you know--your clothes are all pretty good." She looked at him with satisfaction.

A glint of amusement crossed the remote face.

"So it came to me, then and there, just the way the things do--the right ones, when you're bothering--and I said to her that _you_ were going to pay for her."

She sat looking at him.

"Well?"

She roused herself. "You never see anybody change so--right in a minute, that way.... I do wish you could have seen her!" She gave a pitying glance at the handsome figure on the pillow.... "It seems a pity, 'most, to do so much for everybody and not have the good of seeing it!"

"How do you know I will pay the bill?" asked the millionaire grimly.

She turned and stared--and a little gleaming smile twinkled at him. "Why--you _have_ paid already! Leastways, your lawyer's paid. He sends a check every week--the way you told him--to pay the bill; and I've made it out big enough for two, right along." Her face was complacent and kind.

"Do you call that business?" He asked it almost sharply.