Part 18 (1/2)

”Now that that young man has gone we might have a game of whist,” Mrs.

Pettigrew suggested, looking not ill-pleased.

”For which you do not need me in the least,” and Dr. Hale was about to leave, but Dr. Bellair stopped him.

”Don't be an everlasting Winter woodchuck, d.i.c.k! Sit down and play; do be good. I've got to see old Mrs. Graham yet; she refuses to go to sleep without it--knowing I'm so near. By by.”

Mrs. Pettigrew insisted on playing with Miss Elder, so Vivian had the questionable pleasure of Dr. Hale as a partner. He was an expert, used to frequent and scientific play, and by no means patient with the girl's mistakes.

He made no protest at a lost trick, but explained briefly between hands what she should have remembered and how the cards lay, till she grew quite discouraged.

Her game was but mediocre, played only to oblige; and she never could see why people cared so much about a mere pastime. Pride came to her rescue at last; the more he criticised, the more determined she grew to profit by all this advice; but her mind would wander now and then to Morton, to his young life so largely wasted, it appeared, and to what hope might lie before him. Could she be the help and stimulus he seemed to think? How much did he mean by asking her to help him?

”Why waste a thirteenth trump on your partner's thirteenth card?” Dr.

Hale was asking.

She flushed a deep rose color and lifted appealing eyes to him.

”Do forgive me; my mind was elsewhere.”

”Will you not invite it to return?” he suggested drily.

He excused himself after a few games, and the girl at last was glad to have him go. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

Mrs. Pettigrew, sitting unaccountably late at her front window, watched the light burn steadily in the small office at the opposite corner. Presently she saw a familiar figure slip in there, and, after a considerable stay, come out quietly, cross the street, and let himself in at their door.

”Huh!” said Mrs. Pettigrew.

CHAPTER VII.

SIDE LIGHTS.

High s.h.i.+nes the golden s.h.i.+eld in front, To those who are not blind; And clear and bright In all men's sight, The silver s.h.i.+eld behind.

In breadth and sheen each face is seen; How tall it is, how wide; But its thinness shows To only those Who stand on either side.

Theophile wept aloud in the dining-room, nursing one hand in the other, like a hurt monkey.

Most of the diners had departed, but Professor Toomey and Mr. Cuthbert still lingered about Miss Susie's corner, to the evident displeasure of Mr. Saunders, who lingered also.

Miss Susie smiled upon them all; and Mr. Saunders speculated endlessly as to whether this was due to her general friendliness of disposition, to an interest in pleasing her aunt's boarders, to personal preference, or, as he sometimes imagined, to a desire to tease him.

Morton was talking earnestly with Vivian at the other end of the table, from which the two angular waitresses had some time since removed the last plate. One of them opened the swing door a crack and thrust her head in.

”He's burnt his hand,” she said, ”and his Ma's out. We don't dare go near him.” Both of these damsels professed great terror of the poor boy, though he was invariably good natured, and as timid as a rabbit.

”Do get the doctor!” cried Susie, nervously; she never felt at ease with Theophile.

”Dr. Bellair, I fear, is not in her office,” Professor Toomey announced. ”We might summon Dr. Hale.”