Part 52 (1/2)
The Don hesitated, glancing at her dishevelled, gaudy attire, painted cheeks, and frowsy hair.
”Well,” he said, ”you may come.”
The girl disappeared, and in a very few minutes returned dressed modestly and quietly, the paint and pencilling washed from her face, her hair smoothed behind her ears. The Don looked her over, and nodding approval said: ”That is better. Now, hold the light for me.”
His examination revealed serious injuries about the head and face, three ribs broken, one piercing the lungs. With Nellie's a.s.sistance he managed to dress the wounds and set the broken bones before Shock regained full consciousness.
As they were finis.h.i.+ng. Shock opened his eyes and fixed them enquiringly upon The Don's face.
”Well, how do you feel, old chap? Pretty sore, I guess,” enquired The Don.
Shock tried to speak, but his attempt ended in a groan. Still his eyes remained fastened enquiringly upon The Don's face. The Don bent over him.
”The money, Don,” he said with great difficulty. ”Hospital?”
The Don groaned. He understood only too well, and unable to escape the insisting eyes, replied: ”Yes, Shock. But I will make it all right.
Hickey has it now.”
Shock closed his eyes for a few minutes, and then, opening them again, compelled The Don's attention.
”Send for Ike,” he whispered. ”Right away.”
Next day Ike appeared in a cold, white rage at The Don. He had got the whole story from the messenger, and blamed no one but The Don.
As Shock's eyes rested upon Ike's lean, hard face, bent over him so anxiously, he smiled a glad welcome.
”Don't look like that, Ike,” he said. ”I'll soon be fit.”
”Why, you just bet!” said Ike, with a loud laugh, deriding all anxiety.
”Ike,” whispered Shock. Ike bent over him. ”I want two hundred dollars at once. Don't tell.”
Without a word of questioning Ike nodded, saying ”In half an hour, I guess.” But in less time he appeared and, slipping the roll of bills under Shock's pillow, said: ”It's all there.”
”Good old boy,” said Shock, trying to offer his hand.
Ike took his hand carefully. ”Is there anything else?” he said, his voice grave and hoa.r.s.e.
”No, old boy,” said Shock. ”Thank you.”
”Then,” said Ike, ”you'll keep quieter without me, I guess. I'll be on hand outside.” And with a nod he strode out of the room, his face working with grief and rage.
For a week Ike remained at the Pa.s.s in hourly attendance at the hospital, looking in at every chance upon the sick man. In Shock's presence he carried an exaggerated air of cheerful carelessness, but outside he went about with a face of sullen gloom. Toward The Don, with whom he had previously been on most friendly terms, he was wrathfully contemptuous, disdaining even a word of enquiry for his patient, preferring to receive his information from the nurse. In Ike's contempt, more than in anything else, The Don read the judgment of honourable men upon his conduct, and this deepened to a degree almost unendurable his remorse and self-loathing.
One morning, when the report was not so favourable, Ike stopped him with the question: ”Will he git better?”
”Well,” said The Don gloomily, ”I have not given up hope.”
”Look here,” replied Ike, ”I want you to listen to me.” His tone was quiet, but relentlessly hard. ”If he don't, you'll talk to me about it.”
The Don looked at him steadily.