Part 19 (1/2)
”Well,” said the doctor, again. ”For heaven's sake, what's the matter!
Have you become suddenly dumb? You have a tongue, haven't you? If you have, for goodness' sake, use it.”
Blake answered, slowly:
”Doctor, it's about Jack Schuyler.”
The sudden little look of anxiety that sprang to the good old man's eyes showed how much the statement meant to him.
”About Jack Schuyler!” he exclaimed. ”What about Jack Schuyler? No harm-- he's not ill?”
”Very, very ill, I fear,” Blake responded. ”I don't understand it at all.
I can't comprehend--”
The doctor brought his old fist down upon the scratched top of his old desk.
”Will you stop hemming and hawing and s.h.i.+lly-shallying around and come to the point!” he fairly howled.
”It's about Jack Schuyler,” repeated Blake, slowly, ”and a woman.”
Doctor DeLancey started. He sat erect.
”What!” he cried. ”Jack Schuyler and a woman? You're a fool! It's ridiculous--impossible--absurd!”
”That's what I've been telling myself for the past month,” rejoined Blake.... ”But it's not ridiculous--it's not impossible--it's not absurd.
Would to G.o.d it were!”
”But Jack Schuyler!” protested the doctor, incredulously. ”Why, I've known him since he was born. And I knew his father, and his mother, and his grandfather and his grandmother before him! Damme, I don't believe it. I won't believe it!”
”Neither did I,” returned Blake. ”Neither would I--until--”
He told the doctor of the letter that had come; and of that which it contained. In silence the doctor listened, and to the end.
There was a pause; Blake continued:
”I don't believe I could do anything. I'd lose my head. I want you to go to him, to see if there isn't something that you can do. I'll pay--”
The doctor leaped from his chair, waggling an old finger in Blake's face.
”Pay!” he yelled. ”Pay me for going to Jack Schuyler! You keep your dashed money, my boy. When I want any, I'll ask you for it. D'ye hear me?
I'll ask you for it! When does the first boat sail?”
”It sails to-night--in half an hour,” returned Blake. ”It's the 'Vagrant'.... I'm going, too.... I want to be near at hand.... Good G.o.d!”
he cried, suddenly. It was almost a wail. ”To think of Jack Schuyler-- our Jack Schuyler!--like that!”
The doctor came in from the hall whence he had rushed. One arm was in the sleeve of his coat. His hat was over his ear. He was vainly trying to put his left glove on his right hand.