Part 19 (1/2)
The man laid his hand on that of the girl as it rested on the arm of the chair. ”Name one, Zura.”
”Love.” And on her face the high lights were softened to compa.s.sion and tenderness.
Page took his hand from hers and covered his eyes.
There I stood waiting to put another cold cloth on the boy's head.
Neither one of them knew I was on earth. I hardly knew it myself. For the first time in my life I was seeing the real thing and the wonder of it almost petrified me.
What else might have happened is an untold tale. Jane saved the situation. I had not noticed her absence. She now entered, carrying a tray well filled with crackers and a beverage which she placed before Page. ”Honey, I don't believe in any of those spirit-rising liquors even when you faint, but I made this j.a.pe gruice right off our own vine and fig tree and I know it's pure and innocent. Yes, Zura, grape juice is what I said. Page can drink every gallon I have if he wants it, and I'll toast cheese and crackers for him all night.”
The twist in Jane Gray's tongue might lead to laughter, but her heart never missed the road to thoughtful kindness.
Very soon Page said he felt much better and would get home and to bed.
When he took his coat and hat from the hall he looked so weak, so near to illness, I begged him to stay and let us care for him. He gently refused, saying he would be all right in the morning. I followed him to the gate. He turned to say good-night.
I put my hands on his shoulders and with all the affection at my command I invited his confidence. ”What is it, son? I'm an old woman, but maybe I can help you. Let me try.”
He lifted his hands to mine and his grasp was painful. The dim light from the old bronze lantern reflected the tears in his eyes as he answered: ”Help me? You have in a thousand ways. I'll soon be all right.
I'm just a little over-worked. Haven't slept much lately. Need rest.”
Then leaning near with sudden tenderness: ”Heaven bless you, dear woman.
You have been as good to me as my own mother. Some day--perhaps.
Good-night. Don't worry, Miss Jenkins.”
Why didn't he throw me over into a bramble patch and tell me not to get scratched? I just leaned my old head up against the gate and cried.
I returned to the house by a rear door, for Jane was in the living-room.
XVI
ENTER KOBU, THE DETECTIVE
The compensation of the morning's belated brightness came in the golden glory with which it flooded the world, so warm it melted the h.o.a.r frost jewels on tree and shrub, so tender the drooping roses lifted their pink heads and blushed anew. It was the kind of a morning one knew that something was waiting just ahead. It required no feat of intellect for me to know that a great many somethings awaited my little household.
Whenever I arose in the morning feeling sentimental, something was sure to happen. The afternoon of this day was the appointed time for the ”roof-raising festival” of Jane's hospital. Three o'clock was the hour set to begin the ceremonies, but early morning found Jane and Zura as busy collecting books, bundles and a folding baby-organ, as if moving day had fallen upon the household. Neither one of my companions seemed depressed by the happenings of the night before, or else they were determined that every other thought should be put aside till the roof was safely over the dream of Jane's life. Jinrickishas piled high with baskets of refreshments and decorations moved gaily down the street.
Jane and Zura, laughing like two schoolgirls and as irrepressible, headed the little procession.
I waved them good luck and went back to my work and my thoughts. I was interrupted by a note that came from Page in answer to one of mine, saying a slight fever would prevent his accepting the invitation to go with me to the exercises in the afternoon, but he hoped to see us at the house later in the evening. Of course he meant us in general, Zura particularly, and it might be fever or it might be other things that kept him away from Jane's tea party. I was going to know in either case as soon as I could get Page Hanaford by himself. Right or wrong I would help him all I could, but know I must and would. I simply could not live through another day of anxiety.
If Page told me his trouble, there was no reason why it would fade away, and my anxiety cease to be, but having made up my mind to act definitely, my spirits rose like a clay pigeon released by a spring.
That afternoon, at the time appointed for the ceremony, when I turned from Flying Sparrow Street into Tube Rose Lane a strange sight met my eyes. It was clean. For once in the history of the Quarter poverty and crime had taken a bath and were indulging in an open holiday. It had gone still farther. From the lowliest hut of straw and plaster to the little better house of the chief criminal, cheap, but very gay decorations fluttered in honor of the coming hospital. The people stood about in small groups. The many kimonos, well patched in varied colors, lent a touch of brilliancy to the sordid alleyway, haunted with ghosts of men and women, dead to all things spiritual.
Here and there policemen strolled, always in pairs. Whenever they drew near, and until they were past, the talking groups fell silent, and before an open door, or window a blank white screen was softly s.h.i.+fted.