Part 43 (1/2)

”A long treatment, but they will come back,” replied Helen.

She led the way into the ward where Phil was in a big chair, a comely figure of youth up to his chin. The rest of him was a ball of white, with a harness of silver woven in with bandages for his lower face, and bandages over his eyes.

”Your father and mother have come,” Helen wrote on his arm.

They sat down without any demonstration, one on each side of his chair, and each took one of his hands, receiving a strong answering clasp.

Peter ”filled up,” as he put up, and went out into the court to pace up and down. When he returned they were in the same position.

This hand in his own left hand Phil knew was his father's, because it was larger and bonier than the one in his right, which was soft and yielding. He was thinking of Longfield; seeing the village street under the old elms, the garden and the porch, and the glory of sunrise and sunset in the Berks.h.i.+res; relieving the joys of sight. In turn, in that silent communion, Dr. and Mrs. Sanford saw him coming up the path to the porch at all ages and on all occasions.

”That wiggle of his right foot,” said Helen, ”means that he wants to talk. Oh, we've developed a remarkable code and we've not gone in for the blind raised letters because he never will need them.”

She brought a pencil, which she slipped between his fingers, and a pad, which she fixed on a slanting table fastened to the chair.

”He's becoming wonderfully good at it,” she said, ”though at first he was always getting off the track and writing one line over another.”

Slowly but quite clearly he wrote his big letters on small pages, which Helen pa.s.sed to the father and mother.

”Some family reunion, this! It is a cinch that I get well--father, pardon the language!”

This was the first sheet. The two looked at each other and smiled.

”It's Phil, all right!” murmured Peter, echoing their thoughts.

”When I get my new countenance, new eyes and ears, and descend on Longfield, even Jane will admit I'm grown up. I am going to show Hanks that he is not the only one who can branch out”--this on the second sheet.

”Peter arranged it so you could come, I hear,” came the third. ”Tell him he has been so kind that I almost regret I did not go to work for him and ruin his business.”

There was something very like a snort from the direction of Peter, who was caught grinning when the others looked around.

”Tell Bill Hurley, who is for the Allies but a pessimist about their chances, that the Allies are going to win the war. And you are coming often, aren't you? Won't they let you? This conversation is getting one-sided.” He pulled up his sleeve, which was a signal to Helen.

”Yes,” she wrote, at Dr. Sanford's dictation. ”Peter has got a little house for us and permission to stay near you.”

”This is just simply HAPPINESS”--Phil spelled out the word in capitals.

”Tell Peter he is certainly some arranger. Isn't he going to come and see me, too?”

Peter was swallowing hard--a habit that he had formed since he had arrived at the hospital. He advanced to Phil's side.

”Peter is here,” Helen wrote.

Phil's hand went out, searching in the darkness, and Peter's leapt toward it and the two clasped in a firm, prolonged grip.

”Shall I tell him that every cent I have is his, when he expected nothing?” Peter put the question to Helen.

She knew only the vague outline of their story, yet understood the principle involved, and she hesitated. Peter studied her face with his shrewd glance.

”I guess not,” he said. ”He's fighting for something worth more than three millions and money won't make a fellow of Phil's calibre fight any harder. I guess it would be kind of cheap to do it now. I'll wait till he can see me, or till we know that he is not going to----”