CHAPTER VIIRATHER A BIG THING
BLACK was standing in the vestibule of a train which was bringing him back, at a late hour, from the city where he had spent the day at a conference of clergymen. He was somewhat weary, for the day had been filled with long debate over a certain question which had seemed to him vital indeed but not debatable. He had not hesitated to say so, and had been delayed after the evening session was over by men who still wanted to talk it out interminably with him. He had missed his trolley and had therefore taken the train.
As the train drew in Black found himself crowded next to a young man who seemed to be suffering from an excessive nervousness. He was tall and thin, rather handsome of face, but with eyes so deeply shadowed that they suggested extreme and recent illness. His manner was so shaky, as he went down the steps ahead of Black, and he set down his bag upon the platform with such a gesture of supreme fatigue, that Black stopped to find out if he were indeed ill, and if he needed help. At the same moment the stranger looked round at him, and put a question in a quick, breathless voice which indicated both anxiety and difficulty at self-control.
“Can you tell me,” he jerked out, “where Miss Ray’s shop is—antique shop—Jane Ray? I ought to know—forgotten the street.”
Black hesitated. Send this unknown and unnatural young man to Jane at this late hour? He looked both dissipated and irresponsible, and Black thought he caught the odour of alcohol upon his breath.
“It’s late. The shop will be closed,” Black suggested. “Hadn’t you better go to a hotel to-night, and look it up in the morning?”
The stranger frowned, and answered irritably—almost angrily:
“I should say not. Miss Ray’s my sister. Will you tell me where the shop is, or have I got to find somebody who will?”
Black made a quick decision. “I’ll show you the way. It’s not far out of my course.”
His eyes searched the stranger’s face, to find there confirmation of the statement which otherwise he would not have been inclined to believe. The resemblance, taking into account the difference between Jane’s look of vitality and radiant energy, and this young man’s whole aspect of broken health and overwrought nerves, was very apparent. And as the stranger looked down the platform, and his profile was presented to Black’s scrutiny, he saw that the same definite outlines of beauty and distinction were there, not to be mistaken. On this basis he could have no hesitation in guiding the markedly feeble footsteps to her door, though he was wondering, rather anxiously, just what his arrival, evidently unexpected by her, would mean to her. Black had never heard anybody mention her having a brother—he had understood she was quite alone in the world.
The two set out down the street. The young man walked so falteringly that after a minute Black took his well-worn leather bag away from him, sayingpleasantly: “Let me carry it. You’re not quite fit, I’m sure.”
The other glowered. “Not fit! What do you mean by that? I’m fit enough—I’m just worn out, that’s all. Overwork—illness—nerves—I’m all in. But if you mean to imply——”
“I don’t mean to imply anything, Mr. Ray—if that is your name. I can see you have been ill. Let me put my hand under your arm, won’t you? I’d call a cab if there were any to be had—I’m afraid there aren’t.”
“Don’t want a cab—can walk. Walk faster, that’s all. I’m liable to go to pieces pretty soon—haven’t eaten a mouthful to-day—couldn’t look at it. These confounded nerves——”
There was no doubt but his nerves were confounded, and badly, at that. As they walked the few squares necessary to get to Jane’s little street, Black felt his companion becoming more and more desperately shaken in body and mind. Several times he said something which struck Black as all but irrational. More than once he would have wavered far away from the straight course if Black’s arm had not held him steady. A policeman looked sharply at the pair as they passed under the light at a corner, and Black was aware that but one inference was likely—one he was not at all sure was untrue.
The shop was dark when they reached it, and Black rang the bell. Just as a light appeared, and he saw Jane coming through from her rooms in the rear, the stranger suddenly sank against Black’s shoulder, and he was forced to drop the bag and hold him supported in both arms. So when Jane opened the door, it was to this singular and somewhat startling apparition.
“Don’t be frightened, Miss Ray,” said Black’s quietlyassured voice. “He’s only faint, I think. This is—your brother? He’s been ill, and wasn’t quite strong enough to make the journey. We’ll get him lying down as fast as we can.”
“Oh, Cary!” Jane was out of the door in an instant, and her strong young arm was around her brother from the opposite side. “Can you walk, dear?”
He hardly had to walk, so nearly did they carry him. They had him through the shop and into the little living room in no time at all, and Jane had run for a stimulant. The glass she held to his lips and the prostrate position revived him quickly. He made a wry face at the tumbler she had set down upon a table.
“Can’t you do better than that?” he questioned, weakly. “For God’s sake give me the real thing—I need it. I’m dying for it—yes, dying literally, if you want to know.”
Jane shook her head. “No, dear—I haven’t any—and I’m sure you don’t need it. I’ll make you some strong tea. Oh, I’m so glad you came, Cary!”
The young man seemed to try to smile—but the smile looked more like tears. He held up a shaking hand.
“Nerves—Jane—nerves. I’m all in—I’m a wreck. I’m——” His look wavered around at Black, who stood above and behind him. “We’ll excuse you, sir,” he said, with an effort at dignity. “I’m very much obliged to you—and now—please go!”
Jane looked up at Black with a face into which the quick and lovely colour poured in a flood. “My brother isn’t himself,” she said under her breath. “Do forgive him. I’m so grateful to you. I can get on with him nicely now.”
“I can surely be of service to you yet, Miss Ray,” Black said with decision. “Your brother needs care, and I can help you make him comfortable.”
She shook her head. “I can do all he needs,” she said, “and it’s late. I can’t——”
And then Cary Ray decided things for himself by sitting up and pointing with a shaking finger and a voice of fright toward a shadowy corner. “What’s that!” he whispered. “What’s that? You haven’t got ’em here, too, have you? I thoughtyouwouldn’t have ’em—notyou!”
There was nothing in the corner. Black laid young Ray gently but firmly down upon the couch again. “No, you’re mistaken,” he said quietly. “We haven’t got them here—and we’re not going to have them. Trust me for that—I know all about it.”
Across the dark head, again fallen weakly upon the couch pillow, Black’s eyes met Jane’s. “Please let me stay awhile?” he urged.
She knew then that he knew, and that it was of no use to try to hide the pitiful, shameful thing from him. She nodded and turned away, and he saw her clench one hand tight as she went to Cary’s bag and opened it. He saw her search through the bag, and take from it something which he did not see, because she went out of the room with it. She was gone some time. While she was away, he occupied himself with keeping Cary’s attention from concentrating on that corner of which his suspicions became now and then acute.
When she returned, her brother was talking fast and disconnectedly.
“I haven’t slept—” he was saying, in a tone that was half a wail—“I haven’t slept for a week—haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in months. I—— How can you expect—I tell you a fellow can’t keep going—work’s all gone to pot——”
Jane came close to him. “You shall stay here and restup, Cary,” she said gently, with her hand on his hot head. “And I’ll feed you wonderfully and get you strong again. Could you take just a little something now?—A glass of milk—a tiny sandwich——”
He shook his head, with a gesture of distaste. “Don’t say food to me—don’t bring any in my sight. There’s just one thing I want—and I know you won’t give it to me. Jane——” he caught at her hand—“it would make me sleep, and God knows I need that—I shall die without it. I—that thing in the corner—oh, I didn’t think it would track me here——”
“It isn’t here. Forget it!” Black spoke sternly. “You’re going to bed, and to sleep—I’m going to see to that. Miss Ray—you’ll let me get your brother into his bed, won’t you? Once there, I’ll put him to sleep—I know I can—and that’s what he needs more than anything.”
“I’ll go and make his room ready,” said Jane Ray. She had to yield. She knew Cary needed a man’s hand, a man’s will. Strong and resourceful though she was, she understood that at this pass no woman could control the disordered nerves as a man could. She could only be thankful that she had this man at her service at this hour, though perhaps he was the last man she would have picked out, or have been willing to have know of her unhappy situation. But he knew it now, and somehow, as her eyes met his, she could not be quite sorry, after all, that it was he who was to help her. At least, whether he could deal with Cary or not, she could be absolutely sure that she could trust him. And this was not because of his profession—rather, to Jane, it was in spite of it.
So, presently, Black found himself putting Cary Ray to bed—in a room he didn’t in the least deserve to have,for it was unquestionably Jane’s own. Every detail of its furnishing told him that, though he did not allow himself to study it much from this point of view. It was rather a large room, and as simply outfitted as could be imagined, and yet somehow its whole aspect gave the impression of character and charm. And Black had never in his life hated to see a man installed in a place which didn’t belong to him as he hated to see Cary Ray made comfortable in this exquisitely chaste room of Jane’s. Yet he couldn’t very well protest. He knew as well as if he had been told that it was the only room of adequate size and comfort which she had to put at her brother’s service, and that, since he was ill and in need, she wouldn’t dream of tucking him up on a couch somewhere as a substitute. For one bad moment Black was astonished to discover that he was longing to pitch this dissipated young man out of the house, and tell his sister to keep her white sheets clean from his contaminated body.
But then, of course, he settled to his task, sternly putting such thoughts away from him. Having got Cary stretched between those same sheets, the lights extinguished—except that from an amber-shaded reading light beside the bed—instead of taking a chair he sat down on the foot of the bed in a friendly sort of way, and remarked in the most matter-of-fact tone in the world—“This reminds me of a night I spent once down in Virginia——” And from that he was off, by degrees, and not at all as if he had set himself to entertain his patient, into a recital that presently captured Cary’s hitherto fitful attention and held it until the sense of strangeness in the whole situation had somewhat gone by for the invalid—if not for the nurse.
The night was not spent, however, in telling stories. It is true that Cary himself told one or two—and luridtales they were, with more than a suspicion of nightmare in them, the nightmare of drugs or of a disordered brain. There were intervals—though few of them—when the young man sank into a brief sleep, as if from profound exhaustion, but he invariably awoke with a start and a cry to a condition which became, as the hours went on, more and more difficult to control. Black did succeed in controlling it, by sheer force of will; he seemed to have a peculiar power to do this. His hand upon Cary’s, his voice in his ear, and time and again the strained nerves and muscles would relax, and the crisis would pass. But more than once, so wild was the almost delirium of the sufferer, that it took all Black’s physical strength to keep command.
Jane was there only a part of the time. It was during the periods of repose and half slumber that she would slip noiselessly into the room, stand watching her brother silently, or sit down upon the foot of the bed opposite Black, to look at the thin face on the pillow with her unhappy heart in her eyes. Black had never seen much of Jane’s heart before; he couldn’t help seeing something of it now. It was beyond his power to refrain, now and then, as the two sat in the hush of the night, so strangely thrown together in a situation which neither could ever have foreseen, from looking across at Jane’s clear-cut profile in the subdued light, and studying it as if he had never seen it before. His pity for her grew as the hours went by, and with his pity a tenderness grew also, until, quite suddenly, he was startled by a consciousness that he wanted to go around to her and take her hands in his and tell her—that he would stand by her to the last limit of his power.
On one of her trips into the room, when Cary happenedto be quiet for a little, Jane whispered to Black that she would take his place and he must go downstairs and eat the lunch she had prepared for him. When he told her that he didn’t need it she only pointed, quite imperiously, to the door, and he obediently left the room and went to do her bidding. It was as he was finishing the delicious viands he found on the table in the room below that his ear, alert for any signs of trouble above, caught the sinister sound he was listening for. He ran up, three steps at a time, to find Jane struggling in the grip of her half-crazed brother, who was demanding in language so profane that it seemed to burn the air, the instant production of the one thing in the world he wanted.
“You’ve got it—you’re hiding it—you little fool! Do you want to see me dead before morning—you——” Then came the oaths, this time but half uttered before a strong, smothering hand descended upon the twisting mouth, and a stern voice said commandingly: “Not another word like that, Ray, or I’ll choke you till you’re still!” At the same moment a jerk of Black’s head toward the door and his fiery glance at Jane told her that he wanted her out of the room and out of hearing as fast as she could get away.
It was a long tussle this time, but it was over at last, and once more, worn out by the violence of his own efforts, Cary lay quiet for a little. Confident that though not asleep he would not at once find strength to fight again, Black stole out of the room. In the narrow hall outside he found Jane, sitting on the top stair, her head buried in her arms.
Thus far he had known Jane only as a finely practical young business woman, as independent as she was capable. He had seen that adorable head of hers, with its smoothcrown of chestnut hair, always held high, with a suggestion of indomitable courage. Now—it looked as if it had been brought low—incredibly low. She had long before exchanged the dress in which she had spent the day in the shop for a plain white skirt and blouse such as nurses wear, and in this costume she looked much younger and more girlish than in the more conventional dress. Her white-shod feet were crossed as a girl crosses them; and altogether, in the dim light from the half-open door, she seemed to Black more like Cary’s dependent young sister than one older than himself to whom he had come as to a refuge. He didn’t know, as yet, that after all it was Cary who was the older.
At the sound of the light footstep, however, Jane instantly lifted her head, and then rose quickly to her feet, and he saw her smile—an undoubtedly forced little smile, but full of pluck.
“You must be desperately tired,” she whispered. “But I don’t know what I should have done without you this night.”
“You couldn’t have done without me. I can’t tell you how glad I am to be here. And I’m not half as tired as you are. Won’t you go now and lie down? You can’t do a bit of good by staying on guard here, and you’ll need your strength to-morrow. This isn’t going to be a short siege, I’m afraid.”
“I know it’s not. But I’ve been through it all before. I shall call Doctor Burns to-morrow. I tried to to-night, so I could release you, but he was away for the night. And—I didn’t want to call anybody else. Nobody else—here—knows, and—I can’t have them know.”
“Nobody knows you have a brother?”
“Oh, they’ve seen Cary—but only when he was—himself.He is—Cary is a genius, Mr. Black; he just has—the defects of his temperament. He—I can show you——”
And then, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, the tears leaped into her eyes. Like a small boy, abashed at having shown emotion, she threw back her head, smiling again, and drawing the back of her hand across the tell-tale eyes. “Oh, I’m ashamed of myself,” she breathed. “Believe me, I’m not so weak as this looks.”
“You’re not in the least weak. And it’s three o’clock in the morning, the hour when things take hold. See here——” And he looked her straight in the eyes. “Jane Ray,” he said, not too gently, but as a man might say it to a man, though he spoke low, on account of that open door—“I want you to know that, whatever comes, I’ll see you through. I won’t add—‘if you’ll let me’—for you’re going to let me. You can’t help it—after to-night.” And he held out his hand. “Shall we make a pledge of it?” he added, smiling gravely.
She looked straight back at him. “You can’t—see me through,” she said. “You—I’ve no claim on you. You have your church——”
“I have. Is that a reason why I can’t stand by you? If it is—it’s not the church I gave myself to. And—I think you need another brother. I’m sure Cary does.” His hand was waiting. He looked down at it. “Are you going to make me take it back?” he asked. “That would—feel very strange. I didn’t offer it—to take back.”
She put her own into it then. He gave it a long, strong clasp and let it go. Without looking at him she turned and ran downstairs, and he went back into the room where Cary was beginning to stir restlessly again.
He was conscious, in every fibre, that something hadhappened to him. He had not had the least idea, when he had begun his vigils that night, that before morning he should be thrilled as he never had been thrilled before, by a simple handclasp, and a few spoken words, offering only what he had offered many a man or woman in trouble before now, his sympathy and help. But somehow—this had been different. He was acutely aware that the wish to see Jane Ray through whatever difficulties and problems might lie before her in connection with this brother of hers was a mighty different sort of wish from any that he had experienced before. And the fact that she had tacitly accepted his help—proud Jane—for he knew she was proud—gave him a satisfaction out of all proportion to any ordinary significance attached to so obvious and natural a suggestion. There was now a bond between them—that was the thing that took hold of him; a bond which made possible—well, what did it make possible? What did he want it to make possible? He didn’t try to go into that. One thing was sure: he had, by an accident, come into her life in a way he had never dreamed of, and once in—he wanted to stay. This touch of intimate comradeship had been something new in his experience. It might never happen again; certainly he could not continue to take care of Cary Ray through nights such as this one had been. Doubtless Doctor Burns, once called, would take care of that; Black knew that under the proper treatment the following night might be one of comparative calm. But he could come to see him often; could cultivate his friendship—gain as much influence over him as possible. And if others found out about it, criticized him for giving time and thought to people outside his parish—well—they might. Black’s decision on this head was one which brooked no interference.Where he could help he would help, in his parish or out of it....
It was at five o’clock in the morning that he fell asleep. He had not meant to go to sleep, and had been caught unawares. For an hour Cary had been quiet. Black, sitting on the edge of his bed, had found a new way to keep hold of his man—and that was by keeping hold of him literally. In a moment of desperation he had seized the thin, restless fingers and forced them to remain still in his own. The firm contact had produced a remarkable effect. After a little Cary’s hand had laid hold of Black’s and clung to it, while the invalid himself had sunk almost immediately away into something more resembling real slumber than anything in the past night. Finding this expedient so successful Black had allowed it to continue, for each time he tried to release himself Cary took a fresh grip, like a child who will not let go his hold upon his mother, even in unconsciousness. Finally, Black had made himself as comfortable as he could by slipping down upon the floor, where he could rest his head upon the bed without withdrawing his hand. And in this posture, one eloquent of his own fatigue from the long vigil, he went soundly to sleep.
So when, with the approach of daylight, Jane came in to tell her assistant that he must go home now, while the streets were empty of observant eyes, she found what she had not expected. She stood looking at the two figures the one stretched so comfortably in the bed, the other propped in so strained an attitude outside of it. As she looked something very womanly and beautiful came into her eyes.
“Is it possible—” this was her thought—“thatyouhave done this—forme? I didn’t know men of yourprofession ever did things like this. But if I had known any of them ever did, I should have known it would be you!”
He looked like a tall and fine-featured boy as he slept in his twisted position, did Robert McPherson Black. He had taken off his coat while he wrestled with Cary, and the white shirt-sleeves rolled to the elbows, showing a sinewy forearm, added to the boyish effect. Suddenly Jane’s eyes caught sight of something on one bare arm which made her stoop lower, and then flush with chagrin. It was the unmistakable mark upon the fair flesh of gripping fingers with nails which had torn—already turning dark, as such deep bruises do. It was a little thing enough—Jane knew already how her new friend would make light of it if she mentioned it—and yet somehow it was rather a big thing, too. It gave emphasis to the service he had done her; how could she have dealt, alone, with wild brutality like that?
Then, as she looked, Cary roused, turned, opened his eyes, withdrew his hand with a jerk, and Black woke also. And Cary was sane again, and very weak, and spoke querulously:
“What the devil——” he began. “Who are you—and what are you doing here?” Then, to Jane,—“Is this a cheap lodging house, and do you take in every vagrant that comes along?”
“I took you in, dear,” said Jane, quietly. “And Mr. Black has stayed by you all night. He must be very tired.”
Black laughed. “I’ve had quite a sleep, anyhow,” he said, attempting with considerable difficulty to get upon his feet. “Certain areas seem to have been more asleep than others, though. My arm—” and he began to pinchand pound it—“looks to be all here, but it feels rather absent.” It was absent indeed, and hanging by his side, quite numb.
Cary’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean—why, you’re the chap that—that——” His weak voice took on a tension.
“Never mind about the identification. I’m glad you’re feeling better this morning.”
“I don’t feel better. I feet like the devil. But I—I’m certainly obliged to you. I—have you been here all—night?”
“Of course. Oh, thank you, Miss Ray—it’ll come back in a minute,” for Jane had come up and was applying a vigorous massage with her own hands to the inert arm.
“Well, I’ll be——” but Cary left the exclamation unfinished, and began another. “I say—I’m not worth it!” he groaned, and buried his head in the crumpled white pillow.
Downstairs, presently, Black, ready to go, spoke authoritatively. “Please promise me you will call the Doctor early.”
“I will,” Jane agreed. “He has seen Cary before. If I could only have had him last night, and spared you—I shouldn’t feel so guilty this morning. Why——” and at this moment, for the first time, a recognition came to her. It left her a little stunned. “Mr. Black,” she said, unhappily, “I’m just realizing what day this is. It’s——”
“Yes, it’s Sunday,” admitted Black, smiling, “And none the worse for that, is it?”
“But—you have to preach—and you’ve been up all night!”
“I suppose it’s because I’m a Scot, but—I’ve seldom left my sermons till Saturday and Sunday to prepare. I’m all armed and equipped, Miss Ray—you’ve nothing to regret.”
“But you haven’t slept—you’re frightfully tired——”
“Do I look as haggard as that? If I do, it’s only because I need a clean shave. Come—if you weren’t tied up I’d challenge you to go to church and see if I can’t hit from the shoulder, in spite of my lusty right arm’s getting numb for ten minutes in your service. Good-by, for the present, Miss Ray. I shall call you up, later, to learn if the Doctor’s been here. And I shall—make friends with your brother the very best I know how.”
He looked straight down into her uplifted eyes as he shook hands—with no lingering or extra pressure this time, just the hard, comradely grasp it was his nature to give. Then he was gone, out into the early morning twilight, without a glance to right or left to see if any saw him go.
An hour later Red came in, looked the situation over, and commented brusquely:
“You must have had a—an Inferno—of a night with him.”
“I didn’t—because I wasn’t alone. Mr. Black stayed all night and took care of him.”
“What?” The quick question spoke incredulity. Red stared at her.
“He brought Cary from the station, and then stayed—because—he thought he was needed. I don’t know quite what I should have done without him.”
Red whistled. “You bet you don’t. Well, well—the minister certainly is game. Didn’t worry about what some old lady of the parish might think, eh?”
Jane drew herself up. “You don’t mean that, Doctor Burns.”
He laughed. “No, I don’t mean that. There was every reason why he should ignore any such possibility—Iunderstand the situation exactly. But I think it was rather game of him, just the same. A case like Cary’s isn’t exactly a joke to take care of, and the average outsider gets out from under—and sends flowers to show his sympathy—or a bottle of whisky, according to his lights. Well—to go back to this precious brother of yours——”
“That is the right adjective,” said Jane Ray, steadily. “You know perfectly well, Doctor Burns, he’s all I have.”
“Yes, I know.” He returned the look. “And I’ll do my best to put him on his feet again. But he needs something neither you nor I can give him. I’m inclined to think—and this is something of a concession for me to make, Jane—I’m inclined to think Robert Black could. Cary’s a dreamer—and a weak one. Bob Black’s a dreamer—but a strong one. If he could get Cary to—well—to dream the right sort of dream—— You see, it’s a case where a knowledge of psychology might take a hand where a knowledge of pathology falls down. Do you get me?”
“I think I do. You want me to—encourage an acquaintance between them?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. I know you’re no church-goer, my dear—and I admit I’ve never been much of a one myself. I feel a bit differently of late—perhaps you can guess why. If you could get Cary under the influence of this man Black—a friendship between them might do the trick. Anyhow, don’t lay any stones in the way out of fear of putting yourself under obligations to Black. I’ve discovered that he’s happiest when he’s doing some absolutely impossible thing for somebody to whom he’s under no obligation to do it. People take advantage of a disposition like that—but he can’t exactly be trampled on, either—so you’re pretty safe. Now—tocome down to brass tacks——” And he fell to giving her precise directions as to the line of treatment he wished carried out.
“He’ll sleep to-night,” he prophesied. “He’s got to. I’ll come around this evening and put him under for you. Good-bye for now, and remember I’m on the job.”
She was feeling, as she went back to her difficult task, more hopeful about Cary than she had ever felt hitherto. Well she might. She had now enlisted in his behalf the whole power of a reconstructing force of which until now she had hardly recognized the existence.