Daphne Deane (23 page)

"Well, we did it," he announced in a low voice--"we" as if he had performed the operation. "We located the bullet and removed it, without having to go too near to the heart, and he's still living. So far, so good!" He was very young. He could be forgiven for being so flippant about it. He almost looked as if he would like to whistle. Modern youth took things so easily. Daphne turned away sick with anxiety but was nevertheless glad for this much news of the sick one.

Presently the nurse came out with basins and instruments and asked for more hot water. Quite suddenly there was a great deal to be done. But Daphne found that her mother was in the kitchen before her preparing a tempting breakfast for the doctors and nurses.

Things went more rapidly then; the doctors came down to the dining room and conversed in low grave tones, talking of the possibilities.

"He has a good background," one of them said. "At least two generations of good clean living. That's in his favor."

They did not give any further opinion, and Daphne gathered that Keith Morrell's life still hung in the balance and the matter was gravely serious.
Oh, Father
, she prayed in her heart as she went about the thronging duties of that weary morning,
if it be Thy will, save his life
. But she did not ask the doctor, though her eyes sought reassurance every time she looked toward him.

After the doctors had gone away, her father came home from an educational conference in Chicago. It seemed as if things would be better then. Father was so strong to lean upon.

The family settled down into a new kind of routine. Beverly took her dolls out in the backyard, as far from the guest room as possible, and played silently. Daphne overheard Ranse telling the boys that he couldn't come out and play ball today. They had serious sickness in the house and he had to stay home; he might be needed to run errands. He worked by himself on the porch, putting together a toy boat he had whittled out of wood.

Don, of course, had to go to his work. Daphne looked after him compassionately. She knew how reluctant he was to leave and how little sleep he had had. He would be asleep on his feet by afternoon.

The day wore on. Daphne got the cleaning woman to come and help so that her mother wouldn't be tempted to do too much. The children were eager to help, too. They picked and shelled peas and beans from the garden, they ran errands, dried the dishes, and set the table.

It seemed a strange house with that smell of antiseptics and that unnatural quietness brooding over everything.

The nurse who remained after the operation was very kind. She made Daphne go and take a nap. She saw to it that she was not disturbed, too. It was as if the whole household were her patients. She seemed to take them all under her wings and protect them and care for them.

Then, of all days the minister had to select this one to come and call.

"I heard that you had been having quite an excitement. It certainly is hard that you should have a thing like this thrust upon you. This young man is not your responsibility. I don't understand why he didn't insist on going to the hospital."

Daphne looked at him and tried to keep the contempt out of her eyes as she answered: "Well, in the first place, being unconscious he wasn't consulted, doesn't even know yet where he is. In the second place, the doctor didn't dare take him to the hospital; he said he probably wouldn't live to get there."

"Oh, I doubt that," said the minister in a superior tone. "That sounds like a fish story to me. All doctors that are truly eminent recommend the hospital rather than a private home. It sounds to me as if that doctor was lazy, didn't want to bother getting an ambulance and took advantage of your house as being convenient."

Daphne's eyes were flashing, but she tried to steady her voice as she answered.

"We had three of the most eminent doctors in the city in consultation, and they all agreed it would have been fatal to have moved him any farther. Doctor Fisher, Doctor McKenna, and Doctor Rowan. I suppose being a stranger in this section you do not recognize their preeminence. But even if they had not felt that way, there was another reason for our bringing him here. We wanted him. He is our friend. We have known his family for years, and we are very glad that he was so near and that we might take care of him."

"That certainly is most kind of you, but of course I suppose the young man will want to be removed to a hospital as soon as he is able to go. It really isn't right that you should have such a burden thrust upon you. You are not strong enough for nursing. It seems quite inconsiderate of everybody to think of it."

Daphne was angry enough to throw things, but she suddenly grinned.

"I don't think anybody has thought of it," she said. "We have two nurses, a day nurse and a night nurse. Though I would be only too glad to share such service if the case were not too serious at present to trust in inexperienced hands."

"Oh, really? Is he still so seriously ill as to require two nurses? I didn't realize. Do you think he would like to have me go up and pray with him?"

Daphne gave him a swift startled look.

"He is still unconscious," she said. "It might not do him any harm, of course, but I'm sure the doctors and nurse would not allow anyone to go in there."

"Oh, well, then of course I won't bother. After all, it was really you I came to see. I have my new car at last, and I thought you would be glad to get away from all this smell of antiseptics and gloom that is hanging over your home and take a ride with me. It is a lovely day, and you need to get out away from all this."

Daphne looked at him gravely.

"You don't understand," she said with dignity. "We are very anxious about our friend. I would not go away for anything just now. We do not know from hour to hour whether he will live or not."

"Oh, he'll probably pull through. Healthy young men don't die from a shot or two. And besides, you can't keep him alive by staying here and brooding over gloomy things, you know. Nobody would expect you to do so. You'd better come out and have a short ride at least. Besides, I want to consult you about that class of young girls and what we can give them in the line of a social and recreational character. We really are in need of more gatherings of a lighter character in our church. Come, I know you can help me."

Daphne's eyes grew distant as she heard him.

"You'll have to excuse me," she said coldly. "I have no time nor thought for such things now."

And then to her relief she heard the nurse calling softly down the stairs.

"Miss Deane, could you come here just a minute and get me something I need?" And Drew Addison took himself away, promising to drop in later in the week.

 

It took three days for the news of the shooting to reach New York, and another day and a half for it to drift down, in somewhat garbled form, to the shore mansion where Anne Casper lived. And perhaps it would never have got to either place if the men who perpetrated the dastardly deed had not been captured and proved to be three of the most sought for public enemies.

And because they had been for sometime successfully evading the law and getting unbelievable sums of counterfeit money into circulation, and because their whole outfit of presses and money had been discovered and confiscated, even to the heavy press that they had managed to get out of the cellar and into the truck before they left, the affair had taken on the character of national interest. It made the front page headlines in many a prominent paper and drew the attention of people everywhere, even in the social realms.

Keith Morrell, though known to a number of New York's socialites, had been but a quiet member of the group that surrounded Anne Casper, one of many who basked in her smiles, or her frowns. But now his name had suddenly jumped into prominence, and he became a hero. Actually a martyr to "those horrid unprincipled gangsters," suffering in the good cause of apprehending and bringing to justice men who were defrauding society. Some who would never have hesitated to accept and spend counterfeit money if any came their way and they could get away with it without going to jail, held up their hands in horror at the wholesale production of it.

And so the news came to Anne Casper. After studying over the paper for some time she gathered herself together and decided to go and investigate the truth of this account. She wrote a note to her father before she left:

 

Dear Daddy:

Keith Morrell has got himself into some kind of a jam, and I'm going down to see what it's all about. If he's really hurt, and it has taken him down enough to make him amenable, I may bring him back with me. If I do, please be prepared to forget old scores, and let's try him again.

Hastily,

Anne

 

Then she dressed herself smartly and took the noon train.

The Deanes had a good many callers that morning. People had been getting curious as the days went by quietly, without any definite bulletins concerning the young man who lay at death's door.

Mrs. Gassner was the first one to call. She had decided to go to the source of information and get her news firsthand. So she came over with a cup to borrow some sugar. She had run out of sugar while she was mixing up a cake, she said. It was remarkable how many times Mrs. Gassner ran out of sugar. It was such a respectable device for getting into a neighbor's home. So unanswerable.

"You folks are having a real hard time, aren't you?" she said to Mrs. Deane who had answered the knock at the kitchen door and had taken the cup to fill with sugar.

"Oh, it is always hard to have someone you are fond of suffer," evaded Mrs. Deane pleasantly.

"Oh, yes? I s'pose you were fond of him, seeing as he lived so near when he was a little kid. But I don't seem to remember his being over to your house very much. His ma was kind of snooty, wasn't she? She never called on me, I know."

"Why, I always thought she was very pleasant," said Mrs. Deane. "I admired her very much. She led a busy life. She was a writer, you know, and that kept her busy. She wasn't a society woman, and she hadn't time to go out much."

"Oh, she was a writer, was she? Poetry? I never could be bothered reading poetry. It always seemed to me they tried so hard to say a common thing all decorated up with words to confuse you."

"Why, yes, she wrote some poetry, but more prose, I believe. I read some lovely things of hers in the magazines sometimes. She wrote delightfully."

"H'm!" said the caller. "I never heard anything about her in the women's club."

"Well, I guess she wasn't much of a club woman, either. She didn't have time for that. She was just a quiet homebody who loved her home and her work. I liked her."

Mrs. Deane didn't say that she had never spoken a word to Mrs. Morrell in her life but only admired her from a distance. She didn't feel that it was wrong to suppress that fact. She had really loved her neighbor well, though she had known her only from afar. Being sure of the sweet, strong woman her neighbor had been, Mrs. Deane wanted to let Mrs. Gassner see her as she saw her.

"Well, her son's pretty fortunate to get took care of this way," went on Mrs. Gassner. "I guess she'd be surprised if she was to come back to earth and know her son was laying over here in your house. How is he? Any better today?"

"There's been no change yet," answered Mrs. Deane gravely. "The doctor says it may be a little while before he can tell just how it will come out. There was a concussion, you know, and that sometimes is very serious."

"Does he know how sick he is? What does he say about how it happened?"

"Oh, he hasn't been conscious at all, you know," said Mrs. Deane.

"Not yet? Why that's bad. Don't look as if he might be going ta live, does it?"

"The doctor says it is too soon to tell the outcome," said Mrs. Deane sadly.

"H'm! I guess your daughter Daphne feels pretty bad about it, don't she? Wasn't they pretty thick?"

"Oh, no, they were not close," said Daphne's mother quickly. "They went to school together, but that's all--just old schoolmates. But we all feel very anxious."

"Oh, then Daphne wasn't engaged to him, was she? I heard say they were, but I wasn't sure, the new minister comes here so much."

"Why, the minister goes everywhere, doesn't he? Being a minister he has to. You know Daphne is the organist and choir leader, and of course he has to consult with her about the services. Is this sugar enough, Mrs. Gassner? I could let you have one of these pound packages if you need more."

"Oh, no, a cup's enough. I got some ordered, but he didn't bring up the things in time, and I wanted to get the cake in the oven. I better be going. I just thought I'd run over and get the true lay of the land; so many ask me, you know, me living next door and all. But you say there isn't nothing to it, do you?"

"Why, I don't know that I said anything about it, Mrs. Gassner. I think such things ought not to be discussed. Young people do hate it so. They want to manage their own affairs. Here, let me give you a tumbler of my quince jelly. It came out so pretty this year I like to look at it."

"Thanks a lot! It does look good. Well, I'll be running in again to see how the patient gets along. I'm sure I hope he lives after all the trouble you've had with him. Well, good-bye!" And Mrs. Gassner took herself home.

And William Knox came.

He came because Martha told him he had to, that it wasn't decent not to. He told her that if the young man should die and there should be any trouble about his letting Gowney have permission to take possession of the house, it was just as well that he shouldn't appear to be mixed up in the affair. But Martha said the young man might
not
die, and then if
he
found out that William hadn't even been decent enough to call and inquire how he was, he might think it very strange. And now that all this trouble had come about Gowney and that counterfeit money affair, she said it was just as well that William should keep in with young Morrell, at least as long as he was alive.