"I am no relation--just his--his friend."
Sim the clerk looked up sharply.Hamilton reddened, glowered at him."I understand," said Sim, leering at her.And in a tone that reeked insinuation which quite escaped her, he went on, "We'll put your name down.What is it?""Lorna Sackville."
"You don't look English--not at all the English style of beauty, eh--Doctor?""That's all, Miss Sackville," said Hamilton, with a scowl at the clerk.Susan and he went out into Twelfth Street.Hamilton from time to time stole a glance of sympathy and inquiry into the sad young face, as he and she walked eastward together."He's a strong man and sure to pull through," said the doctor."Are you alone at the hotel?""I've nobody but him in the world," replied she.
"I was about to venture to advise that you go to a boarding house," pursued the young man.
"Thank you.I'll see."
"There's one opposite the hospital--a reasonable place.""I've got to go to work," said the girl, to herself rather than to him.
"Oh, you have a position."
Susan did not reply, and he assumed that she had.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to call and see--Mr.Burlingham.
The physicians at the hospital are perfectly competent, as good as there are in the city.But I'm not very busy, and I'd be glad to go.""We haven't any money," said the girl."And I don't know when we shall have.I don't want to deceive you.""I understand perfectly," said the young man, looking at her with interested but respectful eyes."I'm poor, myself, and have just started.""Will they treat him well, when he's got no money?""As well as if he paid."
"And you will go and see that everything's all right?""It'll be a pleasure."
Under a gas lamp he took out a card and gave it to her.She thanked him and put it in the bosom of her blouse where lay all the money they had--the eleven dollars and eighty cents.They walked to the hotel, as cars were few at that hour.He did all the talking--assurances that her "father" could not fail to get well, that typhoid wasn't anything like the serious disease it used to be, and that he probably had a light form of it.The girl listened, but her heart could not grow less heavy.As he was leaving her at the hotel door, he hesitated, then asked if she wouldn't let him call and take her to the hospital the next morning, or, rather, later that same morning.She accepted, she hoped that, if he were with her, she gratefully; would be admitted to see Burlingham and could assure herself that he was well taken care of.
The night porter tried to detain her for a little chat."Well,"said he, "it's a good hospital--for you folks with money.Of course, for us poor people it's different.You couldn't hire _me_to go there."
Susan turned upon him."Why not?" she asked.
"Oh, if a man's poor, or can't pay for nice quarters, they treat him any old way.Yes, they're good doctors and all that.But they're like everybody else.They don't give a darn for poor people.But your uncle'll be all right there."For the first time in her life Susan did not close her eyes in sleep.
The young doctor was so moved by her worn appearance that he impulsively said: "Have you some troubles you've said nothing about? Please don't hesitate to tell me.""Oh, you needn't worry about me," replied she."I simply didn't sleep--that's all.Do they treat charity patients badly at the hospital?""Certainly not," declared he earnestly."Of course, a charity patient can't have a room to himself.But that's no disadvantage.""How much is a room?"
"The cheapest are ten dollars a week.That includes private attendance--a little better nursing than the public patients get--perhaps.But, really--Miss Sackville----""He must have a room," said Susan.
"You are sure you can afford it? The difference isn't----""He must have a room." She held out a ten-dollar bill--ten dollars of the eleven dollars and eighty cents."This'll pay for the first week.You fix it, won't you?"Young Doctor Hamilton hesitatingly took the money."You are quite, quite sure, Miss Sackville?--Quite sure you can afford this extravagance--for it is an extravagance.""He must have the best we can afford," evaded she.
She waited in the office while Hamilton went up.When he came down after perhaps half an hour, he had an air of cheerfulness.
"Everything going nicely," said he.
Susan's violet-gray eyes gazed straight into his brown eyes; and the brown eyes dropped."You are not telling me the truth," said she.
"I'm not denying he's a very sick man," protested Hamilton.
"Is he----"
She could not pronounce the word.
"Nothing like that--believe me, nothing.He has the chances all with him."And Susan tried to believe."He will have a room?""He has a room.That's why I was so long.And I'm glad he has--for, to be perfectly honest, the attendance--not the treatment, but the attendance--is much hetter for private patients."Susan was looking at the floor.Presently she drew a long breath, rose."Well, I must be going," said she.And she went to the street, he accompanying her.
"If you're going back to the hotel," said he, "I'm walking that way.""No, I've got to go this way," replied she, looking up Elm Street.
He saw she wished to be alone, and left her with the promise to see Burlingham again that afternoon and let her know at the hotel how he was getting on.He went east, she north.At the first corner she stopped, glanced back to make sure he was not following.From her bosom she drew four business cards.She had taken the papers from the pockets of Burlingham's clothes and from the drawer of the table in his room, to put them all together for safety; she had found these cards, the addresses of theatrical agents.As she looked at them, she remembered Burlingham's having said that Blynn--Maurice Blynn, at Vine and Ninth Streets--might give them something at one of the "over the Rhine" music halls, as a last resort.She noted the address, put away the cards and walked on, looking about for a policeman.
