Читать книгу Lola - Owen Davis - Страница 4

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Doctor Martin Barnhelm had for over twenty years practised medicine in New York. Aside from the fact that he was thoroughly qualified for his profession, he had a gentle, kindly manner that made him popular with all his patients. His might have been an unusual success, but of late years he had devoted more and more of his time to research work. He had a growing reputation in the medical world, as an expert in the development of electro-medical apparatus, and unknown to anyone he was devoting all his energies to the realization of a theory, which to his mind at least promised to be the most important medical discovery since the introduction of antiseptic surgery. In the front room of his apartment he carried on his experiments, and so complete was his devotion to the object of his ambition that he scarcely allowed himself time to earn, by his profession, even the modest sum necessary for the household expenses. Lola saw that his heart was wholly set upon this one idea, and without in the least understanding its purpose, aided him by rigid economy, and had even, against his rather faint protest, begun to add to the family income by teaching in a settlement school.

Although the Doctor had so jealously guarded his time that he had lost most of his wealthy patients, he had never been able to deny his professional aid to those unfortunates from whom no other fee than gratitude could be expected. Nellie Mooney was one of these. She had inherited from a vicious father the tainted blood and the weakened constitution, which, helped on by the bad air and insufficient nourishment of the poor of the crowded tenement district, had resulted in a tubercular disease of the bone of her right arm.

Mrs. Mooney brought the child twice a week for treatment, but of late the disease had been gaining headway, and in spite of the Doctor’s best efforts, she was in constant agony. He was treating her now in the little alcove he used as his office, and outside, with the curtains drawn, Lola was doing her best to soothe the almost frantic mother.

The treatment, in spite of all the Doctor’s gentleness, was painful in the extreme, and Lola was anxious to spare the poor woman the sight of her daughter’s suffering, but at the sound of a stifled cry from behind the curtains, Mrs. Mooney was unable to restrain herself, and rushed toward the next room with a cry of agony.

“Please,” said Lola, as she gently stopped her. “They are better without you.”

“I’m going to her,” exclaimed the mother, quite unable to withstand the thought of her child suffering alone. “You don’t know what it is, Miss Lola; I’ve got to go.”

As she spoke she drew the curtain aside, and entered the alcove, and Lola would have followed had not a ring of the bell made her pause and go to the door. It was still early in the forenoon, and as Lola opened the door she fully expected to be greeted by another of the Doctor’s patients, but in place of that a young man stood smiling on the threshold.

“John!” she exclaimed happily, then stopped shyly as he stepped eagerly forward and put his arm around her. It was only the night before that he had told her of his love, and she was still afraid of him, but he, manlike, refused to give up an advantage already won, and drew her to him, holding her closely until she, of her own accord, raised her lips to his.

“Did he read my letter?” he asked eagerly and rather nervously.

Now she had him at an advantage, for however great his fear was of her father, she had none at all.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, smiling, “and he is perfectly furious.”

As she saw his face fall she would have reassured him, but just then a moan of anguish from the alcove made him turn his head inquiringly.

“It is the little Mooney girl,” she answered, in reply to his unspoken question. “It is some dreadful disease of the bone, but father hopes to be able to help her.”

“Poor little girl,” said John, as he offered her a cluster of gorgeous roses that he had brought with him.

Lola took the flowers with a word of thanks, as the Doctor threw open the curtains and entered with his arm about Nellie, and followed by Mrs. Mooney.

“There,” he exclaimed, “it is over now. You are a brave girl, Nellie. You must bring her again on Saturday, Mrs. Mooney.”

“You are not faint, are you, Nellie?” said Lola, alarmed at the child’s paleness.

“Oh, no, Miss,” replied Nellie bravely, her eyes fastened with wondering admiration on the beautiful roses.

“Take them,” said Lola impulsively, holding them out to her, but she shrank back, afraid.

“Oh, no! Why, you just got them yourself.”

“He doesn’t mind, do you?” Lola demanded of John, and he answered so pleasantly and cordially that the child was persuaded to accept them, and was taken home by her mother in such a glow of gratitude that for the moment, at least, her pain was forgotten.

American Beauty roses, at a dollar each, on the window-sill of a wretched tenement! An extravagance, no doubt, and yet I wonder if they would have better fulfilled their destiny had they met the usual fate of their fellows and been trampled under foot upon the floor of some crowded ball room.

As Lola closed the door after Nellie and Mrs. Mooney, she turned to see John and her father eyeing one another, with the consciousness of the necessary interview showing in their faces. She laughed happily and, crossing to the Doctor, pointed to John, who stood rather stiffly beside the table.

“There is John, father.”

“Humph,” said he, coldly, determined at least that the young man’s path should not be made too easy, “so I see.”

“I—I,” began John, rather lamely, “I—er——”

Lola laughed merrily, and catching one by each hand drew them together, looking up at them, her face so radiant that in a moment their stiffness was forgotten, and they joined in her laugh.

“No use trying to be formal, John, while she is laughing at us.”

“No, sir,” replied John heartily, as he accepted the other’s proffered hand; “all that I am going to say is that I shall do my best to make her happy.”

“You won’t have any great trouble there, my boy. She has always been happy, and always will be if—if you will always love her.”

“I think I may safely promise that,” said John, smiling confidently. “It doesn’t seem to be difficult.”

“You are very happy, you two,” continued the Doctor, glancing from one to the other, “and will you believe an old man when he tells you that it is the only happiness that is real? A happiness so great that even if death comes, the memory is still the dearest feeling in your hearts. I have no sermon for you. God bless you, and help you, so long as you shall live.”

“We are having a little trouble already, Doctor, and I want your help,” said John boldly. “I want you to tell her that she must marry me at once.”

“John,” cried Lola, indignantly, “I haven’t any idea at all of being married for months!”

“Ah!” smiled the Doctor hopefully. “Perhaps, if you quarrel with him about it, we may get rid of him yet. That would be good news for me, yes, and for poor Dick Fenway!”

“Don’t tease,” protested Lola, “and, anyway, Mr. Fenway isn’t poor; he is a millionaire.”

“I suppose,” said John, “that it is rather an obvious thing for me to say, but I don’t like that man. It isn’t that I am jealous. I was once, I will admit, but after last night I am not afraid of him. But he isn’t on the level. I have the right to tell you now, Lola,” he continued, turning to her. “I knew him in Cleveland two years ago. He comes here to your house, and takes you to theatres and concerts.”

Lola looked at him, surprised. “Surely I am not going to make the sudden discovery that I have bound myself to a jealous old Ogre, am I?” she inquired.

“Fenway,” said John bluntly, “has a wife in Cleveland.”

The Doctor’s face grew stern, and Lola looked both shocked and distressed.

“John!” she exclaimed in dismay, for she liked young Fenway, and more than either of the others knew that, if this thing were true, he had done his best to deceive her.

“He married a telephone girl in one of the big hotels,” went on John, anxious to get the unpleasant story over, for he had a man’s feeling of loyalty to his sex, and hated to be placed in the position of a tale bearer.

“He has been trying ever since to get a divorce, but she won’t let him. It isn’t a thing a fellow likes to talk about, but it’s true.”

“Thank you,” said the Doctor gravely; “my home is not large enough to hold that sort of man. I shall tell him so if he calls again.”

“I am sorry, very sorry,” said Lola. “There was something about him I always liked, and it hurts me to think that he tried to deceive me as he did.”

“Bah!” protested the Doctor. “The world is full of men like that, but once you know them, they are harmless. Don’t look sad, my dear; it is so easy to forget all about him.”

It was not so easy, however, for Lola to forget Dick Fenway’s deceit as her father fancied. Only a few weeks before he had told her that he loved her, and when she had gently refused him he had shown such bitter disappointment that she had been quite touched, and had ever since done her best to be kind to him. Now the thought that at the time he had spoken of his love for her he had had a wife filled her with amazement. Lola knew little of the evil of the world, but she felt that here there was something wrong, and it disturbed her. Long after John had gone to his business, and her father had left to meet his old friend, Doctor Crossett, she sat thinking it over, and the more she thought the more distressed she became.

Dick Fenway had been brought to the house by a friend of John’s, and from the first she had been attracted by his gayety and recklessness. He was a great contrast to the men she had known. Careless, rich and happy, and there was something about the young man that had made a strong appeal to the maternal feeling that is in every woman, however young or unworldly she may be. Fenway’s habit of depending upon her for advice, his very confession of careless helplessness, had put him somewhat in the position of a child whom she felt it her duty to help with advice and counsel.

At first, when a little later Maria told her that he was waiting for her in the front room, she decided not to go to him, but, on second thought, she changed her mind, and thinking it best to have the whole matter definitely settled, she entered the room gravely, perhaps a little sadly.

KIND HEARTED DOCTOR BARNHELM ATTENDS THE SICK CHILD OF MRS. MOONEY.

“Good morning, Miss Barnhelm,” said Fenway, as he rose to meet her. “I know it’s too early for a call, but I wanted you to come for a ride in my new car. It’s downstairs.”

“No, thank you, Mr. Fenway.”

“Oh, but you’ve got to try it. She’s a corker. Why, I was thinking of you when I bought it.”

“Were you?” said Lola coldly.

“Yes, honestly. Why, you know, Lola, that——”

“How long is it since you have heard from your wife in Cleveland?” interrupted Lola.

For a moment his surprise silenced him; then he turned upon her angrily.

“Who’s been telling you my business?” he demanded, almost roughly.

“Do you think,” asked Lola gently, “that she would share in your desire for me to try your new car?”

“I didn’t want you to know about her,” he answered, a queer expression of mingled shame and determination on his face. “It happened a long time ago. I was a fool, more even of a fool than usual, when I married her. I haven’t seen her in almost two years, and—and I’m never going to see her again.”

“Father was angry when he heard that you were married,” said Lola, looking at him calmly, and with no expression of anger in her face. “He thought that you had not been quite honest about it.”

“What did you think?” questioned Fenway.

“I was very much surprised and a little hurt. Father is going to ask you not to come here again. That is why I was glad to speak to you before he did.”

“Then you won’t let it quite queer me with you?” exclaimed the young man eagerly. “She’s bound to give me a chance to divorce her, sooner or later. I’m having her watched, every breath she draws. Even if your father won’t let me come here you’ll see me sometimes, won’t you?”

“No, Mr. Fenway, I shan’t see you again. Father is right about that, but I am glad you came here to-day. Surely we have been good friends enough for me to ask you, for your own sake, to be worthy of the better side that I know is in you. This girl is your wife; you yourself say that she has not done anything wrong. Wouldn’t it be better to——”

“Don’t talk about her,” said Dick, savagely.

“I’m afraid that we can’t talk at all, unless we talk about her. A man with as kind a heart as yours couldn’t have meant to wrong her, or me, or any other girl. I hoped that I was enough your friend to be able to ask you to go back to her, if you can, and if you can’t, to tell you that you ought to be honest with the persons who trust you! There! I’ve said it!” And she stood looking at him for a moment. Then, softening, she extended her hand.

“Good-bye!”

He stood looking at her, then stepped forward boldly and took her hand.

“Lola,” and as he spoke there was a tone of passion in his voice that frightened her, “I love you!”

She looked him in the face and answered gently, “I am going to marry John Dorris.”

“Not—not because of this—this damned story you heard about me?”

“No,” replied Lola quietly. “Because I love him.”

He stepped back, dropping her hand, and for the first time since she had known him a look of real sadness came into his face.

“I—I guess there’s nothing for me to do but go. I have usually had most everything I wanted in this world, but now if I’m going to lose you I’m getting the worst of things, after all.”

“I am sorry,” began Lola, but he shook his head impatiently and crossed to the door. “I haven’t any use for your sympathy. You say you are going to marry John Dorris, but you haven’t done it yet. You say that you are not going to see me again. I don’t believe that, Lola. You don’t love me. I know, but you don’t love him either. You don’t know what love is, and when you learn it won’t be from John Dorris.”

He closed the door behind him, and she heard him running down the stairs as she stood there with a strange dread in her heart.