Chapter VIII
Suspense
It seemed to Kirk, as the days went by, that a mist of unreality felllike a curtain between him and the things of this world. Commonplaceobjects lost their character and became things to marvel at. There wasa new bond of sympathy between the world and himself.
A citizen walking in the park with his children became a kind ofmiracle. Here was a man who had travelled the road which he wastravelling now, who had had the same hopes and fear and wonder. Once heencountered a prosperous looking individual moving, like a liner amongtugs, in the midst of no fewer than six offspring. Kirk fixed him withsuch a concentrated stare of emotion and excitement that the other wasalarmed and went on his way alertly, as one in the presence of danger.It is probable that, if Kirk had happened to ask him the time at thatmoment, or indeed addressed him at all, he would have screamed for thepolice.
The mystery of childbirth and the wonder of it obsessed Kirk as timecrept on. And still more was he conscious of the horrible dread thatwas gathering within him. Ruth's unvarying cheerfulness was to himalmost uncanny. None of the doubts and fears which blackened his lifeappeared to touch her. Once he confided these to his friend, the littledoctor, and was thoroughly bullied by him for his foolishness. But inspite of ridicule the fear crept back, cringingly, like a whipped dog.
And then, time moving on its leisurely but businesslike fashion, theday arrived, and for the first time in his life Kirk knew what fearreally meant. All that he had experienced till now had, he saw, been amild apprehension, not worthy of a stronger name. His flesh crawledwith the thoughts which rose in his mind like black bubbles in a pond.There were moments when the temptation to stupefy himself with drinkwas almost irresistible.
It was his utter uselessness that paralysed him. He seemed destined tobe of no help to Ruth at just those crises when she needed him most.When she was facing her father with the news of the marriage he had notbeen at her side. And now, when she was fighting for her life, he coulddo nothing but pace the empty, quiet studio and think.
The doctor had arrived at eight o'clock, cheery as ever, and had comedownstairs after seeing Ruth to ask him to telephone to Mrs. Porter. Inhis overwrought state, this had jarred upon Kirk. Here, he felt, wassomebody who could help where he was useless.
Mrs. Porter had appeared in a cab and had had the cold brutality to askfor a glass of sherry and a sandwich before going upstairs. She putforward the lame excuse that she had not dined. Kirk gave her thesherry and sandwich and resumed his patrol in a glow of indignation.The idea of any one requiring food at this moment struck him as grossand revolting.
His wrath did not last. In a short while fear came back into its own.
The hands of the clock pointed to ten before he stooped to followingMrs. Porter's example. George Pennicut had been sent out, so he wentinto the little kitchen, where he found eggs, which he mixed with milkand swallowed. After this he was aware of a momentary excess ofoptimism. The future looked a little brighter. But not for long.Presently he was prowling the studio as restlessly as ever.
Men of Kirk's type are not given to deep thought. Until now he hadprobably never spent more than a couple of minutes consecutively inself-examination. This vigil forced him upon himself and caused him topass his character under review, with strange and unsatisfactoryresults. He had never realised before what a curiously contemptible anduseless person he was. It seemed to him that this was all he was fitfor--to hang about doing nothing while everybody else was busy andproving his or her own worth.
A door opened and the little doctor came quietly down the stairs. Kirksprang at him.
"Well?"
"My dear man, everything's going splendidly. Couldn't be better." Thedoctor's eyes searched his face. "When did you have anything to eatlast?"
"I don't know. I had some eggs and milk. I don't know when."
The doctor took him by the shoulders and hustled him into the kitchen,where he searched and found meat and bread.
"Eat that," he said. "I'll have some, too."
"I couldn't."
"And some whisky. Where do you keep it?"
After the first few mouthfuls Kirk ate wolfishly. The doctor munched asandwich with the placidity of a summer boarder at a picnic. Hiscalmness amazed and almost shocked Kirk.
"You can't help her by killing yourself," said the doctorphilosophically. "I like that woman with the gimlet eyes. At least Idon't, but she's got sense. Go on. You haven't done yet. Anotherhighball won't hurt you." He eyed Kirk with some sympathy. "It's a badtime for you, of course."
"For _me_? Good God!"
"You want to keep your nerve. Nothing awful is going to happen."
"If only there was something I could do."
"'They also serve who only stand and wait,'" quoted the doctorsententiously. "There is something you can do."
"What?"
"Light your pipe and take it easy."
Kirk snorted.
"I mean it. In a very short while now you will be required to take thestage and embrace your son or daughter, as the case may be. You don'twant to appear looking as if you had been run over by an automobileafter a night out. You want your appearance to give Mrs. Winfield aslittle of a shock as possible. Bear that in mind. Well, I must begoing."
And Kirk was alone again.
The food and the drink and the doctor's words had a good effect. Hismind became quieter. He sat down and filled his pipe. After a few puffshe replaced it in his pocket. It seemed too callous to think of smokingnow. The doctor was a good fellow, but he did not understand. All thesame, he was glad that he had had that whisky. It had certainly putheart into him for the moment.
What was happening upstairs? He strained his ears, but could hearnothing.
Gradually, as he waited, his mood of morbid self-criticism returned. Hehad sunk once more into the depths when he was aware of a soft tapping.The door bell rang very gently. He went to the door and opened it.
"I kinder thought I'd look in and see how things were getting along,"said a voice.
It was Steve. A subdued and furtive Steve. Kirk's heart leaped at thesight of him. It was as if he had found something solid to cling to ina shifting world.
"Come in, Steve."
He spoke huskily. Steve sidled into the studio, embarrassment writtenon every line of him.
"Don't mind my butting in, do you? I've been walking up and down andround the block till every cop on the island's standing by waiting forme to pull something. Another minute and they'd have pinched me onsuspicion. I just felt I had to come and see how Miss Ruth was makingout."
"The doctor was down here just now. He said everything was going well."
"I guess he knows his business."
There was a silence. Kirk's ears were straining for sounds from above.
"It's hell," said Steve.
Kirk nodded. This kind of talk was more what he wanted. The doctormeant well, but he was too professional. Steve was human.
"Go and get yourself a drink, Steve. I expect you need one."
Steve shook his head.
"Waggon," he said briefly. And there was silence again.
"Say, Kirk."
"Yes?"
"What a wonder she is. Miss Ruth, I mean. I've helped her throw thatmedicine-ball--often--you wouldn't believe. She's a wonder." He paused."Say, this is hell, ain't it?"
Kirk did not answer. It was very quiet in the studio now. In the streetoutside a heavy waggon rumbled part. Somebody shouted a few words of apopular song. Steve sprang to his feet.
"I'll fix that guy," he said. But the singing ceased, and he sat downagain.
Kirk got up and began to walk quickly up and down. Steve watched himfurtively.
"You want to take your mind off it," he said. "You'll be all in if youkeep on worrying about it in that way."
Kirk stopped in his stride.
"That's what the doctor said," he snapped savagely. "What do you twofools think I'm made of?" He recovered himself quickly, ashamed of theoutburs
t. "I'm sorry, Steve. Don't mind anything I say. It's awfullygood of you to have come here, and I'm not going to forget it."
Steve scratched his chin reflectively.
"Say, I'll tell you something," he said. "My mother told me once thatwhen I was born my old dad took it just like you. Found he was gettingall worked up by having to hang around and do nothing, so he says tohimself: 'I've got to take my mind off this business, or it's me forthe foolish-house.'
"Well, sir, there was a big guy down on that street who'd been pickingon dad good and hard for a mighty long while. And this guy suddenlycomes into dad's mind. He felt of his muscle, dad did. 'Gee!' he saysto himself, 'I believe the way I'm feeling, I could just go and eat upthat gink right away.' And the more he thought of it, the better itlooked to him, so all of a sudden he grabs his hat and beats it like astreak down to the saloon on the corner, where he knew the feller wouldbe at that time, and he goes straight up to him and hands him one.
"Back comes the guy at him--he was a great big son of a gun, weighingthirty pounds more than dad--and him and dad mixes it right there inthe saloon till the barkeep and about fifty other fellers throws themout, and they goes off to a vacant lot to finish the thing. And dad'sso worked up that he gives the other guy his till he hollers thatthat's all he'll want. And then dad goes home and waits quite quiet andhappy and peaceful till they tell him I'm there."
Steve paused.
"Kirk," he said then, "how would you like a round or two with the smallgloves, just to get things off your mind for a spell and pass the time?My dad said he found it eased him mighty good."
Kirk stared at him.
"Just a couple of rounds," urged Steve. "And you can go all out atthat. I shan't mind. Just try to think I'm some guy that's been pickingon you and let me have it. See what I mean?"
For the first time that day the faint ghost of a grin appeared onKirk's face.
"I wonder if you're right, Steve?"
"I know I'm right. And, say, don't think I don't need it, too. I ain'tknown Miss Ruth all this time for nothing. You'll be doing me akindness if you knock my face in."
The small gloves occupied a place of honour to themselves in a lowerdrawer. It was not often that Kirk used them in his friendly bouts withSteve. For ordinary occasions the larger and more padded species metwith his approval. Steve, during these daily sparring encounters, wasamiability itself; but he could not be counted upon not to forgethimself for an occasional moment in the heat of the fray; and thoughKirk was courageous enough, he preferred to preserve the regularity ofhis features at the expense of a little extra excitement.
Once, after a brisk rally, he had gone about the world looking as if hewas suffering from mumps, owing to a right hook which no one regrettedmore than Steve himself.
But to-day was different; and Kirk felt that even a repetition of thatlethal punch would be welcome.
Steve, when the contest opened, was disposed to be consolatory in wordas well as deed. He kept up a desultory conversation as he circled andfeinted.
"You gotta look at it this way," he began, side-stepping a left, "itain't often you hear of anything going wrong at times like this. Yougotta remember"--he hooked Kirk neatly on the jaw--"that" he concluded.
Kirk came back with a swing at the body which made his adversary grunt.
"That's true," he said.
"Sure," rejoined Steve a little breathlessly, falling into a clinch.
They moved warily round each other.
"So," said Steve, blocking a left, "that ought to comfort you some."
Kirk nodded. He guessed correctly that the other was alluding to hislast speech, not to the counter which had just made the sight of hisleft eye a little uncertain.
Gradually, as the bout progressed, Kirk began to lose the slightdiffidence which had hampered him at the start. He had been feeling sowonderfully friendly toward Steve, so grateful for his presence, andhis sympathy, that it had been hard, in spite of the other'sadmonitions, to enter into the fray with any real conviction. Moreover,subconsciously, he was listening all the time for sounds from abovewhich never came.
These things gave a certain lameness to his operations. It wasimmediately after this blow in the eye, mentioned above, that he ceasedto be an individual with private troubles and a wandering mind, andbecame a boxer pure and simple, his whole brain concentrated on theproblem of how to get past his opponent's guard.
Steve, recognizing the change in an instant, congratulated himself onthe success of his treatment. It had worked even more quickly than hehad hoped. He helped the cure with another swift jab which shot overKirk's guard.
Kirk came in with a rush. Steve slipped him. Kirk rushed again. Steve,receiving a hard punch on a nose which, though accustomed to suchassaults, had never grown really to enjoy them, began to feel a slightdiminution of his detached attitude toward this encounter. Till now hisposition had been purely that of the kindly physician soothing apatient. The rapidity with which the patient was permitting himself tobe soothed rendered the post of physician something of a sinecure; andSteve, as Kirk had done, began to slip back into the boxer.
It was while he was in what might be called a transition stage that anunexpected swing sent him with some violence against the wall; and fromthat moment nature asserted itself. A curious, set look appeared on hisface; wrinkles creased his forehead; his jaw protruded slightly.
Kirk made another rush. This time Steve did not slip; he went to meetit, head down and hands busy.
* * * * *
Mrs. Lora Delane Porter came downstairs with the measuredimpressiveness of one who bears weighty news. Her determined face waspale and tired, as it had every right to be; but she bore herselfproudly, as one who has fought and not been defeated.
"Mr. Winfield," she said.
There was no answer. Looking about her, she found the studio empty.
Then, from behind the closed door of the inner room, she was aware of astrange, shuffling sound. She listened, astonished. She heard a gasp,then curious thuds, finally a bump louder than the thuds. And thenthere was silence.
These things surprised Mrs. Porter. She opened the door and looked in.
It says much for her iron self-control that she remained quiet at thispoint. A lesser person, after a far less tiring ordeal than she hadpassed through, would have found relief in some cry orexclamation--possibly even in a scream.
Against the far wall, breathing hard and fondling his left eye with afour-ounce glove, leaned Steve Dingle. His nose was bleeding somewhatfreely, but this he appeared to consider a trifle unworthy of seriousattention. On the floor, an even more disturbing spectacle, Kirk lay atfull length. To Mrs. Porter's startled gaze he appeared to be dead. Hetoo, was bleeding, but he was not in a position to notice it.
"It's all right, ma'am," said Steve, removing the hand from his faceand revealing an eye which for spectacular dilapidation must haverivalled the epoch-making one which had so excited his mother on afamous occasion. "It's nothing serious."
"Has Mr. Winfield fainted?"
"Not exactly fainted, ma'am. It's like this. He'd got me clear up in acorner, and I seen it's up to me if I don't want to be knocked throughthe wall, so I has to cross him. Maybe I'd gotten a little worked upmyself by then. But it was my fault. I told him to go all out, and hesure did. This eye's going to be a pippin to-morrow."
Mrs. Porter examined the wounded organ with interest.
"That, I suppose Mr. Dingle, is what you call a blue eye?"
"It sure is, ma'am."
"What has been happening?"
"Well, it's this way. I see he's all worked up, sitting around doingnothing except wait, so I makes him come and spar a round to take hismind off it. My old dad, ma'am, when I was coming along, found thatdope fixed him all right, so I reckoned it would do as much good here.My old dad went and beat the block off a fellow down our street, and itdone him a lot of good."
Mrs. Porter shook his gloved hand.
"Mr. Dingle," she sa
id with enthusiasm, "I really believe that you arethe only sensible man I have ever met. Your common sense isastonishing. I have no doubt you saved Mr. Winfield from a nervousbreak-down. Would you be kind enough, when you are rested, to fetchsome water and bring him to and inform him that he is the father of ason?"
The Coming of Bill Page 8