Partners

by Grace Livingston Hill

  Dale lowered her voice discreetly.

  "Please, Mr. Webster, don't send any flowers to me. I would not be able to keep them in the room. They would not be good for the patient. And as I know nothing of a fortune, I would not care to discuss the matter with you or anyone else. But even if I had been left a fortune of millions of dollars I would not give up the job I have undertaken until I have done what I promised to do. So, if you will kindly go home and forget all this I shall be deeply grateful to you."

  "But I have it on very good authority--" began the man's voice again.

  "Sorry," said Dale. "I can't talk any longer now. Good-bye." And she hung up, and found herself trembling from head to foot. She felt rather desperate. Was there no way to get rid of this presumptuous person? And what on earth could he mean by a fortune? Why didn't she ask him where he got the idea? But no, that would only encourage him to go on talking. If only the baby were able to be moved it would be nice if she could go somewhere else where he could not find her. But of course that was out of the question. And this place was ideal for the present needs. She must just ask the Lord to help in this matter, and then put it aside.

  The baby stirred and moaned distressfully, and Dale put all other things out of her mind and went to stay by the little crib and pray for that dear baby. Oh, could it be that after all this anxiety and then the relief of knowing he was better, that the baby was failing after all, was going to have another attack of that terrible breathing, that awful choking? Oh, if Rand were only back!

  She was relieved when the nurse came back. She couldn't trust her own judgment about things like pneumonia. She had had no experience.

  But she could see by the serious look in the eyes of the nurse that she wasn't any too pleased with the way the baby looked, and the sound of his breathing.

  The nurse went swiftly to work doing the things that had been done during the first of the baby's illness, and as Dale worked away helping as she had done before, her own fears were confirmed. The baby was really worse!

  Her heart sank, and she longed for Rand to arrive. It was almost the usual time for calling up. What should she say to him if he called? Suppose he wanted to know if he was needed? Oh, if that doctor would only come!

  And then the doctor came.

  "What's all this?" he said appearing on the scene so quietly that Dale was startled. He gave a quick glance around, saw what the nurse was doing, then another look at the baby.

  "Yes, we'll need the oxygen again. Can you call Dr. Lane, my office? Tell him to get here with all speed!"

  Dale felt as if all her strength were deserting her. And she mustn't fail now. The responsibility was on her. Rand wasn't here. She must do all she could.

  She called the doctor's office and gave the directions the doctor wanted his assistant to have, and then she took a prescription down to the drugstore and left it to be filled.

  As she came back to the elevator she glimpsed through the doorway Arliss Webster sitting at the writing desk just inside the little reception room, writing pages and pages. Were those presently to be sent up to her? Impulsively she stepped over to the doorway and spoke hurriedly.

  "I wanted to ask you please not to call me up anymore. I have a very sick person up there, and the telephone disturbs and annoys. We are in the midst of a serious crisis."

  Arliss Webster looked up and beamed. He rose and came quickly toward her.

  "I am so glad you are here!" he said eagerly. "I simply must have a few minutes' conversation with you!"

  "That's impossible!" said Dale. "I came out on an errand for the doctor, and he is waiting!"

  "Well, let him wait! A few minutes more or less will make no difference. I must tell you that I really came here to be of use to you. I can help you immensely in your new responsibilities. I feel sure that when you know all you will be glad I can help--"

  "There comes the elevator!" said Dale. "I must go!" And she flew across the intervening space. Webster heard the gate clang shut, and there he stood with his half-finished letter in his hand, frowning across at the vanishing elevator. That elusive girl!

  Then he frowned down at the letter he had been writing and felt that it was useless to send that to her. Yet he would not go as long as he was convinced that there was a fortune in the offing. Why the girl wanted to pretend that she knew nothing about it, he didn't understand, for he had it from an old lawyer friend in the West quite straight. He had written him to try and find out where Dale was to be reached, and it is true that his information about the extent of the fortune was vague, but it was so worded as to seem at least a million, and he didn't intend to let any million get out of hands that way. That girl had to marry him, if for no other reason than that she needed him to take charge of that money. She had no experience, and he was sure that if he could get sufficient time to talk with her he would be able to convince her fully that he was the husband who could help her combine happiness and business ability. So he finally settled down and added a long postscript to the letter already written, and sent it up by the porter. Then he betook himself to a comfortable hotel, and several kinds of drinks, and decided to cease operations until the sick patient should have time either to die or recover from the present stress.

  But when his letter came up to the door, Dale, who answered the knock, recognized the writing and flung the letter in on her bed with a look of impatience. Would she never be free from him?

  But her mind was too full of trouble now for anything as small as a mere unrelenting lover to trouble her, for the baby was really desperately sick again, and she was doing everything she could to help.

  The doctor was staying all night. His face was grave. He had shed his coat and shoved up his sleeves. He was very alert, giving quick, sharp directions to the nurse. Dale didn't attempt to ask any questions. She just did what they told her to do and kept praying in her heart that God would hear.

  Now and again she would remember that Rand had not called up that evening yet. She had no idea of the time. But she grew more and more anxious about it. What should she answer if he asked his usual questions of whether he was needed? At last she mustered courage to ask the doctor.

  "When Mr. Rand calls up do you think I should tell him to come?"

  She was watching the doctor's face anxiously as she asked. Surely she could tell what he thought of the baby by what he said, by the way he looked.

  "Oh," said the doctor, "why, he did call up. I answered the phone. He called while you were out getting the prescription filled. He wanted to know if he should come, but I told him no, I thought everything was going to be all right. At least, I promised to let him know if there were any worse developments. I told him I thought we had things pretty well in hand and that we had help enough for all our need for tonight. I told him you were out and that as soon as the oxygen came I thought everything would be all right."

  "But--is--it?" she asked breathlessly. "Isn't he worse than he has been at all?"

  "Well, no, I don't know that I ought to say that. Some symptoms of course are a little more pronounced, but I think he is yielding to the treatment very nicely. His pulse is decidedly steadier. And then it isn't of course as if it were Mr. Rand's own child."

  Dale's face grew troubled.

  "Yes, I think it is," she said decidedly. "I promised him that if there was any danger, any great change, I would send at once for him."

  "Oh, well, perhaps I should have told you at once. But I was so busy over the little chap that I didn't realize it would matter whether I told you at once. But still, I think the case is somewhat different from two hours ago. The baby is decidedly on the mend. His pulse is steadier. I think the chances are very good for him now. And it would be too bad to call Mr. Rand up from a good sleep, perhaps, and have him find out there was no real danger. I don't believe you should call him now."

  Dale went and sat down. There was nothing for her to do just now, and she was terribly worried. Yet, if the doctor said no, she hardly liked to go against his advice. />
  Chapter 14

  The night went on, and the doctor and nurse worked steadily, and Dale stood by and did whatever she could, her anxiety sometimes increasing as she heard the little voice crying out, gasping, and she looked at the strong, steady face of the doctor.

  He is a sort of a symbol of God, she thought. And then her heart would turn to prayer again.

  "Oh, my Father, save the dear baby if it is Your will. But save him to grow up a good man and to serve Thee!"

  Over and over she prayed, and her face was sweet with trust. The doctor noticed it once in an interval. He saw the weary lines, and he saw her drop her face in her hands and close her eyes.

  "You are very tired," he said gently. "Why don't you go and lie down for a little while? We can get along nicely without you."

  She lifted her face, with a kind of shining in it, the shine of real trust, and he didn't understand it.

  "Oh, no!" she said. "I'm not so tired! I couldn't lie down now, please."

  "But you were so tired a minute ago you couldn't hold up your head. You had to close your eyes."

  "No," she said simply with a shy smile, "I was just praying. I was asking God to make the baby get well if it was His will."

  "Oh!" said the doctor, startled, abashed! This girl was different from any girl he knew. Then he added, "You know it's not such a great thing to grow up in this world and have to live a hard life, maybe full of sin and shame and trouble. Even if a kid has the best chances there are of help and environment he's liable to turn out a criminal perhaps, and this child--you don't know what he is, what he inherits. Or--do you? Is the child anything to you?"

  "Oh, no! I don't know anything about him. I just happened to be there to help save his life!"

  "H'm!" said the doctor, studying her earnest young face. "Well, can't you see he may be better off dead?"

  "Yes," said Dale quietly, "if he's not a child of God, but that was what I was praying about, that God would save him to be a good man, and serve Him. Not that He would save him anyway, just because we wanted it, but only if God saw it best."

  "Oh!" said the doctor. "Well, that's a kind of prayer I'm not acquainted with. Wish I was. That's leaving it up to God. But if that's how it's to be, Nurse, I guess you and I better get to work again and do our best. It might be possible that God wants to use us!"

  The nurse stared for an instant, then veiled her surprise and went to work, with almost an awe upon her.

  And the little soul whose life hung in the balance lay there and struggled for breath, and gradually began to be eased, at last falling into a sweet sleep, his breath coming with soft regularity, a relieved look on the pinched little face.

  "Well," said the doctor at last, coming to stand before Dale, "I guess your baby's better. Your kind of praying seems to work. Maybe I'll get you to pray for me sometime. I need it, goodness knows. And after all this, if that young man dares to grow up wrong just send for me and I'll settle him. I'll see that he understands he's under a very special dispensation, and he has to go right."

  Then he turned to the nurse.

  "Nurse, you'd better go get some breakfast, and bring this girl a cup of coffee. She looks pretty white. I'll be back in about two hours. I've got three or four pretty sick people to look after. But I don't anticipate any more trouble here at present. Just watch that pulse, and let me know at the hospital if it seems to change. And you two better get some sleep, one at a time of course."

  Then he was gone and Dale was left with a glad heart. She felt he really believed the baby was better and wasn't just talking to make talk.

  She went to the little kitchenette and prepared a quick breakfast for the nurse, toast and scrambled eggs and coffee with orange juice, while the nurse was picking up and making the room tidy.

  "Now," she said softly to the nurse, "you've got to eat, and then you've got to go and take a nap. There's no use protesting, for I won't have it any other way! You've got to be in shape if another crisis arises. And I'm not the least bit tired. I haven't done a thing worth calling work all night."

  "No," said the nurse dryly, "nothing but pray! If you ask me, I'd say that was the biggest part of the work anybody did last night. To tell you the truth, there were a couple of times when I thought that baby's life was gone, and it wasn't even worth praying for, and I guess it was you who pulled him through!"

  "No, it was God!" said Dale, smiling with the glory look in her eyes. "God wanted him to live, I think, and so He let him get better."

  "Well, you can say it anyway you please, but he's better, and I think you deserve to rest first."

  "No," said Dale. "What you've said, that he's better, is enough to rest me all I need. And I really want to stay awake awhile just to realize it and thank God!"

  "Well," said the nurse grimly, "have it your own way! You certainly are a different kind of girl from any I know." And she sat down to her breakfast. When it was finished she went into her little room and lay down for a well-earned rest.

  When Dale had washed the few dishes and felt sure the nurse was asleep, she went over by the little crib and knelt beside it, looking down into the sweet baby face, so small, so innocent, so like a little white flower, just resting there lightly on the pillow, her heart going out in love to the little motherless child. She prayed softly, "Oh, dear Father in heaven, I thank You for making the little dear better. And now--please--keep everybody safe, and bless them." She said "everybody," but in her heart she meant George Rand.

  George Rand, sailing high above the clouds on his way back to the city was thinking about Dale.

  Something in the doctor's voice last night when he called up, and Dale wasn't there as usual to answer him, made him feel uneasy. What had happened? Was Dale sick that she didn't answer the phone, and the doctor hadn't wanted to tell him? She had always been there and answered immediately before when he had called. Of course, it was an hour later than usual on account of the committee meeting that had lasted longer than expected and had detained him, but even so, it wasn't like her not to be there till he had called.

  Was he growing so sure of her that he had reckoned on her being too faithful? That was ridiculous, for she had no call to be faithful to him of course. Only he had come to feel that her interest was bound up with his in that baby.

  But he didn't know the girl very well. He had had only that brief experience with the freezing baby to judge by. She might be tired of her job. She hadn't ever expected when she came away from Mrs. Beck's gloomy abode that she would have to stay all these days alone carrying heavy responsibility. He had been so sure of her, but why did he think she, a stranger, would stand for everything? She might have heard of a job and had to take it. She might have paid the nurse something to carry on alone. She might have been called away to wherever she called home to attend some relative in severe illness. Why, there were a thousand things that might have kept her away from the telephone around the time he usually called. Well, he couldn't keep from trusting her until he had some reason not to trust her, and certainly just not being there at a certain time to answer him wasn't enough to mean a thing.

  He scarcely knew why he had taken this plane in the night to get back instead of waiting till morning and getting a chance to sit in on that last session of an important committee. It was merely an uneasiness in his subconscious mind that had driven him to make this decision. After he had talked with the doctor he had a feeling that something was the matter. Either the baby was worse than the doctor had implied, or something had happened to Dale. And either was enough to drive him into quick action. So he had done some hasty telephoning, secured a reservation on the next plane, excused himself from a few obligations that had been thrust upon him, flung his things into his suitcase, and rushed off in a taxi to get the plane. And here he was sailing through a brilliant night, looking down upon a far white world beneath him, and wondering why he had rushed home in such a hurry after being assured that he was not needed.

  Well, here he was, and morning was on the way
. In the morning he would know whether he had been foolish or not. But somehow he was glad he had done it.

  It didn't look much like the night of deep quiet snow when he had come home and found that pitiful tiny naked baby beating the icy air and trying feebly to call for help, there in the Beck vestibule. There was nothing to remind him in the brilliant world below of that night and the days and nights that had followed before he had to come away and leave that brave girl, and that poor little kid without his help. But now, as he closed his eyes every little detail of the whole happening came to him, and swelled his heart with thoughts that thrilled him. Even way back to the day he had picked up those oranges for Dale and carried them up to her room for her. Dale, what a lovely name. Dale Hathaway! He hadn't had much time to think about her since he had been at that convention. He had only been concerned in finding out the latest news, ferreting out an obscure possibility, and writing it up to get it to his paper before other men got the same thing and beat him to it.

  But now he had time to think, and the strangest things came to him. The way Dale had held out her arms for that little dirty sorrowful scrap of humanity, and gathered him close. The way she had sat beside the little tub, supporting him with her round bare arm, holding him in the curve of her elbow, washing him so gently, and patting him softly till he was dry, enfolding him in the warm, dry blanket, and cuddling him close. The way she had bent over him and crooned to him. It had seemed to him like an ideal picture of womanhood, motherhood. And she was just a girl! A lovely little hardworking girl, evidently. He could see the little curl in the back of her neck as she bent over the baby. He could see the way she slipped the spoon in the baby's mouth, and stopped his pitiful weak cry with warmth and comfort. It all came back so vividly, and stirred the depths of his soul.

  And then how she had lent herself to the recovery of the baby. He could see she was troubled about the situation, and yet she had not let herself hold back, even after Mrs. Beck's insulting words.