Georgina of the Rainbows

by Annie F. Johnston

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  THE DOCTOR'S DISCOVERY

  IN due time the letter written in the willow tree reached the city ofHong-Kong, and was carried to the big English hotel, overlooking theloveliest of Chinese harbors. But it was not delivered to DoctorHuntingdon. It was piled on top of all the other mail which lay there,awaiting his return. Under it was Georgina's first letter to him and theone she had written to her mother about Dan Darcy and the rifle. Andunder that was the one which Barbara called the "rainbow letter," andthen at least half a dozen from Barbara herself, with the beautifulcolored photograph of the Towncrier and his lass. Also there wereseveral bundles of official-looking documents and many Americannewspapers.

  Nothing had been forwarded to him for two months, because he had leftinstructions to hold his mail until further notice. The first part ofthat time he was moving constantly from one out-of-the-way place toanother where postal delivery was slow and uncertain. The last part ofthat time he was lying ill in the grip of the very disease which he hadgone out to study and to conquer.

  He was glad then to be traveling in the wake of the friendly oldEnglishman and his party. Through their interpreter, arrangements weremade to have him carried to one of the tents of a primitive sort of ahospital, kept by some native missionaries. The Englishman's youngassistant went with him. He was a quiet fellow whom Mr. Bowles hadjokingly dubbed David the silent, because it was so hard to make himtalk. But Doctor Huntingdon, a reserved, silent man himself, had beenattracted to him by that very trait.

  During the months they had been thrown together so much, Dave had takengreat interest in the Doctor's reports of the experiments he was makingin treating the disease. When the Doctor was told that Mr. Bowles hadgone back to the coast, having found what he wanted and made his notesfor his next book, and consequently Dave was free to stay and nurse him,he gave a sigh of relief.

  Dave stopped his thanks almost gruffly.

  "There's more than one reason for my staying," he said. "I've been sickamong strangers in a strange country, myself, and I know how it feels.Besides, I'm interested in seeing if this new treatment of yours worksout on a white man as well as it did on these natives. I'll be doing asmuch in the way of scientific research, keeping a chart on you, as if Iwere taking notes for Mr. Bowles."

  That was a long speech for Dave, the longest that he made during theDoctor's illness. But in the days which followed, one might well havewondered if there was not a greater reason than those he offered forsuch devoted attendance. He was always within call, always so quick tonotice a want that usually a wish was gratified before it could beexpressed. His was a devotion too constant to be prompted merely bysympathy for a fellow-country-man or interest in medical experiments.

  Once, when the Doctor was convalescing, he opened his eyes to find hissilent attendant sitting beside him reading, and studied him for sometime, unobserved.

  "Dave," he said, after watching him a while--"it's the queerestthing--lately every time I look at you I'm reminded of home. You mustresemble someone I used to know back there, but for the life of me Ican't recall who."

  Dave answered indifferently, without glancing up from the page.

  "There's probably a thousand fellows that look like me. I'm mediumheight and about every third person you see back in the States has grayeyes like mine, and just the ordinary every-day sort of features that Ihave."

  The Doctor made no answer. It never would have occurred to him to tellDave in what way his face differed from the many others of his type.There was a certain kindliness of twinkle in the gray eyes at times, andalways a straightforward honesty of gaze that made one instinctivelytrust him. There was strength of purpose in the resolute set of hismouth, and one could not imagine him being turned back on any road whichhe had made up his mind to travel to the end.

  Several days after that when the Doctor was sitting up outside the tent,the resemblance to someone whom he could not recall, puzzled him again.Dave was whittling, his lips pursed up as he whistled softly in anabsent-minded sort of way.

  "Dave," exclaimed the Doctor, "there's something in the way you sitthere, whittling and whistling that brings little old Provincetown rightup before my eyes. I can see old Captain Ames sitting there on the wharfon a coil of rope, whittling just as you are doing, and joking with Samand the crew as they pile into the boat to go out to the weirs. I cansee the nets spread out to dry alongshore, and smell tar and codfish asplain as if it were here right under my nose. And down in Fishburn Courtthere's the little house that was always a second home to me, with UncleDarcy pottering around in the yard, singing his old sailors' songs."

  The Doctor closed his eyes and drew in a long, slow breath.

  "Um! There's the most delicious smell coming out of thatkitchen--blueberry pies that Aunt Elspeth's baking. What wouldn't I givethis minute for one of those good, juicy blueberry pies of hers,smoking hot. I can smell it clear over here in China. There never wasanything in the world that tasted half so good. I was always taggingaround after Uncle Darcy, as I called him. He was the Towncrier, and oneof those staunch, honest souls who make you believe in the goodness ofGod and man no matter what happens to shake the foundations of yourfaith."

  The Doctor opened his eyes and looked up inquiringly, startled by theknocking over of the stool on which Dave had been sitting. He had risenabruptly and gone inside the tent.

  "Go on," he called back. "I can hear you."

  He seemed to be looking for something, for he was striding up and downin its narrow space. The Doctor raised his voice a trifle.

  "That's all I had to say. I didn't intend to bore you talking aboutpeople and places you never heard of. But it just came over me in a bigwave--that feeling of homesickness that makes you feel you've got to getback or die. Did you ever have it?"

  "Yes," came the answer in an indifferent tone. "Several times."

  "Well, it's got me now, right by the throat."

  Presently he called, "Dave, while you're in there I wish you'd look inmy luggage and see what newspapers are folded up with it. I have a dimrecollection that a _Provincetown Advocate_ came about the time I wastaken sick and I never opened it.

  "Ah, that's it!" he exclaimed when Dave emerged presently, holding outthe newspaper. "Look at the cut across the top of the first page. OldProvincetown itself. It's more for the name of the town printed acrossthat picture of the harbor than for the news that I keep on taking thepaper. Ordinarily, I never do more than glance at the news items, butthere's time to-day to read even the advertisements. You've no idea howgood those familiar old names look to me."

  He read some of them aloud, smiling over the memories they awakened. Buthe read without an auditor, for Dave found he had business with one ofthe missionaries, and put off to attend to it. On his return he wasgreeted with the announcement:

  "Dave, I want to get out of here. I'm sure there must be a big pile ofmail waiting for me right now in Hong-Kong, and I'm willing to risk thetrip. Let's start back to-morrow."

  Several days later they were in Hong-Kong, enjoying the luxuries ofcivilization in the big hotel. Still weak from his recent illness andfatigued by the hardships of his journey, Doctor Huntingdon did not godown to lunch the day of their arrival. It was served in his room, andas he ate he stopped at intervals to take another dip into the pile ofmail which had been brought up to him.

  In his methodical way he opened the letters in the order of theirarrival, beginning with the one whose postmark showed the earliestdate. It took a long time to finish eating on account of these pauses.Hop Ching was bringing in his coffee when Dave came back, having had notonly his lunch in the dining-room, but a stroll through the streetsafterward. He found Doctor Huntingdon with a photograph propped up infront of him, studying it intently while Hop Ching served the coffee.The Doctor passed the photograph to Dave.

  _The Towncrier and his Lass_]

  "Take it over to the window where you can get a good light on it," hecommanded. "Isn't that a peach of a picture? That's my little daught
erand the old friend I'm always quoting. The two seem to be as great chumsas he and I used to be. I don't want to bore you, Dave, but I would liketo read you this letter that she wrote to her mother, and her mothersent on to me. In the first place I'm proud of her writing such aletter. I had no idea she could express herself so well, and secondlythe subject matter makes it an interesting document.

  "On my little girl's birthday Uncle Darcy took her out in his boat, _TheBetsey_. The name of that old boat certainly does sound good to me! Hetold her--but wait! I'd rather read it to you in her own words. It'llgive you such a good idea of the old man. Perhaps I ought to explainthat he had a son who got into trouble some ten years ago, and lefthome. He was just a little chap when I saw him last, hardly out ofdresses, the fall I left home for college.

  "Uncle Darcy and Aunt Elspeth were fairly foolish about him. He had comeinto their lives late, you see, after their older children died. I don'tbelieve it would make any difference to them what he'd do. They wouldwelcome him back from the very gallows if he'd only come. His mothernever has believed he did anything wrong, and the hope of the old man'slife is that his 'Danny,' as he calls him, will make good in someway--do something to wipe out the stain on his name and come back tohim."

  The Doctor paused as if waiting for some encouragement to read.

  "Go on," said Dave. "I'd like to hear it, best in the world."

  He turned his chair so that he could look out of the window at theharbor. The Chinese sampans of every color were gliding across the waterlike a flock of gaily-hued swans. He seemed to be dividing his attentionbetween those native boats and the letter when the Doctor first began toread. It was Georgina's rainbow letter, and the colors of the rainbowwere repeated again and again by the reds and yellows and blues of thatfleet of sampans.

  But as the Doctor read on Dave listened more intently, so intently, infact, that he withdrew his attention entirely from the window, andleaning forward, buried his face in his hands, his elbows resting onhis knees. The Doctor found him in this attitude when he looked up atthe end, expecting some sort of comment. He was used to Dave's silences,but he had thought this surely would call forth some remark. Then as hestudied the bowed figure, it flashed into his mind that the letter musthave touched some chord in the boy's own past. Maybe Dave had an oldfather somewhere, longing for his return, and the memory was breakinghim all up.

  Silently, the Doctor turned aside to the pile of letters still unread.Georgina's stern little note beginning "Dear Sir" was the next in orderand was in such sharp contrast to the loving, intimate way she addressedher mother, that he felt the intended reproach of it, even while itamused and surprised him. But it hurt a little. It wasn't pleasant tohave his only child regard him as a stranger. It was fortunate that thenext letter was the one in which she hastened to call him "aSaint-George-and-the-dragon sort of father."

  When he read Barbara's explanation of his long silence and Georgina'squick acceptance of it, he wanted to take them both in his arms and tellthem how deeply he was touched by their love and loyalty; that he hadn'tintended to be neglectful of them or so absorbed in his work that he putit first in his life. But it was hard for him to put such things intowords, either written or spoken. He had left too much to be taken forgranted he admitted remorsefully to himself.

  For a long time he sat staring sternly into space. So people had beengossiping about him, had they? And Barbara and the baby had heard thewhispers and been hurt by them----He'd go home and put a stop to it. Hestraightened himself up and turned to report his sudden decision toDave. But the chair by the window was empty. The Doctor glanced over hisshoulder. Dave had changed his seat and was sitting behind him. Theywere back to back, but a mirror hung in such a way the Doctor could seeDave's face.

  With arms crossed on a little table in front of him, he was leaningforward for another look at the photograph which he had propped upagainst a vase. A hungry yearning was in his face as he bent towards it,gazing into it as if he could not look his fill. Suddenly his head wentdown on his crossed arms in such a hopeless fashion that in a flashDoctor Huntingdon divined the reason, and recognized the resemblancethat had haunted him. Now he understood why the boy had stayed behind tonurse him. Now a dozen trifling incidents that had seemed of noimportance to him at the time, confirmed his suspicion.

  His first impulse was to cry out "_Dan!_" but his life-long habit ofrepression checked him. He felt he had no right to intrude on theprivacy which the boy guarded so jealously. But Uncle Darcy's son! Offhere in a foreign land, bowed down with remorse and homesickness! How hemust have been tortured with all that talk of the old town and itspeople!

  A great wave of pity and yearning tenderness swept through the Doctor'sheart as he sat twisted around in his chair, staring at that reflectionin the mirror. He was uncertain what he ought to do. He longed to go tohim with some word of comfort, but he shrank from the thought of sayinganything which would seem an intrusion.

  Finally he rose, and walking across the room, laid his hand on the bowedshoulder with a sympathetic pressure.

  "Look here, my boy," he said, in his deep, quiet voice. "I'm not askingyou what the trouble is, but whatever it is you'll let me help you,won't you? You've given me the right to ask that by all you've done forme. Anything I could do would be only too little for one who has stoodby me the way you have. I want you to feel that I'm your friend in thedeepest meaning of that word. You can count on me for anything." Then ina lighter tone as he gave the shoulder a half-playful slap he added,"I'm _for_ you, son."

  The younger man raised his head and straightened himself up in hischair.

  "You wouldn't be!" he exclaimed, "if you knew who I am." Then heblurted out the confession: "I'm Dan Darcy. I can't let you go onbelieving in me when you talk like that."

  "But I knew it when I said what I did," interrupted Doctor Huntingdon."It flashed over me first when I saw you looking at your father'spicture. No man could look at a stranger's face that way. Then I knewwhat the resemblance was that has puzzled me ever since I met you. Theonly wonder to me is that I did not see it long ago."

  "You knew it," repeated Dan slowly, "and yet you told me to count you asa friend in the deepest meaning of that word. How could you mean it?"

  The Doctor's answer came with deep impressiveness.

  "Because, despite whatever slip you may have made as a boy of eighteen,you have grown into a man worthy of such a friendship. A surgeon in myposition learns to read character, learns to know an honest man when hesees one. No matter what lies behind you that you regret, I have everyconfidence in you now, Dan. I am convinced you are worthy to be the sonof even such a man as Daniel Darcy."

  He held out his hand to have it taken in a long, silent grip that madeit ache.

  "Come on and go back home with me," urged the Doctor. "You've made goodout here. Do the brave thing now and go back and live down the past.It'll make the old folks so happy it'll wipe out the heart-break of allthose years that you've been away."

  Dan's only response was another grasp of the Doctor's hand as strong andas painful as the first. Pulling himself up by it he stood an instanttrying to say something, then, too overcome to utter a word, made a dashfor the door.

  Doctor Huntingdon was so stirred by the scene that he found it difficultto go back to his letters, but the very next one in order happened to bethe one Georgina wrote to her mother just after Belle had given herconsent to Barby's being told of Emmett's confession. He read the latterpart of it, standing, for he had sprung to his feet with the surprise ofits opening sentence. He did not even know that Emmett had been dead allthese years, and Dan, who had had no word from home during all hisabsence, could not know it either. He was in a tremor of eagerness tohurry to him with the news, but he waited to scan the rest of theletter.

  Then with it fluttering open in his hand he strode across the hall andburst into Dan's room without knocking.

  "Pack up your junk, this minute, boy," he shouted. "We take the firstboat out of here for home. Look at this!"


  He thrust Georgina's letter before Dan's bewildered eyes.