CHAPTER XI
As the coach turned into Eighteenth Street, Gabrielle was prepared to meet the emergency, for all at once it came upon her that duty had brought her to the spot. She saw the excitement surrounding the fire and knew why she was there. The coachman, following her order, drew up to the curb, so that she might alight. She dismissed him and then pushed through the crowd, now scattering, to the fire lines, and as she proceeded she saw the building on our corner had been partly destroyed; apparently the flames had done the most damage in the upper stories. Her first question was put to a policeman on guard near the edge of the crowd:
"Officer, please tell me if there were any persons injured at the fire?"
"Yes, ma'am, two men; they were taken to Bellevue, ma'am."
With a simple word of thanks she turned away. If the officers were then in pursuit of her Jim, she would find him first and shield him with her wit as many a woman had done before under like conditions. The ambulances had gone half an hour before, but she would follow directly to the hospital and first seek out there the man whose terrible fate was foretold by her fears. Why had she not kept the coach to take her to Bellevue? It had been dismissed when she wished to avoid even the possible testimony of a coachman. Quickly she summoned a cab and a few minutes later she was in the hospital ready to shield Jim Hosley from all harm if he were there.
Gabrielle found him unconscious and quickly identified him as her brother, George Marshall.
"I should like to have him placed in a private room," she said to the hospital superintendent. "Please have it next to that of his friend, Mr. Benjamin Hopkins. I want them to have the best care from your physicians and nurses that may be obtained. There is no sacrifice that I would not make to save the lives of these brave men who have suffered so terribly."
Several weeks afterward I learned that my name and that of George Marshall had appeared in the papers for a few days until the hospital doctors announced that we would probably recover. The public accepted that as a finality quite as agreeably as if we had died of our injuries, and so we sank below the horizon again. Our thrilling rescue by the fire department net, with a vague mention of our injuries received while falling against the useless fire escapes, was part of the news of the day; also the fact that I had been thrown from the window and that a search had been made of the ruins, but no trace of Hosley could be found. In a few days, he, too, appeared to be forgotten. My brother had not seen any of his folks up home and none of them had driven over to our place, a distance of ten miles. We boys had been away so long, the two families had rather lost track of each other, I supposed, although it did seem strange to me. I made little mention of Jim in my letters to the old home folks. The bad news, I knew, would leak out in time and my chuckle-headedness would be as much a part of the village gossip as the story of his crime.
A few days after I had regained consciousness I began to discuss with Hygeia the other man who was injured at the fire.
"What sort of a looking man is that fellow, George Marshall, who was hurt?" I asked, thinking he might be Hosley under another name and she not know it.
"He seemed rather slight in build," she answered demurely. "I should say he weighed about one hundred and fifty pounds." Jim had lost weight, but I did not think of that.
"Any of his folks been here? With whom did he live? What flat? Which house?"
"Well, now, I shan't say; really, I shan't say who has been here to see him. Look to yourself."
"Why can't I go in and talk to him? Is he awake?"
"How could you? Why are you so foolish now to worry about him? He doesn't bother his head about you. Haven't you had all you want of that fire, without talking it all over again with that man?"
"I'd like first rate to have a talk with that fellow. Maybe I know him."
"Well, I know you are a great man to talk, but we shan't let you talk him to death."
"Say, can't you tell me what sort of a looking dub he is?"
"A what? Most of the time you seem to speak Welsh."
"How are you so cock-sure his name is George Marshall?"
"How do I? Well! well!"
"Why, look here! Isn't it natural for me to ask about him? Didn't we pass through almost the same experience? Why, I am simply bound to know that fellow, that's all there is about it."
"Tut, tut! Certainly you shall know him. But not now, when you are too weak to walk and he is suffering even more pain. Rest easy, now; be as calm as you can and soon you and the other patient may talk it all over together."
"Say, haven't you seen anybody around his room coming to see him?"
"Um! Let me think." And she knitted her brows and shaped that small mouth to a Cupid's bow, whence many an arrow has shot through me. "Why, I can't say." And she smiled teasingly.
"Come, you must have some idea. How far from here is his room?"
"Why, yes; I do remember seeing some one there a few times. It was his little girl."
"Oh, I see, a married man. Egad, I remember a man in the house next door who had a little girl. She was an awfully sweet little thing—dimples in her cheeks; little curls down at the side over her ears—most generally, though, wagging around in front. I've often seen him kiss her so tenderly. She was so pretty! Well, there's nothing like it."