IV
It seemed a long time before Miss Ryan came back, but the delay was justified. Upon a tray she bore three plates. What[Pg 265] there was in two of them Dr. Joe never knew, but what she set before him was a miracle. Cheese and eggs and toast were part of it, but there must have been other things.
His spirits revived, and so did Frankie’s. He made jokes, and Frankie laughed at them. So did Miss Ryan, but in a different way. Dr. Joe suspected that something was amiss with her, and later, when he was helping her on with her coat, he felt sure of it. The light in the hall was dim, and he bent nearer. It was true—there were tears in her eyes.
He said nothing at the moment. He waited until he had got them snugly stowed into the car, Miss Ryan beside him, with Frankie on her lap.
“What’s wrong, Miss Ryan?” he asked, in his blunt way.
“Why, nothing!” she answered brightly.
He knew there was, though. She wasn’t the sort of girl to have tears in her eyes for nothing. He thought about it for awhile, and then he came to a conclusion.
“Miss Ryan,” he inquired, “what do you do?”
In his wide experience of other people’s troubles, he had learned the terrible and pitiful importance of jobs, or the lack of them.
“Well, doctor,” she replied, “I play the piano in the music department of the Novelty Bazaar.”
“In the basement,” said Dr. Joe. “That’s not much of a job.”
He was acquainted with the Novelty Bazaar and its system of ventilation.
“Oh, it might be worse,” she returned cheerfully.
“Not very much,” said Dr. Joe.
Again he was silent, thinking of Miss Ryan at work in the basement of the Novelty Bazaar.
“I’m going to get you another job,” he announced abruptly.
“I wish you’d get yourself another housekeeper!” she cried, with a vehemence that startled him. “I never saw—anything so—awful. It’s a sh-shame!”
“See here!” said he, astounded. “You’re not crying about that?”
“I’m not c-crying at all,” replied Miss Ryan, with dignity. “Only—when I saw that kitchen—and that dinner—it’s cruel!”
This made him laugh.
“Cruel?” he said. “Mrs. MacAdams cruel? Poor old soul! She’s—”
“It is cruel,” said Miss Ryan, “when you’re so busy and so—wonderfully kind and good.”
He had been called kind and good often enough before in his life, but it had never sounded like this. He looked at Molly Ryan. The interior of the little car was well lighted, so that he could see her clearly, sitting there beside him, with Frankie in her strong young arms, and those blue eyes of hers misty. Kind? He wasn’t the only one.
“It’s down this street,” she told him. “There—that’s the house—with the white fence.”
He stopped the car before the house—such a poor, forlorn little house it was—and Miss Ryan tried to set Frankie on his feet; but Frankie would not stand. Limp and dazed with sleep, he sank down on the floor of the car.
“I’ll carry him,” said Dr. Joe. “Come on! We’ll make a dash for it.”
So they did make a dash for it, through the pelting rain, to the veranda of the poor little house, and Miss Ryan rang the bell. Nothing happened. She waited a moment, rang again, and then opened the door with a latchkey.
Dr. Joe followed her inside, still carrying Frankie. She had lighted an oil lamp on the table, and, as he came in out of the stormy darkness, there was a picture he did not soon forget. It was a very little room, and a very humble one; it was not tastefully furnished; indeed, regarded in detail, it was quite the contrary; but it was a home. It was clean and neat and blessedly tranquil in the lamplight. It was a house with a heart—and Molly Ryan was in it.
Frankie came to life now.
“Where’s Katie?” he demanded.
“She’s left a note,” said Molly. “I don’t understand. She’s never gone out so late before; but perhaps some of the people she works for sent for her.”
The girl looked perplexed and troubled. Dr. Joe was perplexed, too.
“People she works for?” he repeated. “Thought she was the boy’s nurse.”
“She is,” answered Molly; “only while he’s at school she—she does other things.”
“What other things?”
For a moment Molly looked dignified, and as if she would not answer, but she thought better of it. She looked up at Dr. Joe with the straightforward glance that he liked so well.[Pg 266]
“She does day’s work, Dr. Joe—scrubbing and cleaning.”
“But see here—I don’t understand this! Do you mean to tell me that the boy’s parents have gone off and left him with his nurse, and haven’t given her any money to look after the child?”
“She does look after him!” cried Miss Ryan hotly. “He goes to the Lessell Academy. He’s getting the best education and the best care—”
“I’m sure of that,” interrupted Dr. Joe. “What I don’t understand is why his nurse has to go out scrubbing by the day. Why does the child live here? Why don’t his parents—”
“They can’t help it!” said Miss Ryan. Her cheeks were flaming, her blue eyes alight. “They’ve done the best they can. They’re the—the finest, most splendid people in the world. They—they just are!”
Dr. Joe respected her loyal defense; but he didn’t agree with her. He felt pretty sure now that Katie and this girl were burdened with the entire support of the boy, that they went shabby while he was well dressed, that they worked, scrubbing floors and playing the piano in the Novelty Bazaar, while Frankie went to an expensive private school. To his thinking, there was no possible excuse for parents who would do such a thing.
“See here!” he said. “I’ve got to go now—patients waiting for me. Send Frankie to me again to-morrow. No trouble to me. Fact is, I rather like to have him.”
Miss Ryan held out her hand, and Dr. Joe took it. He didn’t know what to say to her. He couldn’t very well ask her to come to see him, and he didn’t quite know how to suggest coming to see her; so he only gripped her little hand and said nothing, and it made him very unhappy. He wanted to see her, not just some time in the indefinite future, but the very next day and all other days. Going away from her was going away from home.