“You’d better let me give you a swallow of whisky,” suggested the doctor, who had noted his exhaustion.
Mr. Opp raised his hand deprecatingly, with a touch of his old professional pride. “I don’t know as I’ve had occasion to mention,” he said, “that I am the editor and sole proprietor of ‘The Opp Eagle’; and that bird,” he added, with a forced smile, “is, as everybody knows, a complete teetotaler.”
At the end of the crowded ward, with her face to the wall, was a slight, familiar figure. Mr. Opp started forward; then he turned fiercely upon the attendant.
“Her hands are tied! Who dared to tie her up like that?”
“It’s just a soft handkerchief,” [p298] replied the matronly woman, reassuringly. “We were afraid she would pull her hair out. She wants its fixed a certain way; but she’s afraid for any of us to touch her. She has been crying about it ever since she came.”
In an instant Mr. Opp was on his knees beside her. “Kippy, Kippy darling, here’s brother D.; he’ll fix it for you! You want it parted on the side, don’t you, tied with a bow, and all the rest hanging down? Don’t cry so, Kippy. I’m here now; brother D.’ll take care of you.”
She flung her loosened arms around him and clung to him in a passion of relief. Her sobs shook them both, and his face and neck were wet with her tears.
As soon as they could get her sufficiently quiet, they took her into her little bedroom.
“You let the lady get you ready,” urged Mr. Opp, still holding her hand, “and I’ll take you back home, and Aunt Tish will have a nice, hot supper all waiting for us.”
[p299]
But she would let nobody else touch her, and even then she broke forth into piteous sobs and protests. Once she pushed him from her and looked about wildly. “No, no,” she cried, “I mustn’t go; I am crazy!” But he told her about the three little kittens that had been born under the kitchen steps, and in an instant she was all a-tremble with eagerness to go home to see them.