The days passed, the convalescent making speedy progress toward recovery, and in a few weeks more he was able to leave the hospital. Making himself known quietly to a San Francisco business acquaintance, he was quickly supplied with funds and immediately he turned his face homeward.
The long, overland journey was tedious and exhausting, especially in his present weakened condition, and even those who knew him well would hardly have recognized in the pale emaciated looking stranger with ill fitting clothes and untrimmed full growth of beard who emerged from the train at the Grand Central Station, the carefully dressed, well groomed Kenneth Traynor who, only a few months before, had sailed away from New York on the Mauretania.
The noise and turmoil of the big metropolis, in striking contrast to the quiet and seclusion of the sick room in which he had lived for so many weeks, astonished him. The crowds of suburbanites rushing frantically for trains, elbowing and pushing in their anxiety to get home, the strident hoarse cries of newsboys, the warning shouts of wagon drivers as they drove recklessly here and there at murderous speed, the blowing of auto horns, the ceaseless hum and roar of the big city's heavy traffic—all this bewildered and dazed him. At first he did not remember just in what direction to turn, whether he lived in the East or West side, uptown or down. But as he got more accustomed to his surroundings, it all came back to him. How stupid—of course he had to go downtown to 20th Street. Once more he was himself again. Hailing a taxi, he started for Gramercy Park.
Conflicting emotions stirred his breast as he drew near his home. What joy it would be to clasp Helen once more in his arms. How delighted she would be to see him! Then he was filled with anxiety, a sudden feeling of dread came over him. Suppose some misfortune, some calamity had happened during his absence! Helen might have met with some accident. Baby might have been ill. The worst might have happened. He would never have heard. Perhaps he was only going home to find his happiness wrecked forever.
The driver made his way with difficulty down Fifth Avenue, threading his way in and out the entanglement of carriages and automobiles, until, after a ten minutes' run, turned into Gramercy Park and pulled up short on the curb of the Traynor residence.
Eagerly Kenneth put his head out of the window and scanned the windows for a glimpse of the loved one, but no one, not even a servant, was visible. The house looked deserted. His misgivings returned. Stepping out hastily, he paid the driver, and, running up the steps, rang the bell.
Roberts, the faithful old butler, who had been in the family service for years, came to open. Seeing a rather shabbily attired person outside, he held the door partly closed and demanded, suspiciously:
"Who is it you wish to see?"
Irritated at the manner of his reception, Kenneth gave the door a push that nearly knocked the servant over. Angrily, he exclaimed:
"What's the matter, Roberts? Didn't you see it was me?"