“How do you know that?” queried the latter, slightly defiant.
Hollis motioned toward the kitchen door. “I know,” he said; “you’re her brother.”
“Well,” began Hazelton hesitatingly,–“I—”
The screen door opened–slammed, and Nellie Hazelton came out upon the porch. She had found time to change her morning dress for a soft, fluffy creation of some sort, and she stood before them, flushing slightly as both looked at her, a picture that smote Hollis’s heart with a sudden longing. Only one glance did she give him and then she was over near Ed’s chair, leaning over him, stroking his hair.
For a long time Hollis sat, watching them with sympathetic, appreciative eyes. Then he thought of the letter in his pocket, the one postmarked “Chicago,” which he had discovered at the Kicker office on returning from the court house. He drew it from his pocket and read the legend in the upper left hand corner:
“Dr. J. J. Hammond, — Hospital, Chicago, Ill.”
He studied the legend for some little time, his thoughts busy with the contents of the envelope. Fortunately, his letter to the great physician had fallen into the hands of the son, Tom Hammond, and the latter, not forgetting his old schoolmate, had appealed to his father. This was what the surgeon had written in the letter–he would not have agreed to accept the case had it not been for the fact that Hollis had been, and was Tom’s friend. He would be pleased if the patient would make the journey to Chicago within a month, that he might be able to take up his case before entering upon some scientific investigations which had been deferred a long time, etc.
Hollis had been reading the letter again. He finished it and looked up, to see Ed and Nellie watching him. He flushed and smiled, holding out the letter to Nellie.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I found this interesting. Perhaps you will also find it so.”
He leaned back with a smile and watched them. But he did not, watch long. He saw Nellie start, saw the color slowly recede from her face, saw her hands clench tightly–as she began to read the letter. He turned away, not caring to watch them during that sacred moment in which they would read the line of hope that the great surgeon had written. He looked–it seemed–for a long time down the Coyote trail, and when he finally turned his head toward them he saw Ed Hazelton sitting erect in his chair, apparently stunned by the news. But before him, close to him, so close that he felt her breath in his face–her eyes wide with delight, thankfulness–and perhaps something more–Nellie was kneeling.