It was a hot and breathless boy that at last halted on the hospital steps and pushed the bell button.
“It is too late,” the attendant answered. “You cannot be admitted to-night.”
“But I want to know how my mother is,—Mrs. Stickney,” faltered Blue.
At the moment a girl was crossing the hall, and turned towards the other with the quick query, “How is she?”
“On the verge of collapse!” was the low reply. “Dr. Grace says she’ll never come out of it; she can’t last till morning!”
A gust of wind swept through the long hall, swinging the door together. It shut with a snap, and Blue, stunned by what he had heard, walked slowly down to the big gate.
How could he go home to Doodles with such news! The nurse must have meant his mother, yet would they have been so cruel as to refuse him admittance and then coolly let him know that she would die before morning? It was too horrible! He walked on and on and on, his mind in a tumult. When, finally, he took notice of his surroundings, he could not tell where he was. A policeman set him right, and with a sick heart he turned towards home. Home! The name mocked him! It would never be home if his mother did not come back. One faint ray of light pierced the blackness of his soul,—the woman might, possibly, have referred to somebody else! If he could only know! But there was no way of finding out before morning, and a night of such suspense might kill Doodles. His feet lagged as they neared the home corner. He felt that he could not face his brother with the uncertain story. What should he do? He turned, and began to walk back the way he had come. Suddenly there came to his mind the name of Dr. Hudson, the physician his mother had called—he would know! Of course, he would! His office was in the bank block, not three squares away! He struck into a run, and did not stop until he stood at the entrance of the building. He searched for the number of the office, and was carried up in the elevator.
The door was locked. A card bore the information, “Gone to dinner. Back at 8.00.”
Blue read it disconsolately. Should he wait?
“If I knew where he lived,” he muttered, “I’d go to his house.” His next thought was to find out, and in a moment he was consulting a directory in one of the shops below. Presently he was on his long way to 1062 Garden Street; but when he reached the place he was again disappointed.