"I shall be glad to come," answered Mary Lee. "Please do not worry. I am sure that it will be but a day or two before you are up and about again."
An interne and two orderlies now came out of the hospital door with a stretcher. They carried the sick man into the emergency ward but would not allow either Mr. Quinn or Mary Lee to follow. They were told that they would probably be allowed to visit in the morning.
But the man's case was evidently quite serious. Mary Lee called the next day and was informed that the patient had a high temperature and that it was impossible to permit any visitors. She was not allowed to see him until the fourth day. It worried her because of her promise and the man's evident anxiety to have the "something" attended to at once. On the fourth day, she was informed that the man was still weak but had insisted on seeing her. The nurse who spoke to her warned her not to stay too long.
Even as she opened the door she felt the surcharged eagerness of the man. He wasted no time in any greetings.
"The doctor tells me I cannot hope to leave here for at least another week. He claims it is under-nourishment more than the heat." He rested a moment.
"My name is Tom Marshall," he continued slowly. "I was on my way home from Mexico where I have been for many years. About two months ago, I remember the day so well, the home of my mother and father and of my early youth seemed to be calling to me in a way I could not resist. I had been away from it for over fifteen years and not once before that time had I been homesick or felt the desire to go home. But the new feeling was such that a little boy feels—I wanted my mother more than anything else in the world.
"My partner and I have a mine down there. We think it is a silver mine, but so far it has been hard to pinch anything out of it and we have found it a difficult matter even to exist. My partner is an Indian but he would shame many white men. I have never known a squarer, whiter man. He found the mine. We both feel it is certain to make good some day.
"Enough of that, except to say that I went to him and told him how I felt. He insisted that I make the trip home. Together, we scraped up enough money to bring me back about half the distance. I wrote home, the first letter I had written, I am ashamed to say, in four years. I told mother that I was coming home and to write me to St. Louis care of the General Delivery."
The man paused again. He was watching the girl. He seemed to regain strength.
"I suppose you wonder why I tell you all this. You will soon see. At St. Louis a letter was waiting for me. It was from my cousin, not from my mother. I learned that father had died three years ago and that my mother was very sick. She had been overjoyed at the news that I was coming. But my cousin advised me to hasten my return, as he considered my mother's condition extremely serious.