“Good!” said the doctor, “that’s it exactly—or for a princess now and then. At least I believe that was one who stood holding these out to you.”
But there was no time to talk about the flowers, they had stopped before the doctor’s door. Could Creepy bear anything more?
With a word to the black horse, the doctor had lifted him gently from the chaise, and they were going up the steps together. And this was where the doctor lived! This had been one of the dreams over which Creepy’s thoughts had run a thousand times, trying to imagine where it could be, and what it could be like. And here it was, an everyday sort of place enough to city eyes, too closely between others for any thought of conservatory windows, a brown-stone front, and an iron railing up the steps; but grandeur itself to Creepy’s eyes. And now they were in the office. Books, books on every hand, and marvellous, mysterious glittering things that he could not divine the use of; an arm-chair or two, a lounge, and an ivy trailing over the window. But the doctor gave him very little time to go from one to the other.
“Now, my man, or my prince,” he said, with one of his old smiles, “I want you to remember that even you might possibly, under some circumstances, get tired, and I’m afraid your physician may not be pleased if it goes too far; you have done a good deal for one step out into life, and I have some writing that hasn’t been done. Suppose I just make you all right on that lounge a while, and you keep quiet there half an hour or so, while I do a little work by myself. There—I think that’s about right; now if you should by any accident fall asleep a few moments, there would be no harm done.”
The doctor settled himself to his writing, and appeared to have forgotten there was such a thing in existence as the throbbing little life that lay upon his sofa; but he did not forget it, not for an instant, and stole a look once in a while to see how things were going. He was afraid there had been a little too much; he had planned all he thought would do very well before the matter of the flowers came up. But he was soon relieved by seeing the great eyelids droop, then rest quietly, and in a few moments more he was sure his patient was asleep.
“That’s good,” he said as he took one more look to make sure he was not mistaken; “only a child could do that, and I’m glad to see he has even so much of it in him. Perhaps he’ll grow young enough to make up for lost time, after all.”
When Creepy opened his eyes, everything was as he had left it; the doctor still sat at his table, not an article in the room had moved from its place, not a wonder had lessened, not a vision had vanished away. He wasn’t even sure he had been asleep, and the doctor said nothing about it as he laid down his pen and turned to look at him.
“There, that’s done,” he said, “and now, I suppose, I ought to go out. Do you feel rested enough to amuse yourself for a while? I think I’ll call old Joan to help you for this time. You must make friends with Joan, for you wouldn’t have had much of a doctor if it hadn’t been for her. I was smaller than you, and not a bit stronger, when she undertook to make something of me.”
He rang the bell, and the gaunt form, cap, and spectacles appeared.