“Watch him. Take him in hand. He must breathe deep—all the time, night and day. Here, I will show you.” He put his hand on the young man’s chest. “Go on—I ’ll tell you when to stop—” He held the hand in place a few minutes, then he withdrew it with a smile. “Tell him to breathe like that,” he said quietly. “He ’ll get well then.”
“Don’t everybody breathe that way?” asked the youth helplessly.
The physician laughed out. “If they did, they would n’t be nervous wrecks.” He handed him the list of instructions. “He must be spared any nervous worry, of course. That is the most important of all. Good-by. If he gets unmanageable, send him to me.”
“I wish I could,” said John with a little smile that was half a frown. He was not appalled at the details of nursing thrust upon him. He had cared for his mother too long and skilfully to be worried by these. But Simeon—yielding gracefully to being dieted—told what to eat and how to breathe and little things like that—!
During the home journey he devoted himself to planning ambushes for Simeon’s obstinacy; and when, after a vigorous bath, he arrived at the office, he was equipped with a dozen “strictly fresh” eggs in a paper bag; a small egg-beater in one pocket and a flask of brandy in the other. This last was a little addition of John’s own—prompted by wisdom, and a knowledge of Simeon. He put the eggs carefully on a high shelf. It would not do to rouse untimely prejudice against them by untoward accidents. The egg-beater and brandy he concealed skilfully behind a row of ledgers. When Simeon entered a little later, irritable and suspicious, there was no sign that the office was to be turned into a kind of fresh air hospital.
The windows were open and a little breeze came in. John, refreshed by his bath, was hard at work, the broad, phlegmatic back a kind of huge mountain of strength. The little man threw himself into his chair with a grunt. He would rest more looking at that back than he could in a bed all night, tossing and turning through the hours.
Schemes had haunted him—visions for the road—New tracks to be run—new regulations. Investments along the route, a little here and a little there, not for the corporation, but to build up the country—capital to help out feeble enterprises. And athwart the visions ran black shadows—disturbing dreams of the C., B. and L., always waiting, weapon in hand, to spring upon him.... If only they would fight fair! He had tossed restlessly, seeking a cool place for his tired head. There was no time to spend in fighting.—So much to be done—his whole life-work to build anew.... Then he had fallen again to staring at the vision as it flared across the night, the vision of light and wonder.... When morning came, he had slept perhaps an hour..
But here, in the cool office, he could rest. The boy came and went with quiet step, his hand everywhere, yet without hurry, and his thought running always ahead of Simeon’s, smoothing the way.
The president of the road had intended to rest, but before he knew it, he was hurrying feverishly to finish a letter for the ten o’clock mail. His head throbbed and his hand, as it dipped the pen in the ink, shook quick spatters across the paper. He swore under his breath, dabbing the blotter here and there.... There was a gentle shiver of egg shell, a little whirring sound that buzzed, and then, upon the air of the room, a subtle, pervasive odor. Simeon raised his head and sniffed. Then he looked around. The boy was at his elbow.
“You’d better take this, sir,” he said casually. He set it down beside him, picked up a pile of papers and returned to his own desk.