“O,” murmured Betty wonderingly. “I never saw anyone but Rose.”
Tommy considered. “Well, come to think of it, I can’t just remember seeing ’em myself. But anyhow I have in books, and of course books are more reliable. And what I was going to say was that Rose’s eyes being wide open and turning hither and yon and looking just exactly the same and doing everything anybody’s eyes do except seeing, why, it stands to reason that some day she must see, too. I suppose there’s some little obstacle between her brain and her eyes, and what I think is that some sort of shock is going to do the trick, you know. I have thought of firing a pistol, if I could lay my hands on one, or even busting a bag right close to her ear when she don’t know anybody’s round. But I’d sort of hate to do that. I’d feel mean even if it was for her own good, and anyhow I think a natural shock would be much better, like thunder when she thinks it’s a fine day. O, or in winter! Dad knew it to thunder once in February. Wouldn’t that be grand, Betty!”
Betty drew a deep breath.
“O, Tommy, I wouldn’t even mind a small little earthquake, would you?” she cried.
“Not I,” said Tommy gaily and went off whistling with shrill cheerfulness. It wasn’t only that Betty’s ready acceptance of his prophecy gave him a sense of importance, but he felt he had really accomplished something. Instead of worrying now about poor Rose, she would be eagerly looking forward to the day when her sight should be restored.
CHAPTER XVII
TOMMY had done wonders at his lessons during the first term at the high school and he had accomplished more than usual with his magic. And in any event his persistence and perseverance in the latter pursuit were impressive. For one experiment he had wanted a glass disc to be obtained by knocking the bottom out of a bottle, and after a year’s effort had recently succeeded with the seventy-third bottle—which had happened to be one Betty had given him. Wherefore, respect had been added to the affection Betty had always felt for her friend; and his words of encouragement in the case of Rose Harrow were to her mind the conclusions of a scientific observer and thinker.
Wherefore, those Christmas holidays were the happiest days the girl remembered. Even the futility of expecting an unseasonable thunderclap with the thermometer varying only between ten and twenty-five degrees above zero did not chill her happiness; for there was abundance of time, and anticipation was blissful. It was hard to refrain from confiding in Rose, but of course it would be hazardous if not fatal for her to expect the shock. Moreover, she seemed so happy that Betty believed she had a vague sense of something wonderful before her. And never a night passed when Betty did not pray for some unseasonable catastrophe or cataclysm which should bring joy to Rose without working harm elsewhere.
Mr. Meadowcroft first remarked a change in Betty on the day when he was leaving South Paulding for a journey to Philadelphia—the day before the New Year. He first realized, too, because of its absence, that for some time there must have been a slight shadow of anxiety upon the girl’s brow. But he said to himself it would return again when school opened. During the holidays the constant strain of Rose Harrow’s companionship had fallen from her, and unconsciously she expressed her relief. Betty and Tommy were at the train to see him off, and though he waved his hand gaily from the window, as soon as he turned he sighed and fell into troubled meditation. Betty Pogany was an over-burdened young girl, and apparently he was the only person to be aware of the fact. Bent on undue self-sacrifice, there was none to check her in her headlong career unless he should make the attempt. And what could he do?
Meadowcroft wished he were not going away. Furthermore, he had another reason for regretting that an appointment with a specialist took him to Philadelphia at this time. He would have liked to wait at least until after the return of Mr. Appleton, principal of the high school, who had seemed far from well for a fortnight before he had gone home for the holidays. In this case, too, he seemed almost alone in realizing the difficulty; for Mrs. Appleton was always so concerned with her own ailments that her husband would have had to be on his back in bed before it would have occurred to her that he wasn’t well.