“Well,” Doris said, “I don’t know if Mother told you, but I’m supposed to try out for a scholarship to Timothy College. It’s a small music school in North Carolina. Well, anyhow, I was petrified about playing in front of a large group. But now because of the polio scare, there will be just two judges who’ll come right here to hear me play. And on our own piano, too. That makes a difference, you know.”
Kit looked at Doris. “Mother did tell me,” she said. “I think it’s absolutely wonderful. But she said you weren’t so keen about going away.”
Doris looked at her sister shyly. “I wouldn’t tell this to Mother,” she said, “but I want to win that scholarship more than anything else in the world. At first I was frightened at the thought of going away from home. But the idea of being among people who love music, and having music all around me all the time is the most beautiful idea in the whole world!”
Kit hugged her sister. “You’ll win,” she cried confidently. “You’ve got to. No one in town even begins to play as well as you!”
Doris smiled with embarrassment. “You’re nice to say that, Kit,” she said. “Jean said it, too. Of course you’re all prejudiced, but it’s nice to hear, anyway.”
The telephone rang, and Doris ran to answer it. Kit sat down on the window seat and looked out over the wooded patch which stood between the house and the river. Everything was soft and green. The spring rains had made the leaves and grass shine with healthy color. There was not even any dust from the dirt road which cut in front of the Craig farm. She shook her head sadly, as she thought about the families of Elmhurst, huddled together in fear of the dread disease, and she thought how wise they all were to cooperate so well in the attempt to fight it.
Doris came back into the living room and sighed as she sat down. “That was Jean. She’s supposed to be off today, but she has to work. There is another case somewhere out in the country, and they’re short-handed at the hospital.”
Suddenly Kit jumped up and went to the phone. She asked for Jean.
“Look, Jean,” she cried, “isn’t there anything over there that a layman can do? At the switchboard or scrubbing floors or anything?”
Jean hesitated. “I don’t know, Kit,” she answered. “I can ask Dr. Barsch.”