When, finally, he came into the room, her tragic face drew him to her swiftly. He took her cold hands for a second, with a low word of greeting. Then he went to the baby's bed and bent over him.
"Poor little chap!" he exclaimed, as he looked at the fevered, panting atom of humanity. He asked the nurse quick questions. Jane sat still as a graven image.
"I asked Doctor Grant to come on the next train, Jane. I thought we'd better have him, because he knows Jerry's constitution best."
"Oh, Jerry!" she said, out of her agony.
He went to her and laid his hand on her shoulder.
"Don't be discouraged, Jane; we'll pull him through, he's strong."
"No. I've killed him, Jerry."
"Nonsense! He ran the same chance in New York. Now tell me about it from the beginning."
His matter-of-fact tone steadied her. She told him the details from the first and he listened intently, nodding as she talked in an undertone not to disturb the child. It was such a relief to share the present responsibility with Jerry, no matter how she reserved the initial responsibility for herself. The thought of Doctor Grant's coming brought hope. He had taken care of Jerry Jr. since his coming; he knew him thoroughly—understood. If anybody could do it, he could thwart God.
Jerry Jr. began to cry. The pitiful wail of sick babyhood. It was agonizing to hear him. Jerry went to him and spoke to him. The baby turned bright eyes upon him, and a smile that was a spasm of pain followed.