“Well, don’t cry about it. It seems funny for stockings to make any one cry. Do you know, I’ve been crying about them, too? It is so confusing for people to have two legs and for leap year to have one more day, so some years people have to have more—maybe not have more, but change them oftener. I cry out of one eye about stockings, and the other sheds tears about French chops. I feel very much worried about French chops. It seems they sell them by the piece and not by the pound as they do loin chops—ten cents apiece, so the bills say. We usually get a dozen and a half for a meal—eighteen—that’s a dozen and a half. Now there are seven of us and the four servants, that makes eleven, not quite a dozen. What I am worried about is that some of you don’t get two chops apiece. I am wondering all the time which ones don’t eat enough. There is nothing at all on one little French chop, although I’m blessed if I could make one go down me now. But, honey, promise me if your mother and I do take this trip that this young man, whose name has escaped me, is going to arrange for us, that you will find out who it is among you who eats only one chop and make ’em eat more. I am afraid it is Nan and Bobby. They are more like your mother, and of course fairies don’t really eat anything to speak of—but it must be of the best—always of the best. She has never known anything but luxury, and luxury she must have. What difference does it make to me? I love to work—but the days are too short. Take some off of the night then—six hours in bed is enough for any man. Edison says even that is too much. What’s that young man’s name? Well, whatever it is, I like him. He should have been an architect—I bet his foundations would have gone deep enough and the authorities would never have condemned one of his walls as unsafe. That’s what they did to me, but it wasn’t my fault—Shockoe Creek was the trouble—creeping up like a thief in the night and undermining my work.”
As Robert Carter rambled on in this weird, disconnected way, the tears were streaming down his face and Helen, crouched on the floor by his side, was sobbing her heart out. Could this be her Daddy? This broken, garrulous man with the gray face and tears, womanish tears, flowing shamelessly from his tired eyes? Dr. Wright was right! Their father was a very ill man and one more ounce of care would be too much for his tired brain. Had she done him harm? Maybe her coming in had upset his reason, but she had not talked, only let him ramble on.
A car stopping at the door! The doctor and Bobby returning with the notary public! What must she do? Here she was in her father’s room, disobeying the stern commands of the physician who could see with half his professional eye that she had harmed his patient. She had time to get out before the doctor could get upstairs—but no! not sneak!
“I may be a murderess and am a selfish, headstrong, bad, foolish, vain, extravagant wretch, but I am not a sneak and I will stay right here and take the ragging that I deserve—and no doubt will get,” remembering the lash that Dr. Wright had not spared.
The doctor entered the room very quietly, “Pussy-footing still,” said Helen to herself. He gave her only a casual glance, seeming to feel no surprise at her presence, but went immediately to his patient, who smiled through his tears at this young man in whom he was putting his faith.
“I’ve been asleep, doctor, and thought I was out on the water. When Helen came in I awoke, but I was very glad for her to come in so she could promise me to look into a little matter of French chops that was worrying me. She and I have been having a little crying party about silk stockings. They seem to make her cry, too. Funny for me to cry. I have never cried in my life that I can remember, even when I got a licking as a boy.”
“Crying is not so bad for some one who never has cried or had anything to cry for.” Helen had a feeling maybe he meant it for her but he never looked at her. “And now, Mr. Carter, I have a notary public downstairs and I am going to ask you to sign a paper giving to your daughter, Douglas, power of attorney in your absence. You get off to New York this evening and sail to-morrow.”
“But, Dr. Whatsyourname, I can’t leave until I attend to tickets and things,” feebly protested the nervous man.
“Tickets bought; passage on steamer to Bermuda and Panama engaged; slow going steamer where you can lie on deck and loaf and loaf!”