The girl’s eyes swept the type-written page, once, twice, then in a tense tone she demanded, “Oh, Mother, do you mean that the Portland cement bonds are in danger—why, I thought—”
“They are to stop paying interest while the company is being reorganized; something has gone wrong. I was afraid of it, as they say cement is being sold at a very low figure.”
“But perhaps it will only be for a time, you are crossing your bridges before you get there as Father used to say,” Nathalie replied with attempted cheerfulness, “but did you not say that they were first mortgage bonds?”
“Yes, but child, we have got to live,” exclaimed her mother irritably; “that money, the interest, is part of my income, and it is little enough—expenses are so heavy. And where the money will come for Dick’s operation I am sure I don’t know—but there, don’t worry—it will be all right in time, I know.” She sank back in her chair and dabbed her reddened eyelids with her moist handkerchief.
“But, Mumsie, tell me, why is it necessary for Dick to have an operation?” questioned Nathalie insistently with anxious eyes.
“The doctor says there is a bone in his leg infected. It will have to be removed, and a new bone put in.”
“A new bone put in!” ejaculated Nathalie, “why—”
“Yes, it is something new in surgery,” replied her mother. “Dr. Morrow says thousands of cripples have been made well by this new method of treating cases like Dick’s. He says—” a long sigh—“if Dick does not have an operation, he will probably be lame, if he is ever able to walk at all.” The tears began to glisten in Mrs. Page’s eyes again, as Nathalie, with a sudden sharp realization what this would mean for Dick and all of them, turned and rushed from the room with the dread that if she remained a moment longer she too would fall to weeping.
She hastened up the attic stairs to her den; she wanted time to think. Oh, suppose there should be no money for the operation, and Dick should be lame all the rest of his life, Dick, who had always been so well and robust, and who for his athletic prowess had won so many silver cups and medals! She threw herself into the low rocker, and leaning her head on her desk began to cry softly; she did not want Mother to hear.
Oh, why did they have so much trouble? How hard it was to lose her father, her beautiful home and friends, to give up college, to have to live in that poky old town—even the Pioneers could not compensate for that—and then to have Dick lame because they had no money! Nathalie wept on in woeful lamentation, feeling with the untriedness of youth that she was a great martyr. Did not God’s world owe her happiness? Was it not sinning against her in denying her right to its joys?