But Edward explained that infancy was a sine qua non. They especially wished that the child should be too young to have acquired tastes or habits of any kind, whether good or the reverse. They did not seek to gratify a mere whim of the moment,—simply to provide themselves with a plaything,—but hoped to aid in shaping a life of more than ordinary usefulness and worth. The doctor made answer that he would gladly do his best to find such a child as they wished, that he had no doubt of ultimate success, but that they must be prepared to wait.
This interview having been reported to Ellen, the life of the Lindsays at once assumed a brighter character. Edward went to his business with greater zest, and in his wife's eyes was a light he had not seen there for many a day. They now revived their old-time theories of education and physical training. They dispassionately reviewed the respective advantages of European and American universities. They spent a good deal of time in discussing the eligibility of the professions as well as of the sciences and arts. Edward argued that business of any kind was practically out of the question, because, with real estate in its present favorable condition, a few more years would render mere money-getting wholly unnecessary for a child of theirs. They speculated, of course, upon the personal appearance of their expected heir, but they wisely deferred any expression of preference in this respect to the time of his arrival. Names were debated upon daily, until, after many discussions, they made choice of "John," a title which had done honorable service in Ellen's family, and which, Edward said, commended itself as being simple and strong. Meanwhile, though a month passed away without word from the doctor, they waited in confidence. They had no wish, they told each other, that he should act hastily: it was merely a question of time; they could afford to be patient. And at last the doctor sent them a laconic note,—"Come and see me."
Dr. Kreiss had a deservedly large practice, and when the Lindsays presented themselves at his office they were obliged to wait until the numerous company of invalids that preceded them could be attended to. A dead silence prevailed in the room, and both Edward and his wife began to feel uncomfortable after a few minutes had elapsed. They endeavored to amuse themselves by studying the faces of the doctor's patients and guessing at their complaints; but this was not enlivening, and Edward at last essayed conversation. He whispered several things which he thought quite bright and appropriate, but Ellen took them all very seriously and vouchsafed only monosyllables in reply. It being evident that she was not in a mood for pleasantry, he relapsed into silence. But he went on to think of sundry occasions upon which he had waited in a certain dark little anteroom at Primary No.—until the principal might find leisure to flog him. Having exhausted this subject, he looked about for something to read, and descried some books on a table at the farther end of the room. He shrank, however, from the idea of walking over to them and back again in a pair of shoes which he knew very well would squeak. After vainly searching his pockets for a newspaper, he resigned himself to the inevitable, and occupied himself with his watch-chain and in tracing figures on the carpet with his cane.
Finally the doctor got through with the patients who were before them, and the Lindsays were ushered into his presence.
"I've got you a splendid boy," he said, with enthusiasm; whereat they glanced furtively about the room. "Oh, he isn't here," he laughed, "but ready for delivery whenever you say the final word. I only wish to make sure that you are satisfied with the prospect. It's a short story. The mother died at the child's birth, about a year and a half ago. Less than a week ago the father, who was a fine, broad shouldered young fellow engaged in some sort of a shipping business, got an ugly fall on one of the steamers and used himself up pretty thoroughly. I was called to attend the case, and did my best for the poor fellow; but it was no use. He died yesterday morning."
The doctor paused, as if for a leading question. Ellen was mute, and Edward felt constrained to say something: so he asked, "Did you know the mother?"
"Very well," answered the doctor, "She was one of the sweetest girls I ever met anywhere. She was a teacher in one of the public schools before she married, but she was capable of better work than school-teaching, and if she had lived she would have proved it. She had some very bright ideas, I assure you. She was uncommonly pretty, too, with a lot of dark-brown hair, fine eyes, and rather classical features. You'll see it all in the boy. He's his mother from head to heels."
"How does it happen that his relatives are willing to part with him?"
Edward asked.
"Because his father was an orphan himself, and his mother's family is so poor that the child would be a serious burden to them. For all that, I had to make use of some eloquence to get possession of the baby, and only succeeded after representing the many excellencies of the young people who wish to adopt him."
The doctor bowed gracefully. Ellen then found words to say that he had been more than kind, and that if he was satisfied of the child's good health there was no reason for hesitation. Edward, who wished to terminate these preliminaries as speedily as possible, added, "Most certainly not."