“I love you, Betty Berry,” he continued to repeat, as he turned again and again to the cot. There was an hypnotic effect in the words; and there was a certain numbed surface in his brain that refused to cope with the immediate stresses in the room.
Jethro came early, and was not content to leave the mail at the box. He brought letters, a paper, and a large package. Jethro looked at the face on the cot and at the bare-headed man. Words failed him to whom words were so easy. He ventured to mention the name of a doctor, and was answered furiously:
“I am the doctor.”
Jethro lingered. Morning turned suddenly to look at the cot, and it seemed to the carrier that his eyes would have frightened away death.... Morning caught him by the shoulders:
“You’re a good man, Jethro,” he said hastily. “When I think of that fur robe—it seems as if I’ve got to do something for you with my hands.”
The carrier went his way.
This he found in the newspaper—a “follow” paragraph apparently to the dramatic notice of the day before:
“The second performance of Compassion last night to a fairly filled house is interesting in its relation to the fear frankly expressed in this column yesterday, to the effect that Compassion is too good a play to get on well. The fear was well founded upon experience; and yet we may have before us an exception—a quality of excellence that will not be subdued. It is too much to hope for, that at any other time this season we will be equally glad to find our fear for a play’s future ill-founded.”
Morning had not known of the doubt; and this was the rise of the tide again from the doubt.... He glanced at the package. There was a spreading cold in his vitals. It was from the publisher he had chosen—the Book of John Morning returned.