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“Yougotobed.I’llseeyouwhenI’mdressed.”
ButwhenIcamedownstairshewasdressed,sittingbythefire,lookingaverysickandmiserableboyofnineyears.WhenIputmyhandonhisforeheadIknowhehadafever.
“Yougouptobed,”Isaid,“you’resick.”
“I’mallright,”hesaid.
Whenthedoctorcamehetooktheboy’stemperature.“whatisit?
”Iaskedhim.
“Onehundredandtwo.”
Downstairs,thedoctorleftthreedifferentmedicinesindifferentcolouredcapsuleswithinstructionsforgivingthem.Onewastobringdownthefever,anotherapurgative,thethirdtoovercomeanacidcondition.Thegermsofinfluenzacanonlyexistinanacidcondition,heexplained.Heseemedtoknowallaboutinfluenzaandsaidtherewasnothingtoworryaboutifthefeverdidnotgoaboveonhundredandfourdegrees.Thiswasalightepidemicoffluandtherewasnodangerifyouavoidedpneumonia.
BackintheroomIwrotetheboy’stemperaturedownandmadeanoteofthetimetogivethevariouscapsules.
“Doyouwantmetoreadtoyou?
“Allright.Ifyouwantto,”saidtheboy.Hisfacewasverywhiteandthereweredarkareasunderhiseyes.Helaystillinthebedandseemedverydetachedfromwhatwasgoingon.
IreadaloudfromHowardPyle’sBookofPrivates;
butIcouldseehewasnotfollowingwhatIwasreading.
“Howdoyoufeel,Schatz?
”Iaskedhim.
“Justthesame,sofar,”hesaid.
IsatatthefootofthebedandreadtomyselfwhileIwaitedforittobetimetogiveanothercapsule.Itwouldhavebeennaturalforhimtogotosleep,butwhenIlookeduphewaslookingatthefootofthebed,lookingverystrangely.
“Whydon’tyoutrytosleep?
I’llwakeyouupforthemedicine.”
“I’dratherstayawake.”
Afterawhilehesaidtome,“Youdon’thavetostayinherewithme,Papa,ifitbothersyou.”
“Itdoesn’tbotherme.”
“No,Imeanyoudon’thavetostayifit’sgoingtobotheryou.”
Ithoughtperhapshewasalittlelightheadedandaftergivinghimtheprescribedcapsulesateleveno’clockIwentoutforawhile.
Itwasabright,coldday,thegroundcoveredwithasleetthathadfrozensothatitseemedasifallthebaretrees,thebushes,thecutbrushandallthegrassandthebaregroundhadbeenvarnishedwithice.ItooktheyoungIrishsetterforalittlewalkuptheroadandalongafrozencreek,butitwasdifficulttostandorwalkontheglassysurfaceandthereddogslippedandslitheredandIfelltwice,hard,oncedroppingmygunandhavingitslideawayovertheice.
WeflushedacoveyofquailunderahighclaybankwithoverhangingbrushandIkilledtwoastheywentoutofsightoverthetopofthebank.Someofthecoveylitintrees,butmostofthemscatteredintobrushpilesanditwasnecessarytojumpontheice-coatedmoundsofbrushseveraltimesbeforetheywouldflush.Comingoutwhileyouwerepoisedunsteadilyontheicy,springybrushtheymadedifficultshootingandIkilledtwo,missedfive,andstartedbackpleasedtohavefoundacoveyclosetothehouseandhappythereweresomanylefttofindonanotherday.
Atthehousetheysaidtheboyhadrefusedtoletanyonecomeintotheroom.
“Youcan’tcomein.”hesaid.“Youmustn’tgetwhatIhave.”
IwentuptohimandfoundhiminexactlythepositionIhadlefthim,white-faced,butwiththetopsofhischeeksflushedbythefever,staringstill,ashehadstared,atthefootofthebed.
Itookhistemperature.
“Somethinglikeahundred.”Isaid.Itwasonehundredandtwoandfour-tenths.
“Itwasahundredandtwo,”hesaid.
“Whosaidso?
“Thedoctor.”
“Yourtemperatureisallright,”Isaid.“It’snothingtoworryabout.”
“Idon’tworry,”hesaid,“butIcan’tkeepfromthinking.”
“Don’tthink,”Isaid,“Justtakeiteasy.”
“I’mtakingiteasy,”hesaidandlookedstraightahead.Hewasevidentlyholdingtightontohimselfaboutsomething.
“Takethiswithwater.”
“Doyouthinkitwilldoanygood?
“Ofcourseitwill.”
IsatdownandopenedthePiratebookandcommencedtoread,butIcouldseehewasnotfollowing,soIstopped.
“AboutwhattimewillitbebeforeIdie?
“Youaren’tgoingtodie.What’sthematterwith?
“Oh,yes,Iam.Iheardhimsayahundredandtwo.”
“Peopledon’tdiewithafeverofonehundredandtwo.That’sasillywaytotalk.”
“Iknowtheydo.AtschoolinFrancetheboystoldmeyoucan’tlivewithforty-fourdegrees.I’vegotahundredandtwo.”
“YoupoorSchatz,”Isaid.“PooroldSchatz.It’slikemilesandkilometers.Youaren’tgoingtodie.That’sadifferentthermometer.Onthatthermometerthirty-sevenisnormal.Onthiskindit’sninety-eight.”
“Areyousure?
“Absolutely,”Isaid.“It’slikemilesandkilometers.Youknow,likehowmanykilometerswemakewhenwedoseventymilesinthecar.”
“Oh,”hesaid.
Buthisgazeatthefootofthebedrelaxedslowly.Theholdoverhimselfrelaxedtoo,finally,andthenextdayitwasveryslackandhecriedveryeasilyatlittlethingsthatwereofnoimportance.
2.TheOpenWindow
AfterSaki
“Myauntwillcomedownverysoon,Mr.Nuttel,”saidaverycalmyoungladyoffifteenyearsofage;
“meanwhileyoumusttrytobearmycompany.”
FramtonNutteltriedtosaysomethingwhichwouldpleasetheniecenowpresent,withoutannoyingtheauntthatwasabouttocome.Hewassupposedtobegoingthroughacureforhisnerves,buthedoubtedwhetherthesepolitevisitstoanumberoftotalstrangerswouldhelpmuch.
“Iknowhowitwillbe,”hissisterhadsaidwhenhewaspreparingtogoawayintocountry;
“youwillloseyourselfdownthereandnotspeaktoalivingsoul,andyournerveswillbeworsethaneverthroughloneliness.IshalljustgiveyoulettersofintroductiontoallthepeopleIknowthere.Someofthem,asfarasIcanremember,werequitenice.”
FramtonwonderedwhetherMrs.Sappleton,theladytowhomhewasbringoneofthelettersofintroduction,oneoftheniceones.
“Doyouknowmanyofthepeopleroundhere?
”askedtheniece,whenshethoughtthattheyhadsatlongenoughinsilence.
“Hardlyone,”saidFramton.“Mysisterwasstayinghere,youknow,aboutfouryearsago,andshegivemelettersofintroductiontosomeofthepeoplehere.”
Hemadethelaststatementinasadvoice.
“Thenyouknowalmostnothingaboutmyaunt?
”continuedthecalmyounglady.
“Onlyhernameandaddress;
”Framtonadmitted.HewaswonderingwhetherMrs.Sappletonwasmarried;
perhapsshehadbeenmarriedandherhusbandwasdead.Buttherewassomethingofamanintheroom.
“Hergreatsorrowcamejustthreeyearsago,”saidthechild.“Thatwouldbeafteryoursister’stime.”
“Hersorrow?
”askedFramton.Somehow,inthisrestfulcountryplace,sorrowsseemedfaraway.
“YoumaywonderwhywekeepthatwindowwideopenonanOctoberafternoon,”saidtheniece,pointingtoalongwindowthatopenedlikeadoorontothegrassoutside.
“Itisquitewarmforthetimeoftheyear,”saidFramton;
“buthasthatwindowgotanythingtodowithyouraunt’ssorrow?
“Outthroughthatwindow,exactlythreeyearsago,herhusbandandhertwoyoungbrotherswentofffortheirday’sshooting.Theynevercameback.Incrossingthecountrytotheshooting-groundtheywereallthreeswallowedinabog.Ithadbeenthatterriblewetsummer,youknow,andplacesthatweresafeinotheryearsbecamesuddenlydangerous.Theirbodieswereneverfound.Thatwastheworstpartofit.”Herethecild’svoicelostitscalmsoundandbecamealmosthuman.“Poorauntalwaysthinksthattheywillcomebacksomeday,theyandthelittlebrowndogthatwaslostwiththem,andwalkinatthatwindowjustastheyusedtodo.Thatiswhythewindowiskeptopeneveryeveningtillitisquitedark.Poordearaunt,shehasoftentoldmehowtheywentout,herhusbandwithhiswhitecoatoverhisarm,andRonnie,heryoungestbrother,singingasong,ashealwaysdidtoannoyher,becauseshesaiditaffectedhernerves.Doyouknow,sometimesonquieteveningslikethis,Ialmostgetastrangefeelingthattheywillallwalkinthroughthewindow-“
Shestoppedandtrembled.ItwasarelieftoFramtonwhentheauntcamebusilyintotheroomandapologizedforbeinglate.
“Ihopeverahasbeenamusingyou?
”shesaid.
“Shehasbeenveryinteresting,”saidFramton.
“Ihopeyoudon’tmindtheopenwindow,”saidMrs.Sappletonbrightly;
“myhusbandandbrotherswillbehomesoonfromshooting,andtheyalwayscomeinthisway.They’vebeenshootingbirdstodaynearthebog,sothey’llmakemypoorcarpetsdirty.Allyoumendothatsortofthing,don’tyou?
Shetalkedoncheerfullyabouttheshootingandthescarcityofbirds,andthehopesofshootinginthewinter.ToFramtonitwasallquiteterrible.Hemadeagreateffort,whichwasonlypartlysuccessful,toturnthetalkontoamorecheerfulsubject.Hewasconsciousthathishostesswasgivinghimonlyapartofherattention,andhereyeswerefrequentlylookingpasthimtotheopenwindowandthegrassbeyond.Itwascertainlyunfortunatethatheshouldhavepaidhisvisitonthissorrowfulday.
“Thedoctorsagreeinorderingmecompleterest,noexcitementandnobodilyexercise,”saidFramton,whohadthecommonideathattotalstrangerswanttoknowtheleastdetailofone’sillnesses,theircauseandcure.
“No?
”saidMrs.Sappletoninatiredvoice.Thenshesuddenlybrightenedintoattention-butnottowhatFramtonwassaying.
“Heretheyareatlast!
”shecried.“Justintimefortea,anddo
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