"i wonder what i'd better do with these." she looked at the flowers in the box in her lap. "they're about the prettiest ones she's sent you—forget-me-nots." she lifted a handful of the blossoms and held them out.
he regarded them cynically. "i'm not likely to forget!" he said.
she looked at him over the flowers and smiled. "she doesn't seem to forget either.... i guess she thinks a good deal of you," she added quaintly.
he shook his head. "you'd be wrong. she doesn't care any more for me than—that clothes-pole there!"
aunt jane looked at it uncritically.
"she sent those—" he motioned to the flowers, "to herman medfield's money! she began on the boy," he said scornfully. "she's a dozen years older than julian and twice as clever. i packed him off to europe when i found out—then she started in on the old man!"
[pg 138]
aunt jane looked at him with interest. "i didn't know as you had a boy—how old is he?" she said quickly.
"twenty-two," said medfield.
"that's an interesting age, isn't it?" aunt jane was thoughtful. "that's just the age my boy would have been—if he'd lived. i'm always wondering what he would be doing now." she was silent a minute. then she looked at him and smiled. "europe isn't so very far off," she said.
she gathered up the flowers in her lap, and glanced toward the door.
herman medfield's dinner was being brought in.
miss canfield carried the big tray in both hands. aunt jane glanced at it and got up.
"i guess i'll give your flowers to mrs. pelton," she said slowly. "she doesn't happen to have any flowers. nobody's sent her any—yet. she'll be real pleased with 'em."
she cast another glance at the tray. "they've brought you a good dinner to-day—beefsteak and onions and green peas."
from the door she looked back. "i'll tell her mr. herman sent them."
[pg 139]
the nurse who was bending over herman medfield, tucking the napkin into his coat, saw a quick flush come in the thin face. she seemed not to notice it as she placed the tray before him.
"shall i cut your meat?"
"yes—please."
he watched the efficient fingers cut the juicy steak in strips and he glanced at the face bending above the tray. the reddish hair drawn trimly up under the cap and the look of competence in the face and in the firm hands.
she gave him the knife and fork and glanced at the tray. "you have everything you need? here's your bell."
she placed the cord where he could reach it and turned away.
but herman medfield's look stayed her. "you didn't know my name was herman, did you?" he said it with a little quizzical smile.
"i thought it was medfield," replied the girl. she looked at him with clear, straight eyes. "the flowers come to herman medfield."
[pg 140]
"that was a mistake," he said. "they got it wrong when i came—on the books—and it was in the papers, i suppose.... it's quite a joke that i should have had all herman medfield's flowers." he chuckled a little. "he's a distant relative of mine—herman medfield— but quite a different sort of man," he added quietly. "i don't see any salt here——"
she glanced quickly at the tray and went out to bring the salt.
he smiled at his dinner blandly and began to eat. he would get rid of the incubus of herman medfield's money for a while—and see how it felt.
his whole body relaxed as the weight of herman medfield went sliding from his shoulders.... no more suspicions, no more watching while people talked to him, for the inevitable money to crop up, or for some philanthropic scheme to put its hand in his pocket, on the sly.... they seemed to think, if a man had money, that he doted on orphan asylums and libraries and dormitories! he wished, fervently, that he might never hear of another college or foundation, or any[pg 141] sort of institution for doing good. he longed to be rid of it all. he wanted to be like other men—a human being—for a month, for six weeks.... he began to wonder how long a patient could stay in the berkeley house of mercy—how sick he had to be?... they shouldn't turn him out too soon. he could invent an ache or two. he would take a long vacation from his money.
miss canfield brought the salt. she looked at his face as she put it down. "you're feeling better, aren't you?" she said.
he relaxed the cheerful look. "a little better," he admitted. "some pain still."
she smiled. it was only in the children's ward that they were glad to let the pains go—that they ignored them or forgot them as quickly as they could.... men were all alike—men and women were the same in cherishing their pains and the memory of their pains—women a little more reluctant than men, perhaps, to see them go. men were more like children.
this gray-haired man, eating his dinner happily, was a little like a child, she thought as she watched him. he seemed to have[pg 142] grown younger—even in a day.... it was curious they should have got his name wrong on the books.... it was probably because of the aristocratic look. he was a very stately figure, leaning back there against the pillows, in his embroidered chinese coat, with his gray hair and little pointed beard.... she turned to go.
"won't you sit down? can't you stay?" said medfield politely.
"there's another patient waiting. they've put me on double special since you are better." she nodded to him and went out.
he watched her go, almost regretfully. it was wonderful what a difference it made, wanting to have people around—now that money could not get between.... he would have liked to talk with the girl. ask her about her family and how she came to be a nurse. he wondered what sort of a home a girl like that had come out of, and what she expected to do.
more than once, as he had watched her moving about the room, absorbed in her work, he had thought of julian.... it occurred to him to wonder what julian would[pg 143] be like now. he had not seen the boy for two years—not since he sent him off to europe. he glanced a little resentfully at the black-edged card lying on the stand beside him.... if it had not been for julia cawein and her airs and fascinations, the boy would be here now.
his thought recurred to the girl who had just left him. he had never seen any one work just the way she worked—as if she loved it. she moved quietly and easily, as if there were plenty of time to do all that must be done in the day.... she would make a good wife for some man.... and it suddenly struck him that a rich young fellow would be lucky to marry a girl like that.... he wondered when julian would be coming home.
