THE DOCTOR'S - STRATAGEM.

Otago Witness, Issue 2649, 21 December 1904, Page 77

THE DOCTOR'S - - STRATAGEM.

By Babbie the Egyptian.

(For the Witness.) On a bed in a cool dark room tossed a young man.. His eyes were bitterly resentful as he contemplated the havoc which his unexpected illness had wrought on his plans. Bah, it was too awful to be disappointed at the last .moment ! And the cause was^ so apparently trivial. What would Helen think? - Surely it would be a hard matter for her to reconcile herself tn- the necessary alteration in their plans. She was very much afraid of ridiicule, and! probably a considerable amount of that would be hurled at them when the nature of. his illness became known. A vexed frown darkened the man's face. It still lingered there when the doctor was announced.' That individual crossed- over to the bedside briskly, his kindly face ■wearing an anxious expression. The patient and he were sworn friends. "By Jove ! Jack," he commenced, jestinglyY "be'di is a curious place for a man who intends to be married within 26 hours. Is it nervous prostration? I'll give you a stimulant of Man, what is the matter with you?" The last abrupt question was jerked out as he caught sight of the other's face. In

truth, it "was ho wonder that Dr Davischanged so quickly from jest to consternation. Jack Steele's countenance was a woeful sight: large red blisters or lumps quite covered ii>, and his eyes were bloodshot. In answer to the question he gave a dispairing sigh. "I do not know. But whatever it is, you must cure me before to-morrow morning. Js it, m-easles?" he replied. '"iNo," was the laconic^ answer, and then the doctor proceeded* to business. Presently he looked compassionately at his iriend. "You are in for a pretty bad time, I'm afraid," he said gently. "Theie •will be no wedding to-morrow, old fellow. -None of that" (as Jack started up rebelliously and threw the clothes off him) ;

"no tricks, your temperature is 104. Do not dream of getting out of bed until I give you permission, and" (in an undertone) •'that will not be for some time." "What is the matter V" Jack asked feverishly. "Davis, do manage to make me present-able for to-morrow. I must be married." There was a worldi of entreaty in his voice, but Davis shook his head decidedly. "Nonsense, you cannot be. lam sorry enough. You* have erythema, and it will be a long time before your face is clear." -4 A deep groan issued from the pillows ! as the unfortunate man heard the final ! decision." What would Helen think? A vision of t her displeasure came to him. j Had ever man such beastly hard luck as j he? "Come," said the • cheerfully, "draw yourself together. It is only a matter of weeks." Another groan testified to the poverty' of this consolation.

"A matter of weeks, with a nose like a confirmed toper's and a face hideous ■enough for a scarecrow !" Again the man's thoughts reverted to Helen. Who would tell her? After a painful silence he spoke. "Give me paper and pencil," he said. Davis complied with his request. Presently the note was finished, and Jack handed it to his friend. "Please give it to Helen immediately, and if she cares to come, bring her round with you," he said.

'•Very well," and, without more ado, the messenger set off on his errand, leaving behind him a very doleful- individual.

"Jack^ how silly of you!" Helen Rivers was half crying with vexation as she spoke. How inconvenient his illness was, and, besides, even in the twilight his face looked repulsive.

Her lover detected the vexation, and was pained because it was not accompanied by sympathy.

"You know I am sorry, dear," he answered quietly. "I do not know how to bear the thought of the delay." "It is horrible," Mtes Rivers exclaimed petulantly. "Everything is arranged, and now I'll have to explain to everyone. What is- the matter with you,- Jack?" "Ask the doctor," he answered grimly. .."He gave it an outlandish name." ■ "Your face looks dreadful," with a shudder. ' "How long will it last?" "Some weeks," Jack answered dully. He was wondering ' within himself whether or not she was utterly heartless. Since her arrival she had not spoken one word of genuine love or pity for him. For herself she had abundance of the latter commodity. It hurt him. He drew her face down toward his. Was it fancy, or did -she shrink from contact with him? Suddenly he released her.

"Perhaps you are afraid of catching it?" he suggested.

"I am, a little," she admitted reluctantly. "But if you want me to, I'll kiss you." ,-

His eyes were exceedingly wistful, but he did not take advantage of her concession. It was love, not charity, he hungered after. At this juncture the doctor returned to the room, and insisted upon concluding the interview. "You have been quite sufficiently excited," he asserted decidedly. Miss Rivers rosa quickly. "Good night, "Jack," she said, in relieved tones ; "make haste -and get better."

"Good night," Jack answered quietly, with the faintest suspicion of reproach in his voice. "Good night, dear." And, without attempting a caress, she left him. A month had passed. Miss Rivers and Dr Davis were facing each other in the latter's consulting room. Ike young lady was manifestly nervous. "I want you to tell me just exactly how Jack is," she said quickly, after considerable beating about the bush. "Is he getting DetterY"

"Yes," Davis answered slowly, closely observing his companion in the meanwhile ; "he is improving. The fever is almost entirely gone." "But what about the disfigurement?" — very impatiently. "Will that soon disappear?" Scorn filled the doctor. What a paltry little soul this beautiful piece of humanity .possessed! She was not worthy to be Jack Steele's wife. Darting through the barrier of rectitude that guarded the man's character came an overwhelming temptation. (For the time being he would turn Jesuit, an<J allow the end to justify the means. Repressing with difficulty the hot words that strove ior utterance, he lowered his voice to a solemn undertone.

"Since you are to be his wile, I will tell you the worst. He may recover from it in a moiith or so, but that is only a possibility"; probably he will always have marks upon him."

Miss Rivers had received a shock. For a moment she was silent. Davis watched her narrowly, and -saw her eyes harden. With an effort she rose. '"Thank you,"' sh»j said, in a low, lifeless tone. "I am sorry." The doctor looked after the queenly figure as Miss Rivers passed out of his sight. There was a musing light in his eyes. "Will Jack thank me for my interference, I wonder," he murmured, and then, with a sigh of relief, left the consulting room and found his way to his wife's sitting room. She was engaged in attending to the needs of a young tyrant, but when Davis entered she forsook her ministratious for v moment and greeted him gladly. The doctor cast aside his dignity and toyed with his small son. After a time that young gentleman become weary of the fun and dropped off into a peaceful sleep. Mrs Davis carried him away, and then returned to her husand.

"You are pre-occupied," she ventured, looking into his serious face. "What is bothering you?" "I have departedi from the strict path of honour. Listen, little woman mine, and tell me if I have acted rightly." Then, in a few concise words, he told

of Miss Rivers's visit. She listened very attentively with approving face.

"I am glad that you acted as you did," she commented, when he had concluded. "I do not care much about Miss Rivers ; she seems to lack depth. I wonder what Jack sees in her. His first choice was the better of the two. What came between Bessie and he?"

Her husband confessed his ignorance, and then they fell to talking of bygone days — of the happy honeymoon spent in a picturesque country district, and of all the tender associations that were woven around that period of their lives. Presently Ella returned to her starting-point.

"I wish Jack had married Bess Brownlee," she said. "She was a nice girl, and I'm certain that she cared about him."

"It seemed to me that Jack was fond of her also," Davis added. "I suppose they never got beyond a certain point." Miss Bessie Brownlee, of whom Ella spoke, • had come into th: lives of the doctor and his wife just after their marriage. She was the daughter of the old farmer with whom they stayed at that time, and she had endeared herself to the young wife by her kindly ways and sturdy common sense. She was very attractive- in appearance, although not to be compared with Miss Rivers so far as beauty was concerned. But she was full of vivacity, whereas the latter lady was usually a veritable iceberg — stately in very truth, but exceedingly chilling.

Ella sighed. "There has been a mistake," she murmured. "Let us try to bring Bessie and Jack together again if Miss Rivers does not stand the test. How long will it be before he is better?" Davis looked grave. "Poor Jack !" he answered ; "he'll have another month. These cases are usually very slow." "Ah, well," said the doctor's wife, thoughtfully ; ''we'll not let Bess see him until he is himself again ; and then "

The man's eyes twinkled. "My dear little woman," he said, "you have not a great deal of faith in Miss Rivers." For a moment Ella's eyes flashed fire. "Dp you think that I cannot understand Jack's misery?" she cried. "Every time I see him I feel that I would like to give Miss Rivers a tongue thrashing. He is just starving for affection, and she is incapable of it." Davis laughed. "You are quite right," he said, "and it refreshes me to hear your indignation." In the meanwhile Miss Rivers and Jack Steele were both engaged in the ocupation of letter-writing. The young lady finished her task, and addressed the epistle to Jack. That individual concluded his literary labours by addressing his letter to Miss Brownlee, Briar Farm. And far away in the dwelling mentioned, a little country girl, with truthful, sad eyes, sat gazing into the red ashes, and seeing in their fitful glow pictures of the past.

"Do you care to hear of the trouble I've been in? Will it bore you if I confess all my misdeeds?"

The speaker was Jack Steele. He was stretched lazily on the ground under the shade of a gigantic tree. Sitting on a rustic seat was Bessie Brownlee. She answered briskly :

"Tell me everything that interests you. I shall be delighted to listen." The sisterly frankness of this reply vexed Steele. He raised his eyes to the girl's, and read therein something ajore satisfactory to his masculine, and, therefore, exacting, mind. Then he asked an abrupt question. "Do you know why I did not marry?" "No," the girl answered steadily, albeit her colour came and went with startling suddenness.

"Read this," handing her a letter ; "and after you have done so I'll explain." Bessie accepted the letter, read it attentively, and then without comment handed it back. The man looked searchingly at her, and noted with delight the indignant flash of her eyes. "Miss Rivers had interviewed Dr Davis that afternoon, and he had hinted at the probability of my permanent disfigurement. This thought she was unable to endure, and in consequence she sent me my dismissal. I have since thanked Davis tor his kindness in disillusionising me," be said bitterly.

Bess was at a loss for words. "I am sorry," she stammered. "She was cniel." "Do you remember the letter which I sent you about that time? Indeed, if you compare dates you will find that both epistles were written on the same evening." Here he broke off abruptly, a cynical smile on his face. Presently he resumed suddenly. "What a fool I was to think that she would marry me and then come here for a quiet honeymoon, such ris Davis and his wife spent. Thank you for offering your hospitality in response to my request that you shou-d take us in as paying guests." "That was nothing," the girl murmured, "nothing at all." "And it was only six months ago! I have changed since then,'' Steele said dreamily; "I have learned many things." He stole "a glance at his companion's face, and as he looked his heart went out toward her. But he dared not voice his thoughts. How could he hope for a hearing when he had ju^l finished telling the story of his broken engagement? Twilight stole over the land, bringing with it a subtle influence which drew the two who lingered beneath the old tree very near to each other. Steele felt strangely humble. He desired, above all things, to win the forgiveness and love of the cleareyed girl beside him ; and yet lie dared not hope to do so. Three years previously he had hoped that some day she would become his wife. Certainly there had not been any definite understanding between them, but he had hoped that soon there w< uld be ; and she, maybe, in her heart of hearts had shared in his hope. Then he had gone back to the city, and in the whirl of his own circle had forgotten for a time his dream of the future. Fascinated by a beautiful face, he had pledged

to it his love and his allegiance." " The remainder of his story h already known to readers. Poor Jack ! beuarated by Ins own conduct from the '"one woman" whom -he knew now he really loved, he groaned J itf spirit, and was tormented by unavailing^ regret. <"' Finally Bess rose. "Let us go indoors," , she suggested. Steele assented miserably to the proposition, and together they made their way into the old-fashioned sitting roomY Once in the room, Jack faced his companion suddenly. "Bessie, I've been a foci," he fa'tered, hopelessly. "I wish that you ( and I could be as we were three years ago." She understood, and m* tin' instant all the colour left her face. Her lips moved, but iij sound came from them. He was emboldened by something in her eyes — a tender, pitying something which made a new man of him. "Will you forgive- -and forget?" he askod eagerly. ' •-. r-s -, * The answer was scarcely audible, but it was exceedingly satisfactory to the person whom it most concerned. A few weeks late Miss Rivers read an account of Bessie's marriage to Jack. Had Dr Davis seen her afterwards, as she sat with a stc-ny, miserable face, he would have thought his friend amply revenged. Foolish Miss Rivers ! Hsppy Jack !