WINGED YOUTH

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20509, 10 January 1935, Page 16

WINGED YOUTH

Author of “The Haven of Desire.” etc.

By

CAPT. FRANK. H. SHAW.

(CHAPTER XX.—Continued.) Barriers melted mysteriously. Gwen Craddock had done the proper thing, sinking herself to give Betty praise for Peter's making-over. It was simple tact and it worked wonders. Betty was flushed and pale by turns and moisture swam into her eyes. The sudden wail of Michael brought back reality. “I say, how’s the lad ?” Peter asked. “He doesn’t seem so well,” admitted Betty. “Did you tell the doctor—?” “Perhaps I can do something; Peter wasn’t a young elephant as he is now when he was a baby,” suggested Mrs. Craddock. And before sitting in to tea, she was taken to see the Craddock hope. A couple of glances assured her that things were far from right. She hesitated to suggest, but one or two questions showed her that Betty was dealing adequately with the situation, so far as her knowledge went. “You’re on the ’phone, of course?” she asked. Yes, of course—it had been installed not long before. “I should hurry up your doctor, I chink,” she recommended. • “It may be nothing; but it is as well to be sure.” She smiled cheerfully at Peter and Betty. All lies are not from the lips alone. Peter applied himself to the receiver. Dr. Wichbourne, newly in from his rounds, was now at tea, but would come along as soon as possible. “I’ll nip in and run you out, if you Jike,” Peter offered. Dr. Wichbourne thought it unnecessary; it would mean four journeys instead e€ iwo. .He would be along. »Tt seemed an eternity before he arrived. Mrs. Craddock kept in the background, afraid lest she intruded and spoilt a proper understanding developing between herself and Peter’s wife. “Just infantile trouble,” she assured Peter, who was beginning to get uneasy. “I remember when you were Miko’s age, clear, you scared me out of my life. And Betty seems very capable.” “Oh, she’s all that. I say, mother, fair’s fair! Isn’t she tophole? Wait till I tell you some of the things she’j done.” They established perfect relations in that suspenseful gap whilst Dr. Wicl.bourne remained upstairs with Betty. “Let me know at ten o’clock just how the child is,” cautioned Wichbourne. “Craddock, eh ? A distinguished name in my profession Sir Peter.” “What, my father?” “Is Grant Craddock your father?” Respect hitherto absent was evident in Wichbourne’s manner. A titled youngster was neither here nor there, but a man of Grant Craddock’s eminence meant a lot. “I had the honour of acting as anaesthetist to your gifted father, sir,” he exclaimed. “He had miraculous powers—miraculous.” “I say, mother, Doc here knows the governor,” Peter laugher. “Talk to him for a bit, 'there’s an angel!” He hurried up the stairs. Mrs. Craddock considered Dr. Wichbourne. “Just how ill is that baby?” she asked. “It is early yet to diagnose accurately, ma’am. There are suspicious symptoms. If Mr. Craddock is in the vicinity I’d welcome his opinion. A remarkable diagnostician, I remember. Remarkable.” “If you think it wise, I’ll wire for him to come.” “There is nothing so far to warrant bringing him all this distance, with his many interests and obligations. I thought that if he were here —tut-tut; no—the case so far gives me no real concern.” “Keep me informed, Mrs. Craddock. You are steady; that young mother upstairs is apt to be—well, youth is youth. I’ll send a boy out on a bicycle with a mixture —something in a bottle quietens motherly fears.” He went away, and Peter came downstairs. “Odd thing about Betty,” he said; she’s got as much pluck as an army, but now she's worrying about Miko. I wonder if you’d—” Mrs. Craddock went upstairs. She was needed, she felt; she was. glad she had come. This illness would serve as i key to unlock the gates erected between their mutual lives. The boy arrived with the medicine, and grumbled about the snow; lie departed, cheered by a shilling. Quietness reigned, but Peter had the impression that some shadow had entered the house to darken it. He grew uneasy and restless. But there was one thing about the mater being there—she gave, a man a sort of confidence. He felt so much in the way that he went over to the works. Mr. Greene was just leaving. “It’s a pity the weather’s broken this way,” the manager said. “They’ll have that bus ready for a test to-morrow. What’s this my wife tells me about your boy being seedy ?” “Oh, it’s nothing; Wichbourne’s just gone, and my mater’s here —I say, the bus looks all right, doesn’t she? Let’s hope this snow doesn't carry on.” He busied himself with the beautiful machine and forgot for the nonce his suspense. Back at home he found a strained Betty. Miko, it appeared, had developed a temperature. She ran up to him like a child and held up lips that trembled. “Peter, I’m scared,” she admitted. “Baby doesn’t seem to know me the way he did.” He comforted her, patting her back. “That’ll be all right; the mater’s here, you know. Darned lucky I asked her along. I say—she's not—butting in?” “No; she’s dear; I’ve stopped being scared of her. But, oh, Peter! If anything happened to baby!” “Nothing's going to happen,” Peter assured her. But with midnight Peter found it incumbent to arouse Dr. Wichbourne on his mother's and Betty’s joint entreaty. “I say, Doc, I wish you’d come out here,” he ’phoned. “The kid’s not so good as he was, and my wife’s worried. I’ll tell you what—l’ll nip in and fetch you; save you turning out your own bus. Ob, no, don't worry.” Actually he felt helpless and hated the feeling. He wanted to be of use, and scaring through the night would make him feel he was doing something. It was snowing pretty hard as he went to the garage. A keen wind was howling, though in the well-built cottage it had not been so noticeable. Driving at speed was none too easy, with the white snow blinding the headlights; but Peter knew the road and made good timing. He collected Wichbourne, who shivered inside his ulster, and started back. “I heard the last news bulletin,” the doctor told him, speakinjf nervously, for Peter’s driving was a revelation in risk. “They say this snowfall is more or less common over the entire country, especially in the sontli, and there are fears it may increase.” k

“Oh, we can get through easily enough,” Peter responded carelessly. “I’ll put the chains on to bring you back, doctor. I say, honestly, is there anything likely to be bad with our kid? - ’ “Nothing beyond the resources of medical skill, Sir Peter.” Dr. Wichbourne closed his eyes, and contrived to doze off a little. Peter rushed him upstairs, and then paced the cottage floor impatiently. He’d be sick if anything happened to yitwiig Mick. There was a quality about that kid—his intelligence, his good temper, and a particularly infectious gurgle he gave when trying to laugh. Apart from his own interest in the infant, Peter fretted about Betty. It seemed an eternity before his mother appeared, in her dressing-gown. “Help me to get things ready; Dr. Wichbourne has decided to stay for tonight,” she said. His calm, resource-

ful mother, Peter thought, had been weeping—her eyes were red-rimmed and damp. “Sec here,” he gulped, “are things pretty bad?” “No, oh no. I think the doctor dreads travelling in such weather. No. dear, everything is quite all right. We can make up the divan in the drawing-room for a bed; and then —there’s vou. Peter, dear, you look terribly fagged; shall I make you some coffee ?” Dr. Wichbourne, when he came down, looked grave; so grave that Peter tiptoed upstairs and listened outside the floor, whence came what he thought ta be sounds of soft weeping, crossed with a low and infinitely touching moaning. He found he was digging his nails into his palms until they hurt. He wished his father was there. There was. he remembered tardily, something mightily reassuring about him. He might be a bit pig-headed, but he was sound—yes, sound. Even if you didn’t know he was ai;. eminent surgeon vou felt he was something out of the ordinary somehow. There was nowhere for Peter to go; a man was in the way in the house where there was sickness. He descended when quietness was restored behind that door, and slumped into a chair in the dining-room. Cold, it was, since the fire had been allowed to die out. It must be freezing a lot. He thawed the window-panes with his breath and stared out to a world of dusky white. Some snowstorm! One way and another, Peter thought, it was a good thing Wichbourne had resolved to stay rather than risk that road. Ugh! He fetched his thick motoring coat and snugged himself in it, but when he dozed fitfully the chill awakened him. He foraged about and found firewood; made some effort after a fire—ah! that was better. And since lie was on the job. better start a kettle boiling, in case those upstairs wanted tea. He went to sleep with the kettle on the hob; and then he was suddenly awake, awake and scared. Something was far wrong, he blindly thought. Movements upstairs—hurried movements. He hurried to the drawingroom— the divan was empty. It was daylight, of sorts—a yellowish sort of pallor clung to the reluctant world. The snow was pretty thick, and it was still snowing hard flakes as big as poached Old Wichbourne looked odd that wav —without a collar and with grev stubble on his lean face, his eyes rheumy and peering. His mother, too— She was pallid and wide-eyed, with a strain on her face. “What is it?” demanded Peter. Doctor and mother engaged glances; Mrs. Craddock's lip trembled. She turned away. Wichbourne was hardier. “Your child is grievously ill, Sir Peter.” Peter gulped and felt colder than before, shivery-cold. “He’s not—not ?” he panted. A fellow mustn't make a show of himself. “No. no,” the doctor made haste tc reassure him. He licked his lips tha» were purple and cracked, and lie passed a rasping hand over the chin-stubble. “No, heaven forbid no, not dead. Bui It came out with maddening slowness. Miko might die. Somethin** internal, something terriblv intricate °had developed with the suddenness characteristic of a rare and as yet not tlioroughly understood complaint. “But but you’re not going to—let Jilin die, are you?” gasped Peter blanklv. An early operation, a difficult one almost a miraculous one. Peter understood. might save his child. “Well, that’s all right.” he growled, wondering why men were denied the privilege of.tears, “operate.” ‘A on hardly understand, youncr sir. I am a G.P.—out of practice, and—there is only one surgeon I would feel confidence in. It means an unusual operation—” “Well, get him,” barked Peter, his face working.

“Peter, dear—it's daddy,’* said the mother. “Don’t you understand?** He did understand —first the irony of it. then the need. He, who thought himself s/> self-sufficient, so capable of steering his own course, who had steered it, by God. and proved his argument, must be in the last resource dependent on the father at whose wisdom he had scoffed! His own child bad been thrown into the balance against him. To confess to fail at this hour! “Would he come?” he asked in a parched, uncertain way. “Of course he would, Peter—don’t you know your father better? Do you think he would hesitate—l’ll try to get through to him by telephone, shall T?’* “No. mother —1 will.” He made his surrender in saying that, and hardly felt it. though he wondered afterwards how it was he’d coma to accept Fate’s ruling so readily. “Be quick then. And tell him to be sure to wrap up well.” (To be concluded.)