Making Over Martha 29
"Doncher stir a muscle, Mr. Buller," Martha said imperatively, "till I
make out how this thing works. I don’t want to hurt you more than I got
to, unspringin’ the trap."
Buller swore violently as he bade her, "Go ahead then, and be quick
about it!"
A moment, and the mangled hand was free. Instantly, its owner listed
over on the grass in a dead faint, in total darkness.
Martha felt about in the darkness for the torch, set it glowing and, by
aid of its light, found a flask in Buller’s pocket, some of the contents
of which she forced between his lips. When he was fully conscious, she
bade him pick up his belongings, and come along home with her, where she
could look after his hand, and, if necessary, telephone for the doctor.
Clutching at her shoulder, he staggered to his feet.
"Don’t forget your gun," warned Martha drily.
"Damn the gun!" returned Buller.
Somehow they reached the Lodge. Sam, hearing footsteps, came to the
door with an anxious face.
"Martha," he whispered, before he had made out she was not alone, "hurry
back to the big house. Mr. Ronald’s just called you up this minute. His
wife wants you, and—I’m going for the doctor."
Martha pushed Buller forward into the entry.
"Look after’m, Sam. He was on his way to give us a call. With his
pistol an’ a bunch o’ kindlin’s to fire the house. He heard me comin’,
an’ lay low for a minute, an’ got caught in the trap you set for—the
other fox. But take care of’m," she said, and vanished into the night.
Neither Sam nor Buller spoke for a moment. Then Sam opened the
sitting-room door.
"Come in," he invited the other. "Let’s take a look at your hand."
The tortured Buller thrust it forward where the lamplight could fall
upon it. Sam shook his head.
"That’s beyond me," he explained. "But I tell you what, I’m going for
Dr. Driggs, anyhow. You get in the car and come along with me. Only, I
better take that black dingus off your face, hadn’t I?"
Buller made a clumsy effort to detach it himself, but his left hand
alone could not manage it. Sam did it for him.
"Now, as soon as I get the car," he explained, "we can start."
While he was gone Buller paced the floor like a caged animal, writhing
with pain, crying, cursing. Sam was gone but a few minutes. It seemed
an eternity to the poor, waiting wretch. Then away they sped through
the cool, calming darkness of the night.
In the extremity of his anguish, nothing really signified to Buller, yet
again and again he found himself wondering if Slawson would "split" on
him. As a matter of fact, Sam never opened his lips, beyond delivering
his message to the doctor from Mr. Ronald, then turning Buller over to
him for immediate attention.
The old physician scowled through his spectacles when he saw the wound.
"How did you manage _this_ job?" he asked in his blunt, uncompromising
way.
Buller winced. "Trap. Foxes after my hens. I set a trap to catch
them."
"And got caught in it yourself! Huh! That’s sometimes the way. Here,
swallow this down. It’ll dull the pain some. Now is the time you may
wish you weren’t a drinking man, Buller. I’ll do the best I can for
you, but you’ve given yourself a nasty hurt, and your blood’s not in a
state to help the healing along much. However, we’ll see what we’ll
see. I’ll give you these extra drops to take home with you. Use them if
the pain comes back. Don’t meddle with my bandage, d’you hear. Leave
it alone. And, let me see you in the morning. Now, Mr. Slawson——
Ready!"
Again that swift, almost silent speeding through the night.
Since Buller’s torture had ceased, the motion seemed for him part of a
blissful dream, by which he was being gradually lulled to deeper and
deeper peace. At first he started in to babble fatuously, but Dr.
Driggs brusquely bade him, "Shut up! This is no time for merrymaking!"
and he dropped back into himself, subdued but not suppressed.
At the big house Sam stopped his car.
"I’ll take Buller home, and come back for you," he explained to Dr.
Driggs.
"Better dump him out on the road," was the harsh, whispered rejoinder.
"I know him from the ground up. He lied to me about his hand. He was
up to deviltry of some kind, other than trapping foxes, depend upon it!
Between you and me, that’s a fierce hand he’s got. I don’t envy him his
dance with it."
In the meantime, Martha had found Claire Ronald feverish and excited.
It did not take her long to decide she would not leave the big house
that night. When Sam returned to take him home, Dr. Driggs was not
ready to go. Neither was Martha.
"But _you’d_ better turn in, Slawson," advised Mr. Ronald. "No use in
everybody’s getting worn out. If I should need you, I’ll call you up."
Early next morning the young kitchen-maid from the big house appeared at
the Lodge door for certain necessaries Martha wanted and could not be
spared long enough to come, herself, and fetch.
"Eh, now! You don’t say so! Things must be pretty bad over there!"
observed Ma.
The girl nodded dumbly. She adored Mrs. Ronald.
"If I was you, beggin’ pardon for the liberty," Martha addressed Mr.
Frank, "I’d get a-holt of those doctors an’ nurses from the city you
have engaged. They was comin’ up in two weeks, anyhow. You never can
tell. This might be a false alarm, but then again it mightn’t. Either
way, we don’t want to take no risks."
"I’ll telegraph," said Francis Ronald dully.
"What’s the matter with the telefoam? Ain’t you got a long-distance
connection here?"
While Central was clearing the wire, Katherine Crewe was ushered in.
She hesitated on the library threshold, then came forward rapidly, her
face more lovely than Martha had ever seen it, in its softened
__EXPRESSION__ of human sympathy.
"I’m so sorry—I’ve just heard—I came to see if I could do something—be
of any help," she stammered shyly.
Frank Ronald had risen and was about to reply, when Dr. Driggs pushed
through the doorway, interrupting gruffly.
"I’m not quite satisfied with the way things are going. Nothing to be
uneasy about, you know, but, under the circumstances, I’d like another
man to talk the case over with."
"I’ve just called up the New York specialist. He and the nurses——"
"Lord! I don’t mean _that_! It’ll take _them_ a full day to get here.
We can’t wait that long. I want some one _now_."
"Now?" Frank Ronald echoed, without any appearance of understanding what
the word meant.
"Now," repeated Dr. Driggs. "I’d like to call in——"
Tinkled the telephone-bell with irritating insistence.
Frank Ronald’s cold hand gripped the thing as if he would choke it.
"Hello! Is this New York? Is this Dr. Webster? ’Morning, Dr. Webster!
This is F. B. Ronald speaking. Yes—I’ve called you up, because my
wife—— Can you hear me _now_? Is this better?—My wife—I’m worried
about my wife. I’ve called in Dr. Driggs of this village. He wants
more advice.... Yes, by all means come on at once, and bring the
nurses. But Driggs says he can’t wait. Must have some one
immediately.... Eh? ... _Who_, do you say? ... Boston? Yes, I get that
... Ballard of Boston? ... There’s a young fellow here from Boston named
Ballard, but he ... I don’t believe he’s the man. Wait a minute....
Please repeat that! ... You say he’s the best skill in New England?
National repute? ... I’m afraid.... Hello! Dr. Webster ... Driggs,
here, says _’tis_ the man you mean. He says he was just trying to tell
me, when ... yes ... I’m sure we can get him. Yes, we _are_ in luck!
... Very well ... Burbank Junction ... midnight.... Good-by!"
Francis Ronald’s words and manner were painfully precise.
Thought Martha, "I’ve seen parties none too steady on their pins, just
that kind o’ mincin’ about their steps. As if they’d dare you say they
couldn’t walk a chalk-line. Poor fella. He’s so crazed with worry he
can’t see straight, but he’s goin’ to prove anybody thinks so, is
another!"
When Katherine reached home she found Madam Crewe awaiting her.
"Well, and how are things going? You had your tramp for nothing, eh?
Young Sammy’s account of Mrs. Ronald’s danger was hocus-pocus, of
course!"
"No. Dr. Driggs is very anxious. He wants a consultation. While I was
there Mr. Ronald called up Dr. Webster—_Elihu_ Webster, from home. He’s
coming up with two nurses——"
"And Mrs. Ronald is going to _wait_ for him? That’s obliging of her, I’m
sure!"
"Dr. Driggs had asked Mr. Ronald to let him have Dr. Ballard. He had
asked, before they got Dr. Webster on the wire. Then, the first name
Dr. Webster suggested was Dr. Ballard’s. He called him ’the best skill
in New England.’ Said he was of ’national repute.’"
"You mean Driggs did. Well, what then? Driggs is getting old. He
sometimes muddles. He’s probably got this young sprig here confused
with the great one."
"No, grandmother. Dr. Webster said it. Dr. Driggs only repeated what
Dr. Webster said."
During the pause following Katherine’s statement, Madam Crewe sat quite
still, apparently absorbed in contemplation of her two, tiny hands,
lying folded and motionless in her lap. When, at length, she looked up,
a curious ghost of a smile curled the corners of her mouth.
"Really I am uncommonly gratified. You see, I can’t help thinking, how
barely I missed the honor of being this young man’s grandmother. I’d
have _liked_ to have a grandchild of whom I could be proud."
Katherine winced. "I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you," she said bitterly.
"Don’t mention it. It’s not the first disappointment I’ve had in my
life. It probably won’t be the last. Moreover, now that you _know_,
undoubtedly you’ll think better of your decision to give him up. You’ll
marry him, after all, in spite of the loss of me and my money. So I’ll
have my _eminent_ grandson, whether I want him or not."
"_Grandmother!_"
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