CHAPTER XI.
A POOR PATIENT
I was accustomed to remain in my office till about four o'clock in the afternoon waiting for possible patients. It was a long and weary wait, and oftentimes not a caller rewarded me. I suppose it is the usual fortune of young medical practitioners who are comparatively unknown. When four o'clock came I went out for a walk. Generally my steps tended to Sixth Avenue where there was some life and bustle.
I was compelled to practise the most rigid economy, but I could not deny myself the luxury of an evening paper. I would buy either the Sun or World, each of which cost but a penny. One little newsboy came to know me, and generally lay in wait for me as I emerged from a side street. He was a bright, attractive little boy of ten, whose name I found to be Frank Mills. His clothing was well-worn but clean, and his whole appearance was neat, so that I judged he had a good mother.
Usually Frank's manner was cheerful, but on the day succeeding my visit to the Park I found he looked sober and his eyes looked red as if he had been crying.
"What is the matter, Frank?" I asked.
"My sister is sick," he said, sadly.
"Is it an older sister?"
"Yes; she works at O'Neil's dry goods store. She has been sick two days."
"What is the matter?"
"Mother thinks it is a fever."
"Have you called a doctor?"
"N—no," answered Frank.
"Why not?"
"We haven't any money to pay a doctor. We are very poor, and now that sister isn't working I don't know how we shall get along. There is no one to earn money except me, and I don't make more than thirty cents a day."
"If I were rich, Frank, I would help you."
"I am sure you would, sir, for you look like a kind gentleman."
This simple tribute went to my heart. The boy felt that I was a friend, and I determined that I would be one so far as I was able.
"Still I can do something for you. I am a doctor, and if you will take me round to your house I will look at your sister and see if I can do anything for her."
The boy's eyes lighted up with joy.
"Will you be so kind, sir? I will go with you now."
"Yes, Frank, the sooner the better."
I followed him for perhaps a quarter of a mile to a poor house situated on one of the side streets leading down to the North River. The street was shabby enough, and the crowd of young children playing about showed that it was tenanted by poor families, rich in children if nothing else.
Frank stopped at one of these houses and opened the door into a dirty hall.
"We live on the top floor," he said, "if you won't mind going up."
"I shall mind it no more than you, Frank," I said. "I am still a young man."
We climbed three staircases, and stood on the upper landing.
"I'll go in and tell mother I have brought a doctor," said Frank. "Just wait here a minute."
He opened a door and entered. He came out again almost immediately. He was followed by a woman of perhaps forty, with a pleasant face, but looking very sad.
"Welcome, doctor," she said. "Frank tells me you were kind enough to offer us your services."
"Yes, I am glad to do what I can for you."
"This is my daughter. I feel very much worried about her."
The daughter lay on a bed in an inner room (there were but two). She was pale and looked ill-nourished, but in spite of the delicacy of her appearance, she was pretty.
"Alice, this is the doctor," said her mother. Alice opened her eyes languidly, and tried to smile.
"Let me feel your pulse," I said.
The pulsations were slow and feeble.
The mother fixed her eyes upon me anxiously, and awaited my verdict.
"Your daughter is quite run down," I said. "She has very little strength, but I do not find any positive indications of disease."
"You are right, no doubt, doctor," said the mother with a sigh. "She is a delicate girl, and I am sure she was overworked."
"She is employed in a dry goods store, Frank tells me."
"Yes, she is at O'Neil's. They are very considerate there, but it is hard to be standing all day."
"It would be hard for any one. I am a man and strong, but I don't think I could endure it. She ought to have two weeks' rest, at least, before returning to work."
"I am sure you are right, doctor," said Mrs. Mills, "but how can it be managed? We have but two breadwinners, Frank and Alice. Frank, poor boy, brings in all he can, but Alice earns six dollars a week. It is upon that that we depend for our living. It is a hard thing to be poor, doctor."
"Indeed it is," I answered.
"You speak as if you know something about it."
"I do. I am a young physician, with very little money, and few patients. Life with me is a struggle, as it is with you."
I was well dressed—that is a necessity with a professional man, who must keep up appearances—and this perhaps made it difficult for Mrs. Mills to believe that I was really poor.
"What do you prescribe, doctor?"
"No medicines are needed. What your daughter needs most is strengthening food—to begin with a little beef tea."
Mrs. Mills looked embarrassed. I understood her embarrassment. What I ordered was simple enough; but where was the money to come from, to supply the sick girl's needs?
"I can make some beef tea," she said, after a pause, "and some bread."
"It is just the thing," I said, cheerfully.
"Then you don't think she needs any medicine?"
"No."
There was still that anxious look on the mother's face. Alice was the breadwinner, and she was sick. How were they to live?
An idea came to me.
"I will call again to-morrow morning," I said, cheerfully.
"You are very kind, doctor. I should like to pay you, but we are so miserably poor."
"Don't let that trouble you for a moment. I can give you some of my time, for of that I have plenty."
CHAPTER XII.
THE DISAGREEABLE WOMAN IN A NEW LIGHT
I have said that I had an idea. The destitute condition of this poor family weighed upon me, and excited my sympathy. With my scanty means I could give them only advice, but could I not secure help from others.
Mrs. Gray, my landlady, would perhaps furnish a supply of food, but though a good woman in the main she was not inclined to be charitable. She was inclined to be suspicious of those who applied to her for help, and I did not want to subject Mrs. Mills to any new sorrow or mortification. Among my fellow boarders, I could not think of one to whom I could apply, except—well, yes, except the Disagreeable Woman. Under her cynical exterior I suspected there was a sympathetic heart, though I believe that I alone gave her credit for it. I resolved to speak to her about my poor patient.
As the reader already knows, I sat next to Miss Blagden at the table. Toward the close of supper I said in a low voice: "If you will allow me, Miss Blagden, I will walk with you a short distance after supper. I have something to say to you."
She looked surprised, but answered promptly, "I shall be glad of your company."
This was the most agreeable speech I had heard from her since our acquaintance commenced.
Nothing more was said till I found myself walking by her side toward Broadway.
"Now?" she said, expectantly.
"I am going to take a liberty," I said. "I am going to try to interest you in a poor family. I of course know nothing of your means, but my own are so limited that in spite of my profound sympathy I can only give my medical services, while more is needed."
"Go on, doctor," she said, and there was unwonted kindness in her tone.
I told her the story in brief words, and she seemed interested.
"Your young patient has no organic disease?" she inquired.
"None whatever. She is ill-nourished, and works too hard. That is the whole story."
"They are very poor."
"You can judge. Their income cannot be more than seven dollars and a half, and of this the girl earns six dollars. Her sickness will entail some outlay, and there is only the boy to earn money now."
"It is very sad, doctor. How little we whose wants are provided for know of the sufferings of the poor! But fortunately," she added, and a rare smile lighted up her features and made her positively attractive, in spite of her name, "fortunately there is a remedy. When do you see this poor family again?"
"I shall call to-morrow morning after breakfast."
"And in the meantime do you think they will suffer for the lack of food?"
"It may be so. I don't think they have much money in the house?"
"Do you think you could make it convenient to call there this evening?"
"Yes, I am sure I could. Their poor home is less than half a mile distant from our boarding-house."
"Then, doctor, be kind enough to hand them this."
She drew out her purse and handed me a five dollar bill.
I suppose I showed the joy I felt.
"Miss Blagden," I said, "you could not give me a more agreeable commission."
"I believe it, doctor."
There was an unwonted softness in her tone, and her smile was positively attractive.
How could we call her the "Disagreeable Woman?"
CHAPTER XIII.
MRS. WYMAN'S CURIOSITY
I was passing our boarding-house on my return from the walk with Miss Blagden when Mrs. Wyman tapped on the window, and opened it.
"I saw you!" she said, in a bantering tone.
"At supper?"
"No, I saw you walking away with Miss Blagden. So you are smitten at last!"
I smiled.
"I assure you," I said, "there is nothing between us."
"You seem uncommonly attentive," and I thought there was something of pique in her tone.
"What can I do?" I answered. "You have forsaken me, and devote yourself to the Count."
"As if I could forget you!" she said, in a sentimental tone.
If she had known how utterly indifferent I was to her favor or disfavor she would hardly have been complimented. She had transferred her attentions to Count Penelli, but she still wished to retain her hold upon me.
"By the way," she said, suddenly, "are you going to hear Patti during her present engagement?"
"Do you take me for a millionaire?"
"Her prices are frightful!" she said, thoughtfully. "Of course I cannot go without an escort."
"If you will secure two tickets, I will accompany you."
"Thank you, but I am so poor. Still I dote on music, and I would buy my own ticket."
I shrugged my shoulders, and declined to take the hint.
"Very probably the Count will wish to go. He is an Italian, you know, and would have the advantage of understanding the language."
"True."
"As a nobleman he is doubtless above money considerations."
"You are mistaken. He is the heir to great estates, but he is out of favor with his father, and has to live on a very small allowance. It is a pity, isn't it?"
"He might work at some business, and replenish his purse."
"But you must remember he is a nobleman. His rank debars him from many positions that would be open to a common man."
"I am glad that I am not a nobleman, then."
"Ah, he might not object to being a doctor if he were trained to that profession. I wish there were any way of getting a ticket to Patti, without such a monstrous outlay. Can't you think of any way?"
"Mr. Blake is connected with a morning paper. Perhaps he may be entitled to a Press ticket."
"Thank you, Dr. Fenwick. That is an excellent suggestion. I will speak to him to-morrow morning. Where are you walking, if I may ask?"
"To see a poor patient. Will you accompany me?"
"No, no, I should be afraid of catching some horrid fever or something."
"The family is poor, and stands very much in need of assistance."
"How will they pay you, then?"
"They won't pay me. I shall not ask any compensation."
"I think you are foolish to waste your time on such people. They can't benefit you."
"I can help them."
"You will never get rich in that way."
"I do not expect to. I shall be satisfied if I can make a living. If you feel inclined to be charitable, I can recommend Mrs. Mills as deserving all the help you are inclined to bestow."
"I positively haven't a cent to spare. Besides it would make it all the more difficult to hear Patti."
Mrs. Wyman closed the window. The conversation had taken a turn which she did not relish.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE QUALITY OF MERCY
When I knocked again at the door of Mrs. Mills, she opened it and regarded me in some surprise.
"Did you think Alice would be worse?" she asked.
"No, but I am commissioned by a charitable lady, one of my fellow boarders, to give you this."
She took the bill which I offered her, and her face lighted up with joy.
"It is a godsend," she said. "I was feeling very anxious. We had but twenty-five cents in the house."
"This will help along."
"Indeed it will. How kind you are, doctor," and her eyes filled with grateful tears.
"I would like to be kind, but my ability is limited."
"And who is this lady to whom I am indebted?"
"We call her the Disagreeable Woman."
She looked very much surprised.
"Surely you are jesting, doctor."
"No; she is a social mystery. She is very blunt and says many sharp things."
"But she sends me this money. She must have a good heart."
"I begin to think so. It would surprise all at the table if they knew she had done this."
"I shall think of her as the Agreeable Woman."
"Now, Mrs. Mills, I am going to give you some advice. What your daughter needs is nourishing food. Use this money to provide it not only for her but for yourself."
"I will—but when this is gone," she hesitated.
"We will appeal to the Disagreeable Woman. What has your daughter taken?"
"I have given her some beef tea."
"That is good as far as it goes. Do you think she could eat a bit of steak?"
"I will ask her."
Alice seemed so pleased at the suggestion that Frank was dispatched to the butcher's for a pound of sirloin steak, and a few potatoes. Soon the rich and appetizing flavor of broiled steak pervaded the apartment, and a smile of contentment lighted up the face of the sick girl.
"Now mind that you and Frank eat some too," I said. "I will see you to-morrow morning.
I made a report to Miss Blagden at breakfast.
"If you had seen how much pleasure your gift gave, you would feel amply repaid," I said to her.
"Doctor," she said, earnestly, "I thank you for mentioning this case to me. We are so apt to live for ourselves."
"I also mentioned the case to Mrs. Wyman," I added.
"Well?" she asked, curiously.
"She said she was very poor, and wanted to buy a ticket to Patti's concert."
Miss Blagden smiled.
"I am not surprised to hear it," she said. "Did you ever hear Patti, Dr. Fenwick?"
"No, Miss Blagden. I am new to the city, and I am cut off from expensive amusements by my limited means."
"Do you like music?"
"Very much. When Patti gives a concert at fifty cents, I may venture to go."
At supper Miss Blagden placed something in my hand.
I looked at it, and found that it was a ticket to Patti's concert on the following evening. It would give me admission to the most expensive part of the house.
"You are very kind, Miss Blagden," I said, in grateful surprise.
"Don't mention where you got it. You may consider it in the light of a fee for attendance upon your poor patient. By the way, how is she? Have you been there to-day?"
"Yes; she is doing well, but is in a great hurry to get well. The rent comes due next week, and—"
"How much is it?" asked Miss Blagden, interrupting me.
"Seven dollars."
She drew a ten dollar bill from her pocket-book and extended it to me.
"Give that to Mrs. Mills," she said.
"You make me very happy as well as her; I am beginning to find how kind and charitable you are."
"No, no," she said gravely. "There are few of us of whom that may be said. How soon do you think your patient will be able to resume work?"
"Next Monday, I hope. She is gaining rapidly."
"How thick you are with the Disagreeable Woman!" said Mrs. Wyman, when she next met me. "Don't fail to invite me to the wedding."
"On one condition."
"What is that?"
"That you invite me to your wedding with the Count."
She smiled complacently and called me a naughty man. I wonder if she aspires to become a Countess.