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Show , t ward pressed hard. Sin l.:;l . " moment. Sin' stood beside I.ii.i and stroked Iiis hand. "I'm sorry, Jnlmny." Ilo pretended to think ihat her sympathy sym-pathy was for his fall from the estate of a private patient to the free ward. "Oh, I'm all rij-'ht, Miss Sidney." lie said. "Mr. IIowo is paying six dollars a week for me. The difference between me and (lie other fellows around here is that I got a napkin on my tray and they don't." I'.efore his determined cheerfulness Sidney choked. "Have they told you what the trouble trou-ble is?" "Back's broke. But don't let that worry you. Ir. Max Wilson is going to operate on me. I'll be doing the tango yet." Sidney's eyes shone. Of course, Max could do it. What a thing it was to be "The Street" and Its People Come to Understand More About That Death Which Is the Wage of Sin, and to Puzzle Cver the Designs of Providence. K. LeMoyne, a queer stranger with gentle manners, becomes a roomer at the Page home, presided over by Sidney, her invalid mother moth-er Anna, and her Aunt Harriet, an old maid dressmaker. Sidney becomes be-comes a hospital nurse through the influence of Dr. Max Wilson, a brilliant young surgeon smitten with her charm. K. loves her from a distance; so does Joe Druinmond, an old high-school chum. At the hospital Sidney learns the world's sorrows. She becomes acquainted ac-quainted with Carlotta Harrison, who has been intimate with Wil- . son and who Is jealous of unoffending Sidney. Sidney's chum, Christine Chris-tine Lorenz, marries Palmer Howe, a young society rake, and they take rooms at the Page home. Despite K's efforts to avoid strangers, Dr. Max meets him one night and finds he is an old friend, a famous Doc-' tor Edwardes, supposedly dead. Max keeps the secret. Sidney's mother dies and the shock puts the girl to bed with a low fever. Palmer Howe becomes untrue to his bride. IS P '-A wmkM r ways. I would rather be here than anywhere any-where else in the world." But ho did not look at her. There was so much that was hopeless in his eyes that he did not want her to see. "In one way, it will be a little better bet-ter for you than if Christine and Palmer Pal-mer were not in the house. You like Christine, don't you?" "Very much." "She likes you, K. She depends on you, too, especially since that night when you took care of Palmer's arm before we got Doctor Max. I often think, K., what a good doctor you would have been. You knew so well what to do for mother." She broke off. She still could not trust her voice about her mother. "Palmer's arm is going to be quite straight. Dr. Kd is so proud of Max over it. It was a bad fracture." Ho had been Availing for that. Once at least, whenever they were together, she brought Max into the conversation. She was quite unconscious of it. "Y'ou and Max are great friends. I knew you would like him. lie is interesting, in-teresting, don't you think?" "Very," said K. To save his life, he could not put any warmth into Ids voice. He would be fair. It was not in human nature to expect more of ltim. "Those long talks you have, shut in your room what in the world do you talk about? Politics?" "Occasionally." She wtts a lit tle jealous of those evenings, eve-nings, when she sat alone, or when Harriet, sitting w ith her, made sketches under the lamp to the accompaniment of a steady hum of masculine voices from across the hall. Not that she was ignored, of course. Max came in always, before he went, and, leaning over the back of a chair, would inform her of the absolute blankness of life in thei hospital without her. And IC. would stand in the doorway, quietly smoking, or go back to his room anil lock away in his trunk the great German books on surgery with which he and Max had been working out a case. So K. sat by the dining-room table and listened to her talk of Max that last evening together. When the bells announced midnight, Sidney roused with a start. She realized that for some time neither of them had spoken, and that K.'s eyes were fixed on her. The little clock on the shelf took up the burden of the churches, and struck the hour in quick staccato notes. Sidney rose and went over to K., her black dress in soft folds about her. "He is born, K." "He is born, dear." She stooped and kissed his cheek lightly. Christmas day dawned thick and white. Sidney left the little house at six, with the street light still burning through a mist of falling snow. The hospital wards and corridors were still lighted when she went on duty at seven o'clock. She had been assigned to the men's surgical ward, and went there at once. She had not seen Carlotta Harrison since her mother's moth-er's death ; but she found her on duty in the surgical ward. The older girl greeted her plesantly. "We were all sorry to hear of your trouble," she said. "I hope we shall get on nicely." Sidney surveyed the ward, full to overflowing. At the far end two cots had been placed. "The ward is heavy, isn't it?" "Very. I've been almost mad at dressing hour. There are three of us you, myself and a probationer." The first light of the Christmas morning was coming through the windows. win-dows. Carlotta put out the lights and turned in a businesslike way to her records. "The probationer's name is Ward-well," Ward-well," she said. "Perhaps you'd better CHAPTER XIII Continued. 11 "I've got something to tell you," she said. "Don't have a fit, and don't laugh. If you do, I'll I'll jump .out of the window.- I've got a place in a store. I'm going to be straight, Palmer." Pal-mer." "Good for you !" He meant it. She was a nice girl and he was fond of her. The other was a dog's life. -And he was not unselfish about it. She could not belong to him. He did not want her to belong to anyone any-one else. "One of the nurses in the hospital, a Miss Page, has got me something to do at Linton & Hofburg's. I am going on for the January white sale. If I make good they will keep me." He had put her aside without a qualm ; and now he met her announcement announce-ment with approval. He meant to let her alone. They would have a holiday together, and then they would say good-by. And she had not fooled him. She still cared. He was .getting, off well, all things considered. She might have raised a row. "Good work !" he said. "You'll be a lot happier. But that isn't any reason why we shouldn't be friends, is it? Just friends ; I mean that. I would like to feel that I can stop in now and then and say how do you do." "I promised Miss Page." "Never mind Miss Page." The mention of Sidney's name brought up in his mind Christine as he had left her that morning. He scowled. Things were not going well at home. There was something wrong with Christine. She used to "be a good sport, but she had never been the same since the day cf the wedding. He thought her attitude toward him was one of suspicion. It made him uncomfortable. uncom-fortable. But any attempt on his part to fathom it only met with cold silence. That had been her attitude that morning. morn-ing. "I'll tell you what we'll do," he said. "We won't go to any of the old places. I've found a new roadhouse in the country that's respectable enough to suit anybody. We'll go out to Sehwit-ter's Sehwit-ter's and get some dinner. I'll promise prom-ise to get you back early. How's that?" In the end she gave in. And on the way out he lived up to the letter of their agreement. " The situation exhilarated ex-hilarated him : Grace with her new air of virtue, her new aloofness; his comfortable car ; Johnny Rosenf eld's discreet back and alert ears. The adventure had all the thrill of a new conquest in it. lie treated the girl with deference, did not insist when she refused a cigarette, felt glowingly virtuous and exultant at the same time. When the car drew up before the Schwitter place, he slipped a live-dollar bill into Johnny Kosenfeld's not over-clean over-clean hand. "I don't mind the ears," he said. "Just watch your tongue, lad." And Johnny stalled his engine in sheer surprise. sur-prise. "There's just enough of the Jew in me," said Johnny, "to know how to talk a lot and say nothing, Mr. Howe." Johnny Rosenfeld at eighteen had developed a philosophy of four words. It took the place of the Golden Rule, the Ten Commandments, and the Catechism. Cate-chism. It was : "Mind your own business." busi-ness." True to his promise, rainier wakened the sleeping boy before nine o'clock. Grace had eaten little and drunk nothing; noth-ing; but. Howe was slightly stimulated. "Give her the 'once over,' " he told Johnny, "and then go back and crawl Into the tugs again. I'll drive in." .. Grace sat beside him. Their progress was slow and rough over the country roads, but when they reached the state road Howe threw open the throt- tie. He drove well. The liquor was In his blood. He took chances and got ' away with them, laughing at the girl's gasps of dismay. "Wait until I get beyond Simkins-ville," Simkins-ville," he said, "and I'll let her out. You're going to travel tonight, honey." The girl sat beside him with her eyes fixed ahead. He had been drinking, drink-ing, and the warmth of the itquor was in his voice. She was determined oa one thing. She was going to make biin live up i, the letter of his prom ise to go away at the house door; and more and more she realized that it would be difficult. His mood was reckless, reck-less, masterful. Instead of laughing when she drew back from a proffered caress, he turned surly. Obstinate lines that she remembered appeared from his nostrils to the corners of his mouth. She was uneasy. Finally she hit on a plan to make him stop somewhere in her neighborhood neighbor-hood and let her get out of the car. She would not come back after that. There was another car going toward the city. Now it passed them, and as often they passed it. It became a contest con-test of wits. Palmer's ear lost on the hills, but gained on the level stretches, which gleamed with a coating of thin ice. "I wish you'd let them get ahead, Palmer. It's silly and it's reckless." "I told you we'd travel tonight." He turned a little glance at her. What the deuce was the matter with women, anyhow? Were none of them cheerful any more? Here was Grace as sober as Christine. He felt outraged, out-raged, defrauded. His light car skidded and struck the big car heavily. On a smooth road perhaps per-haps nothing more serious than broken mudguards would have been the result. re-sult. But on the ice the small car slewed around and slid over the edge of the bank. At the bottom of the declivity de-clivity it turned over. Grace was flung clear of the wreckage. wreck-age. Howe freed ' himself and stood erect, with one arm hanging at his side. There was no sound at all from the boy under the tonneau. The big car had stopped. Down the bank plunged' a heavy, gorillalike figure, fig-ure, long arms pushing aside the frozen branches of trees. When he reached the car, O'Hara found Grace sitting unhurt on the ground. In the wreck of the car the lamps had not been extinguished, extin-guished, and by their light he made out Howe, swaying dizzily. ''Anybody underneath?" "The chauffeur. He's dead, I think, lie doesn't answer." The other members of O'Hara's party had crawled down the bank by that time. With the aid of a jack, they got the car up. Johnny Rosenfeld lay doubled dou-bled on his face underneath. When he came to and opened his eyes, Grace almost al-most shrieked her relief. "I'm all right," said Johnny Rosenfeld. Rosen-feld. And, when they offered him whisky : "Away with the fire-water. I am no drinker. I I " A spasm of pain twisted his face. "I guess I'll get up." With his arms he lifted himself to a sitting position, and fell back again. "Huh !" he said. "I can't move my legs." CHAPTER XIV. By Christmas day Sidney was back in the hospital, a little wan, but valiantly vali-antly determined to keep her life to its mark of service. She laid a talk with K. the night before site left. Katie was out, and Sidney had put the dining room in order. K. sat by the table and watched her as she moved about the room. The past few weeks had been very wonderful to him ; to help her up and down the stairs, to read to her in the evenings as she lay on the couch in the sewing room ; later, as she improved, to bring small dainties home for her tray, and, having stood over Katie while she cooked them, to bear them in triumph to that upper room he had not been so happy in years. And now it was over. He drew a long breath. "I hope you don't feel as if you must stay on," she said anxiously. "Not that we don't want you you know better than that." "There is no place else in the whole world that I want to go to," he said simply. "I seem to be always relying on somebody's kindness to to keep things together. First, for years and years, it was Aunt Harriet; now it is you." "Don't you realize that, instead of your being grateful to me, it is I who am undeniably grateful to you? This is home now. I have lived around in different places and in different She Stooped and Kissed His Cheek Lightly. able to take this life-in-death '.of Johnny Rosenfeld's and make it life again ! Sidney fed him his morning beef, tea, and, because her eyes filled up with tears now and then at his helplessness, she was not so skillful as she might have been. When one spoonful had gone down his neck, he smiled ip at her whimsically. "Run for your life. The dam's burst !" he said. As much as was possible, the hospital hos-pital rested on that Christmas day. In the afternoon, services were held in the chapel downstairs. Doctor Max, lounging against the wall, across the chapel, found his eyes straying toward Sidney constantly. How she stood out from the others ! What a zest for living liv-ing and for happiness she had ! " The Christmas morning had brought Sidney half a dozen gifts. K. sent her a silver thermometer case with her monogram, Christine a toilet mirror. But the gift of gifts, over which Sidney's Sid-ney's eyes had glowed, was a great box of roses marked in Doctor Max's copper-plate writing, "From a neighbor." neigh-bor." Tucked in the soft folds of her kerchief ker-chief was one of the roses that afternoon. after-noon. Services over, the nurses filed out. Max was waiting for Sidney in the corridor. cor-ridor. "Merry Christmas !" he said, and held out his hand. "Merry Christmas !" she said. "You see !" she glanced down to the rose she wore. "The others make the most splendid bit of color in the ward." "But they were for you!" "They are not any the less mine because be-cause I am letting other people have a chance to enjoy them." Under all his gayety he was curiously curious-ly diffident with her. All the pretty speeches he would have made to Carlotta Car-lotta under the circumstances died before be-fore her frank glance. Sidney eyed him, half amused, half hurt. "What have I clone, Max? Is it bad for discipline for us to be good friends?" Carlotta was watching them from the chapel. Something in her eyes roused the devil of mischief that always al-ways slumbered in him. "My car's been stalled in a snowdrift snow-drift downtown since early this morning, morn-ing, and I have Ed's Peggy in a sleigh. Put oa your things and come for a ride." Ho hoped Carlotta could hear what he said; to bo certain of it, he maliciously ma-liciously raised his voice a trifle. "Just a little run," he urged. "Put on your wannest things." Sidney protested. She was to be free that afternoon until six o'clock; but she had promised to go home. "K. is alone." "K. can sit with Christine. Ten to one. he's with her now." The temptation was very strong. She had been working hard all day. The heavy odor of the hospital, mingled with the scent of pine and evergreen in the chapel, made her dizzy. The fresh outdoors called her. And, besides, be-sides, if K. were with Christine "It's forbidden, isn't it?" Do ycu suppose that Dr. Max Wilson has such a dull conscience con-science that he would sully Sidney's Sid-ney's character if the opportunity opportu-nity offered? ITO hE (.OXl.NL'i-ljJ ( W. refill rftfti'i - "I'm Going to Ea Straight, Palmer." help Iter with the breakfasts. If there's any way to make a mistake, she makes it." It was after eight when Sidney found Johnny Rosenfeld. "You here in the ward, Johnny !" she said. Suffering had refined the boy's features. fea-tures. His dark, heavily fringed eyes looked at her from a pale face. Eut he smiled up at her cheerfully. "I was in a private room ; but it cost thirty plunks a w eek, so I moved. Why pay rent?" Sidney had not seen him since his accident. And now the work of the |
