She sent him a note at noon, with word to Tillie at
Mrs. McKee’s to put it under his plate:—
Dear Mr. Le Moyne,—I
am so excited I can hardly write. Dr. Wilson,
the surgeon, is going to take me through the hospital
this afternoon. Wish me luck.
Sidney page.
K. read it, and, perhaps because the day was hot and
his butter soft and the other “mealers”
irritable with the heat, he ate little or no luncheon.
Before he went out into the sun, he read the note again.
To his jealous eyes came a vision of that excursion
to the hospital. Sidney, all vibrant eagerness,
luminous of eye, quick of bosom; and Wilson, sardonically
smiling, amused and interested in spite of himself.
He drew a long breath, and thrust the note in his
pocket.
The little house across the way sat square in the
sun. The shades of his windows had been lowered
against the heat. K. Le Moyne made an impulsive
movement toward it and checked himself.
As he went down the Street, Wilson’s car came
around the corner. Le Moyne moved quietly into
the shadow of the church and watched the car go by.
Sidney and K. Le Moyne sat under a tree and talked.
In Sidney’s lap lay a small pasteboard box,
punched with many holes. It was the day of releasing
Reginald, but she had not yet been able to bring herself
to the point of separation. Now and then a furry
nose protruded from one of the apertures and sniffed
the welcome scent of pine and buttonball, red and white
clover, the thousand spicy odors of field and woodland.
“And so,” said K. Le Moyne, “you
liked it all? It didn’t startle you?”
“Well, in one way, of course—you
see, I didn’t know it was quite like that:
all order and peace and quiet, and white beds and whispers,
on top,—you know what I mean,—and
the misery there just the same. Have you ever
gone through a hospital?”
K. Le Moyne was stretched out on the grass, his arms
under his head. For this excursion to the end
of the street-car line he had donned a pair of white
flannel trousers and a belted Norfolk coat. Sidney
had been divided between pride in his appearance and
fear that the Street would deem him overdressed.
At her question he closed his eyes, shutting out the
peaceful arch and the bit of blue heaven overhead.
He did not reply at once.
“Good gracious, I believe he’s asleep!”
said Sidney to the pasteboard box.
But he opened his eyes and smiled at her.
“I’ve been around hospitals a little.
I suppose now there is no question about your going?”
“The superintendent said I was young, but that
any protegee of Dr. Wilson’s would certainly
be given a chance.”
“It is hard work, night and day.”
“Do you think I am afraid of work?”
“And—Joe?”
