Part 33 (2/2)

Benson smiled. ”I don't imagine they all are. I didn't realize what sort of quarters I was in till I began to get better and mother told me.

According to her I have the best in the place. That's Rich. Whatever he looks after is sure to be gilt-edged. I wonder if you know what a prince of good fellows he is, anyway.”

”I always knew he was a good fellow,” Louis agreed. ”He has that reputation, you know--kind-hearted and open-handed. I should know he would be a substantial friend to his college cla.s.smate and business partner.”

”He's much more than that.” Benson's slow and languid speech took on a more earnest tone. ”Do you know, I think if any young man in this city has been misjudged and underrated it's Rich. I know the reputation you speak of; it's another way of calling a man a spendthrift, to say he's free with his money among his friends. But I don't believe anybody knows how free Rich Kendrick is with it among people who have no claim on him.

I never should have known if I hadn't come here. One of my nurses has told me a lot of things she wasn't supposed ever to tell; but once she had let a word drop I got it out of her. Why, Louis, for three years Rich has paid the expenses of every sick child that came into this hospital, where the family was too poor to pay. He's paid for several big operations, too, on children that he wanted to see have the best.

There are four special private rooms he keeps for those they call his patients, and he sees that whoever occupies them has everything they need--and plenty of things they may not just need, but are bound to enjoy--including flowers like those.”

He pointed to a splendid bowlful of blossoms on a stand behind Louis, such blossoms as even in June grow only in the choicest of gardens.

”All this is news to me,” declared Louis; ”mighty good news, too. But how has he been able to keep it so quiet?”

”Hospital people all pledged not to tell; so of course you and I mustn't be responsible for letting it out, since he doesn't want it known. I'm glad I know it, though, and I felt somehow that you ought to know. I used to think a lot of Rich at college, but now that he's my partner I think so much more I can't be happy unless other people appreciate him.

And in the business--I can't tell you what he is. He's more like a brother than a partner.”

His thin cheeks flushed, and Louis suddenly bethought himself.

”I'm letting you talk too much, Hugh,” he said self-accusingly.

”Convalescents mustn't overexert themselves. Suppose you lie still and let me read the morning paper to you.”

”Thank you, my nurse has done it. Talking is really a great luxury and it does me good, a little of it. I want to tell you this about Rich--”

The door opened quietly as he spoke and Richard Kendrick himself came in. Quite as usual, he looked as if he had that moment left the hands of a most scrupulous valet. No wonder Louis's first thought was, as he looked at him, that people gave him credit for caring only for externals. One would not have said at first glance that he had ever soiled his hands with any labour more tiring than that of putting on his gloves. And yet, studying him more closely in the light of the revelations his friend had made, was there not in his attractive face more strength and force than Louis had ever observed before?

”How goes it this morning, Hugh?” was the new-comer's greeting. He grasped the thin hand of the convalescent, smiling down at him. Then he shook hands with Louis, saying, ”It's good of such a busy man to come in and cheer up this idle one,” and sat down as if he had come to stay. But he had no proprietary air, and when a nurse looked in he only bowed gravely, as if he had not often seen her before. If Louis had not known he would not have imagined that Richard's hand in the affair of Benson's illness had been other than that of a casual caller.

Louis Gray went away presently, thinking it over. He was thinking of it again that evening as he sat upon the big rear porch of the Gray home, which looked out upon the lawn and tennis court where he and Roberta had just been having a bout lasting into the twilight.

”I heard something to-day that surprised me more than anything for a long time,” he began, and when his sister inquired what the strange news might be he repeated to her as he could remember it Hugh Benson's outline of the extraordinary story about Richard Kendrick. When she had heard it she observed:

”I suppose there is much more of that sort of thing done by the very rich than we dream of.”

”By old men, yes--and widows, and a few other cla.s.ses of people. But I don't imagine it's so common as to be noticeable among the young men of his cla.s.s, do you?”

”Perhaps not. Though you do hear of wonderful things the bachelors do at Christmas for the poor children.”

”At Christmas--that's another story. Hearts get warmed up at Christmas, that, like old Scrooge's, are cold and careless the rest of the year.

But for a fellow like Rich Kendrick to keep it up all the year round--you'll find that's not so commonplace a tale.”

”I don't know much about rich young men.”

”You've certainly kept this one at a distance,” Louis observed, eying his sister curiously in the twilight. She was sitting in a boyish att.i.tude, racket on lap, elbows on knees, chin on clasped hands, eyes on the shadowy garden. ”He's been coming here evening after evening until now that his grandfather has gone home, and never once has anybody seen you so much as standing on the porch with him, to say nothing of strolling into the garden. What's the matter with you, Rob? Any other girl would be following him round and getting into his path. Not that you would need to, judging by the way I've seen him look at you once or twice. Have you drawn an imaginary circle around yourself and pointed out to him the danger of crossing it? I should take him for a fellow who would cross it then anyhow!”

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