Part 25 (1/2)

”Ah, Dr. Pett.i.t I believe we have met before,” d.i.c.ky said easily.

”When Mrs. Graham spoke of you I did not remember that we had seen you so recently. I am glad that we were able to get you.”

”Thank you,” the physician returned gravely. ”Where is the patient?”

”In this room.” d.i.c.ky turned toward the bedroom door, and Dr. Pett.i.t at once walked toward it. I mentally contrasted the two men as I followed them to my mother-in-law's room. There was a charming ease of manner about d.i.c.ky which the other man did not possess. He was, in fact, almost awkward in his movements, and decidedly stiff in his manner. But there was an appearance of latent strength in every line of his figure, a suggestion of power and ability to cope with emergencies. I had noticed it when he took charge of the baby in convulsions who had been brought to my apartment by its nurse. I marked it again as d.i.c.ky paused at the door of his mother's room.

”I don't know how you will manage, doctor.” He smiled deprecatingly.

”My mother positively refuses to see a physician, but we know she needs one.”

”You are her nearest relative?” Dr. Pett.i.t queried gravely, almost formally. His question had almost the air of securing a legal right for his entrance into the room.

”Oh, yes.”

”Very well,” and he stepped lightly to the side of the bed and stood looking down upon the sick woman.

He took out his watch, and I knew he was counting her respirations.

Then, with the same impersonal air, he turned to d.i.c.ky.

”It will be necessary to rouse her. Will you awaken her, please? Do not tell her I am here. Simply waken her.”

d.i.c.ky bent over his mother and took her hand.

”Mother, what was it you wished me to get for you?”

The elder Mrs. Graham opened her eyes languidly.

”I told you quinine,” she said impatiently. As she spoke, Dr. Pett.i.t reached past d.i.c.ky. His hand held a thermometer.

”Put this in your mouth, please.” His air was as casual as if he had made daily visits to her for a fortnight.

But the elder Mrs. Graham was not to be so easily routed. She scowled up at him and half rose from her pillow.

”I do not wish a physician. I forbade having one called. I am not ill enough for a physician.”

Dr. Pett.i.t put out his left hand and gently put her back again upon her pillow. It was done so deftly that I do not think she realized what he had done until she was again lying down.

”You must not excite yourself,” he said, still in the same grave, impersonal tone, ”and you are more ill than you think. It is absolutely necessary that I get your temperature and examine your lungs at once.”

As if the words had been a talisman of some sort, her opposition dropped from her. Into her face came a frightened look.

”Oh, doctor, you don't think I am going to have pneumonia, do you?”

I was amazed at the cry. It was like that of a terrified child. Dr.

Pett.i.t smiled down at her.

”We hope not. We shall do our best to keep it away. But you must help me. Put this in your mouth, please.”

My mother-in-law obeyed him docilely. But my heart sank as I watched the physician's face.