proving his or her own worth.
A door opened and the little doctor came quietly down the stairs. Kirk
sprang at him.
"Well?"
"My dear man, everything's going splendidly. Couldn't be better." The
doctor's eyes searched his face. "When did you have anything to eat
last?"
"I don't know. I had some eggs and milk. I don't know when."
The doctor took him by the shoulders and hustled him into the kitchen,
where he searched and found meat and bread.
"Eat that," he said. "I'll have some, too."
"I couldn't."
"And some whisky. Where do you keep it?"
After the first few mouthfuls Kirk ate wolfishly. The doctor munched a
sandwich with the placidity of a summer boarder at a picnic. His
calmness amazed and almost shocked Kirk.
"You can't help her by killing yourself," said the doctor
philosophically. "I like that woman with the gimlet eyes. At least I
don't, but she's got sense. Go on. You haven't done yet. Another
highball won't hurt you." He eyed Kirk with some sympathy. "It's a bad
time for you, of course."
"For me? Good God!"
"You want to keep your nerve. Nothing awful is going to happen."
"If only there was something I could do."
"'They also serve who only stand and wait,'" quoted the doctor
sententiously. "There is something you can do."
"What?"
"Light your pipe and take it easy."
Kirk snorted.
"I mean it. In a very short while now you will be required to take the
stage and embrace your son or daughter, as the case may be. You don't
want to appear looking as if you had been run over by an automobile
after a night out. You want your appearance to give Mrs. Winfield as
little of a shock as possible. Bear that in mind. Well, I must be
going."
And Kirk was alone again.
The food and the drink and the doctor's words had a good effect. His
mind became quieter. He sat down and filled his pipe. After a few puffs
he replaced it in his pocket. It seemed too callous to think of smoking
now. The doctor was a good fellow, but he did not understand. All the
same, he was glad that he had had that whisky. It had certainly put
heart into him for the moment.
What was happening upstairs? He strained his ears, but could hear
nothing.
Gradually, as he waited, his mood of morbid self-criticism returned. He
had sunk once more into the depths when he was aware of a soft tapping.
The door bell rang very gently. He went to the door and opened it.
"I kinder thought I'd look in and see how things were getting along,"
said a voice.
It was Steve. A subdued and furtive Steve. Kirk's heart leaped at the
sight of him. It was as if he had found something solid to cling to in
a shifting world.
"Come in, Steve."
He spoke huskily. Steve sidled into the studio, embarrassment written
on every line of him.
"Don't mind my butting in, do you? I've been walking up and down and
round the block till every cop on the island's standing by waiting for
me to pull something. Another minute and they'd have pinched me on
suspicion. I just felt I had to come and see how Miss Ruth was making
out."
"The doctor was down here just now. He said everything was going well."
"I guess he knows his business."
There was a silence. Kirk's ears were straining for sounds from above.
"It's hell," said Steve.
Kirk nodded. This kind of talk was more what he wanted. The doctor
meant well, but he was too professional. Steve was human.
"Go and get yourself a drink, Steve. I expect you need one."
Steve shook his head.
"Waggon," he said briefly. And there was silence again.
"Say, Kirk."
"Yes?"
"What a wonder she is. Miss Ruth, I mean. I've helped her throw that
medicine-ball , often , you wouldn't believe. She's a wonder." He paused.
"Say, this is hell, ain't it?"
Kirk did not answer. It was very quiet in the studio now. In the street
outside a heavy waggon rumbled part. Somebody shouted a few words of a
popular song. Steve sprang to his feet.
"I'll fix that guy," he said. But the singing ceased, and he sat down
again.
Kirk got up and began to walk quickly up and down. Steve watched him
furtively.
"You want to take your mind off it," he said. "You'll be all in if you
keep on worrying about it in that way."
Kirk stopped in his stride.
"That's what the doctor said," he snapped savagely. "What do you two
fools think I'm made of?" He recovered himself quickly, ashamed of the
outburst. "I'm sorry, Steve. Don't mind anything I say. It's awfully
good of you to have come here, and I'm not going to forget it."
Steve scratched his chin reflectively.
"Say, I'll tell you something," he said. "My mother told me once that
when I was born my old dad took it just like you. Found he was getting
all worked up by having to hang around and do nothing, so he says to
himself: 'I've got to take my mind off this business, or it's me for
the foolish-house.'
"Well, sir, there was a big guy down on that street who'd been picking
on dad good and hard for a mighty long while. And this guy suddenly
comes into dad's mind. He felt of his muscle, dad did. 'Gee!' he says
to himself, 'I believe the way I'm feeling, I could just go and eat up
that gink right away.' And the more he thought of it, the better it
looked to him, so all of a sudden he grabs his hat and beats it like a
streak down to the saloon on the corner, where he knew the feller would
be at that time, and he goes straight up to him and hands him one.
"Back comes the guy at him, he was a great big son of a gun, weighing
thirty pounds more than dad, and him and dad mixes it right there in
the saloon till the barkeep and about fifty other fellers throws them
out, and they goes off to a vacant lot to finish the thing. And dad's
so worked up that he gives the other guy his till he hollers that
that's all he'll want. And then dad goes home and waits quite quiet and
happy and peaceful till they tell him I'm there."
Steve paused.
"Kirk," he said then, "how would you like a round or two with the small
gloves, just to get things off your mind for a spell and pass the time?
My dad said he found it eased him mighty good."
Kirk stared at him.
"Just a couple of rounds," urged Steve. "And you can go all out at
that. I shan't mind. Just try to think I'm some guy that's been picking
on you and let me have it. See what I mean?"
For the first time that day the faint ghost of a grin appeared on
Kirk's face.
"I wonder if you're right, Steve?"
"I know I'm right. And, say, don't think I don't need it, too. I ain't
known Miss Ruth all this time for nothing. You'll be doing me a
kindness if you knock my face in."
The small gloves occupied a place of honour to themselves in a lower
drawer. It was not often that Kirk used them in his friendly bouts with
Steve. For ordinary occasions the larger and more padded species met
with his approval. Steve, during these daily sparring encounters, was
amiability itself; but he could not be counted upon not to forget
himself for an occasional moment in the heat of the fray; and though
Kirk was courageous enough, he preferred to preserve the regularity of
his features at the expense of a little extra excitement.
Once, after a brisk rally, he had gone about the world looking as if he
was suffering from mumps, owing to a right hook which no one regretted
more than Steve himself.
But to-day was different; and Kirk felt that even a repetition of that
lethal punch would be welcome.