The Breaking Point - Page 62/275

Then, one day, David astonished them both. He was propped up in his bed,

and he had demanded a cigar, and been very gently but firmly refused.

He had been rather sulky about it, and Dick had been attempting to rally

him into better humor when he said suddenly: "I've had time to think things over, Dick. I haven't been fair to you.

You're thrown away here. Besides--" he hesitated. Then: "We might as

well face it. The day of the general practitioner has gone."

"I don't believe it," Dick said stoutly. "Maybe we are only signposts

to point the way to the other fellows, but the world will always need

signposts."

"What I've been thinking of," David pursued his own train of thought,

"is this: I want you to go to Johns Hopkins and take up the special work

you've been wanting to do. I'll be up soon and--"

"Call the nurse, Aunt Lucy," said Dick. "He's raving."

"Not at all," David retorted testily. "I've told you. This whole town

only comes here now to be told what specialist to go to, and you know

it."

"I don't know anything of the sort."

"If you don't, it's because you won't face the facts." Dick chuckled,

and threw an arm over David's shoulder, "You old hypocrite!" he said.

"You're trying to get rid of me, for some reason. Don't tell me you're

going to get married!"

But David did not smile. Lucy, watching him from her post by the window,

saw his face and felt a spasm of fear. At the most, she had feared

a mental conflict in David. Now she saw that it might be something

infinitely worse, something impending and immediate. She could hardly

reply when Dick appealed to her.

"Are you going to let him get rid of me like this, Aunt Lucy?" he

demanded. "Sentenced to Johns Hopkins, like Napoleon to St. Helena! Are

you with me, or forninst me?"

"I don't know, Dick," she said, with her eyes on David. "If it's for

your good--"

She went out after a time, leaving them at it hammer and tongs. David

was vanquished in the end, but Dick, going down to the office later

on, was puzzled. Somehow it was borne in on him that behind David's

insistence was a reason, unspoken but urgent, and the only reason that

occurred to him as possible was that David did not, after all, want him

to marry Elizabeth Wheeler. He put the matter to the test that night,

wandering in in dressing-gown and slippers, as was his custom before

going to bed, for a brief chat. The nurse was downstairs, and Dick moved

about the room restlessly. Then he stopped and stood by the bed, looking

down.