Dawn OHara, The Girl Who Laughed | Page 7

like Norah. But then, who ever heard of a
brother-in-law like Max? No woman--not even a frazzled-out
newspaper woman--could receive the love and care that they gave me,
and fail to flourish under it. They had been Dad and Mother to me since
the day when Norah had tucked me under her arm and carried me away
from New York. Sis was an angel; a comforting, twentieth-century
angel, with white apron strings for wings, and a tempting tray in her
hands in place of the hymn books and palm leaves that the picture-book
angels carry. She coaxed the inevitable eggs and beef into more
tempting forms than Mrs. Rorer ever guessed at. She could disguise
those two plain, nourishing articles of diet so effectually that neither
hen nor cow would have suspected either of having once been part of
her anatomy. Once I ate halfway through a melting, fluffy,
peach-bedecked plate of something before I discovered that it was only

another egg in disguise.
"Feel like eating a great big dinner to-day, Kidlet? "Norah would ask in
the morning as she stood at my bedside (with a glass of egg-something
in her hand, of course).
"Eat!"--horror and disgust shuddering through my voice--"Eat! Ugh!
Don't s-s-speak of it to me. And for pity's sake tell Frieda to shut the
kitchen door when you go down, will you? I can smell something like
ugh!--like pot roast, with gravy!" And I would turn my face to the wall.
Three hours later I would hear Sis coming softly up the stairs,
accompanied by a tinkling of china and glass. I would face her, all
protest.
"Didn't I tell you, Sis, that I couldn't eat a mouthful? Not a
mouthf--um-m-m-m! How perfectly scrumptious that looks! What's
that affair in the lettuce leaf? Oh, can't I begin on that divine-looking
pinky stuff in the tall glass? H'm? Oh, please!"
"I thought--" Norah would begin; and then she would snigger softly.
"Oh, well, that was hours ago," I would explain, loftily. "Perhaps I
could manage a bite or two now."
Whereupon I would demolish everything except the china and doilies.
It was at this point on the road to recovery, just halfway between illness
and health, that Norah and Max brought the great and unsmiling Von
Gerhard on the scene. It appeared that even New York was respectfully
aware of Von Gerhard, the nerve specialist, in spite of the fact that he
lived in Milwaukee. The idea of bringing him up to look at me occurred
to Max quite suddenly. I think it was on the evening that I burst into
tears when Max entered the room wearing a squeaky shoe. The
Weeping Walrus was a self-contained and tranquil creature compared
to me at that time. The sight of a fly on the wall was enough to make
me burst into a passion of sobs.

"I know the boy to steady those shaky nerves of yours, Dawn," said
Max, after I had made a shamefaced apology for my hysterical weeping,
"I'm going to have Von Gerhard up here to look at you. He can run up
Sunday, eh, Norah?"
"Who's Von Gerhard?" I inquired, out of the depths of my ignorance.
"Anyway, I won't have him. I'll bet he wears a Vandyke and
spectacles."
"Von Gerhard!" exclaimed Norah, indignantly. "You ought to be
thankful to have him look at you, even if he wears goggles and a
flowing beard. Why, even that red-haired New York doctor of yours
cringed and looked impressed when I told him that Von Gerhard was a
friend of my husband's, and that they had been comrades at Heidelberg.
I must have mentioned him dozens of times in my letters."
"Never."
"Queer," commented Max, "he runs up here every now and then to
spend a quiet Sunday with Norah and me and the Spalpeens. Says it
rests him. The kids swarm all over him, and tear him limb from limb. It
doesn't look restful, but he says it's great. I think he came here from
Berlin just after you left for New York, Dawn. Milwaukee fits him as if
it had been made for him."
"But you're not going to drag this wonderful being up here just for me!"
I protested, aghast.
Max pointed an accusing finger at me from the doorway. "Aren't you
what the bromides call a bundle of nerves? And isn't Von Gerhard's
specialty untying just those knots? I'll write to him to-night."
And he did. And Von Gerhard came. The Spalpeens watched for him,
their noses flattened against the window-pane, for it was raining. As he
came up the path they burst out of the door to meet him. From my
bedroom window I saw him come prancing up the walk like a boy, with
the two children clinging to his