Glory of Youth | Page 5

and we'll catch some cod."
The doctor's tired eyes brightened. "There's nothing that I'd like better, captain, but I've got an old man ill of pneumonia, and there's a girl with appendicitis."
"There you go," said the little man; "if it wasn't a girl with appendicitis, it would be a kid with the colic, or a lady with a claim to heart trouble. What you've got to do, doctor, is to cut it all out and come with me."
Anthony shook his head. "Suppose some one had said to you when you sailed the seas that you could leave the ship----?"
"I shouldn't have left," said the little man, "but I didn't have such a look as you've got in your eyes. What you need is a good night's sleep, and a day's fishin'. And you need it now."
Having eaten presently his last morsel, he ordered a piece of pie. "There's nothing like sea air to blow your brains clear," he stated. "And when this fog lifts, it'll be fine fishin' weather."
Again the doctor shook his head. "I'd like it, more than a little, but I've got to stick to my post."
Captain Stubbs began on his pie, and remarked, "The trouble with you is that you're mixed up with too many wimmen."
Anthony's head went up. "What do you mean?"
"Wimmen," said the little captain, "are bad enough anyhow. But when you have to handle a lot of wimmen with nerves, then the Lord help you."
He said it so solemnly that Anthony threw back his head and laughed.
"Now, up at that sannytarium of yours," said the captain, "there's about ten of them that need to be dipped into the good salt sea and hung up in the sun to dry, and that's all they need, no coddling and medicine and operations--but just a cold shock and a warm-up--and a day's fishin'."
And now Anthony did not laugh. "By Jove," he said, "I believe you're right. I'm going to try some personally conducted parties, and you shall take them out, captain----"
"Me----?" the captain demanded, incredulously. "Me take those wimmen out fishin'?"
Anthony nodded. "Yes, once a week. Is it a bargain?"
The captain stood up. "No, it ain't," he said, firmly. "I'll take you and gladly. But not any of that nervous bunch."
He settled his cap firmly on his head, and went toward the door. Then he turned. "Some day," he said, "I'm going to ask that Betty child to go out in my boat."
"Bettina?" Anthony's mind went swiftly to the shadowed room.
"Yes. She's lonesome, and so was her mother. I used to take fish up to them, and I showed the Betty child how to make chowder."
"She told me," said Anthony. "You're one of her best friends, captain."
"Well, goodness only knows she needs friends," said the little captain, adding with a significant emphasis which escaped the preoccupied Anthony, "She needs somebody to take care of her."
Receiving no response, the little man lighted his pipe, buttoned his coat, and, remarking genially, "Well, you let me know about that day's fishin'," he steamed out.
After his departure Anthony sat for some time in the deserted room. He knew that rest and refreshment were waiting for him and he knew that he needed them, but his mind was weighed down by the problem of that helpless child in the old house. All through the night as he had battled for the life of his patient, he had thought of her, who must battle with the world. He could get her work, of course, but he shrank from the thought of her pale loveliness set to sordid uses.
With a sudden gesture of resolution, he stood up and drew on his gloves.
Ten minutes later he was climbing the winding stairway, where the iron lantern again illumined the darkness.
There had been no response to his call from below, and when he reached the upper landing he found the door shut. He knocked and presently Bettina came. He saw at a glance that she had been crying.
"I can stay only a minute," he said. "I haven't had much sleep since I saw you yesterday."
"I'll make you some tea," she offered, but he stopped her with a quick, "No, no,--I've just had coffee, and I must get home."
They sat down, somewhat stiffly, on opposite sides of the hearth.
"What made you cry?" he asked, with his keen eyes on her downcast face.
"Everything--the rain yesterday--the fog to-day. I wish the sun would shine--I wish--I were--dead----"
With a sharp exclamation, he stood up. "You're too young to say such things--there's all of life before you."
"Yes," she said dully, "there's all of life----"
To him she was a most appealing figure. Her weakness seemed to stand out against the background of his strength. Suddenly he held out his hands to her. "Come here, Betty child," he said, using, unconsciously, the little captain's name for