The Coming of Bill | Page 4

in the street George Pennicut, now the centre of quite a substantial
section of the Four Million, was causing a granite-faced policeman to
think that the age of miracles had returned by informing him that the

accident had been his fault and no other's. He greeted the relief-party
with a wan grin.
"Just broke my leg, sir," he announced to Kirk.
"You have done nothing of the sort," said Mrs. Porter. "You have
wrenched your knee very slightly. Have you explained to the policeman
that it was entirely your fault?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"That's right. Always speak the truth."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Mr. Winfield will help you indoors."
"Thank you, ma'am."
She turned to Kirk.
"Now, Mr. Winfield."
Kirk bent over the victim, gripped him, and lifted him like a baby.
"He's got his," observed one interested spectator.
"I should worry!" agreed another. "All broken up."
"Nothing of the kind," said Mrs. Porter severely. "The man is hardly
hurt at all. Be more accurate in your remarks."
She eyed the speaker sternly. He wilted.
"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled sheepishly.
The policeman, with that lionlike courage which makes the New York
constabulary what it is, endeavoured to assert himself at this point.

"Hey!" he boomed.
Mrs. Porter turned her gaze upon him, her cold, steely gaze.
"I beg your pardon?"
"This won't do, ma'am. I've me report to make. How did this happen?"
"You have already been informed. The man ran into my automobile."
"But----"
"I shall not charge him."
She turned and followed Kirk.
"But, say----" The policeman's voice was now almost plaintive.
Mrs. Porter ignored him and disappeared into the house. The policeman,
having gulped several times in a disconsolate way, relieved his feelings
by dispersing the crowd with well-directed prods of his locust stick. A
small boy who lingered, squeezing the automobile's hooter, in a sort of
trance he kicked. The boy vanished. The crowd melted. The policeman
walked slowly toward Ninth Avenue. Peace reigned in the street.
"Put him to bed," said Mrs. Porter, as Kirk laid his burden on a couch
in the studio. "You seem exceedingly muscular, Mr. Winfield. I noticed
that you carried him without an effort. He is a stout man, too. Grossly
out of condition, like ninety-nine per cent of men to-day."
"I'm not so young as I was, ma'am," protested George. "When I was in
the harmy I was a fine figure of a man."
"The more shame to you that you have allowed yourself to deteriorate,"
commented Mrs. Porter. "Beer?"
A grateful smile irradiated George's face.
"Thank you, ma'am. It's very kind of you, ma'am. I don't mind if I do."

"The man appears a perfect imbecile," said Mrs. Porter, turning
abruptly to Kirk. "I ask him if he attributes his physical decay to beer
and he babbles."
"I think he thought you were offering him a drink," suggested Kirk. "As
a matter of fact, a little brandy wouldn't hurt him, after the shock he has
had."
"On no account. The worst thing possible."
"This isn't your lucky day, George," said Kirk. "Well, I guess I'll phone
to the doctor."
"Quite unnecessary."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Entirely unnecessary. I have made an examination. There is practically
nothing the matter with the man. Put him to bed, and let him sponge his
knee with warm water."
"Are you a doctor, Mrs. Porter?"
"I have studied first aid."
"Well, I think, if you don't mind, I should like to have your opinion
confirmed."
This was rank mutiny. Mrs. Porter stared haughtily at Kirk. He met her
gaze with determination.
"As you please," she snapped.
"Thank you," said Kirk. "I don't want to take any risks with George. I
couldn't afford to lose him. There aren't any more like him: they've
mislaid the pattern."
He went to the telephone.

Mrs. Porter watched him narrowly. She was more than ever impressed
by the perfection of his physique. She appraised his voice as he spoke
to the doctor. It gave evidence of excellent lungs. He was a wonderfully
perfect physical specimen.
An idea concerning this young man came into her mind, startling as all
great ideas are at birth. The older it grew, the more she approved of it.
She decided to put a few questions to him. She had a habit of
questioning people, and it never occurred to her that they might resent
it. If it had occurred to her, she would have done it just the same. She
was like that.
"Mr. Winfield?"
"Yes?"
"I should like to ask you a few questions."
This woman delighted Kirk.
"Please do," he said.
Mrs. Porter scanned him closely.
"You are an extraordinarily healthy man, to all appearances. Have you
ever suffered from bad health?"
"Measles."
"Immaterial."
"Very unpleasant, though."
"Nothing else?"
"Mumps."
"Unimportant."

"Not to me. I looked like a water-melon."