The Tin Soldier | Page 8

the nerve specialist--"
Of course it was something to know that, but one didn't get very far.

"Let's go somewhere and eat," said the General, and that was the end of
it. Out of the tail of his eye, Derry Drake saw the two figures with the
copper-colored heads move down the aisle, to be finally merged into
the indistinguishable stream of humanity which surged towards the
door.
Jean and her father did not go to supper at the big hotel around the
corner as was their custom.
"I've got to get to the hospital before twelve," the Doctor said. "I am
sorry, dear--"
"It doesn't make a bit of difference. I don't want to eat," she settled
herself comfortably beside him in the car. "Oh, it is snowing, Daddy,
how splendid--"
He laughed. "You little bundle of--ecstasy--what am I going to do with
you?"
"Love me. And isn't the snow--wonderful?"
"Yes. But everybody doesn't see it that way."
"I am glad that I do. I should hate to see nothing in all this miracle,
but--slush tomorrow--"
"Yet a lot of life is just--slush tomorrow--. I wish you need never find
that out--."
When Jean went into the house, and her father drove on, she found
Hilda waiting up for her.
"Father had to go to the hospital."
"Did you have anything to eat?"
"No."
"I thought I might cook some oysters."

"I am really not hungry." Then feeling that her tone was ungracious,
she tried to make amends. "It was nice of you to think of it--"
"Your father may like them. I'll have them hot for him."
Jean lingered uncertainly. She didn't want the food, but she hated to
leave the field to Hilda. She unfastened her cloak, and sat down. "How
are you going to cook them?"
"Panned--with celery."
"It sounds good--I think I'll stay down, Hilda."
"As you wish."
The Doctor, coming in with his coat powdered with snow, found his
daughter in a big chair in front of the library fire.
"I thought you'd be in bed."
"Hilda has some oysters for us."
"Fine--I'm starved."
She looked at him, meditatively, "I don't see how you can be."
"Why not?"
"Oh, on such a night as this, Daddy? Food seems superfluous."
He sat down, smiling. "Don't ever expect to feed any man over forty on
star-dust. Hilda knows better, don't you, Hilda?"
Hilda was bringing in the tray. There was a copper chafing-dish and a
percolator. She wore her nurse's outfit of white linen. She looked well
in it, and she was apt to put it on after dinner, when she was in charge
of the office.
"You know better than to feed a man on stardust, don't you?" the

Doctor persisted.
Hilda lifted the cover of the chafing-dish and stirred the contents. "Well,
yes," she smiled at him, "you see, I have lived longer than Jean. She'll
learn."
"I don't want to learn," Jean told her hotly. "I want to believe
that--that--" Words failed her.
"That men can live on star-dust?" her father asked gently. "Well, so be
it. We won't quarrel with her, will we, Hilda?"
The oysters were very good. Jean ate several with healthy appetite. Her
father, twinkling, teased her, "You see--?"
She shrugged, "All the same, I didn't need them."
Hilda, putting things back on the tray, remarked: "There was a message
from Mrs. Witherspoon. Her son is on leave for the week end. She
wants you for dinner on Saturday night--both of you."
Doctor McKenzie tapped a finger on the table thoughtfully, "Oh, does
she? Do you want to go, Jeanie?"
"Yes. Don't you?"
"I am not sure. I should like to build a fence about you, my dear, and
never let a man look over. Ralph Witherspoon wants to marry her,
Hilda, what do you think of that?"
"Well, why not?" Hilda laid her long hands flat on the table, leaning on
them.
Jean felt little prickles of irritability. "Because I don't want to get
married, Hilda."
Hilda gave her a sidelong glance, "Of course you do. But you don't
know it."

She went out with her tray. Jean turned, white-faced, to her father, "I
wish she wouldn't say such things--"
"My dear, I am afraid you don't quite do her justice."
"Oh, well, we won't talk about her. I've got to go to bed, Daddy."
She kissed him wistfully. "Sometimes I think there are two of you, the
one that likes me, and the one that likes Hilda."
With his hands on her shoulders, he gave an easy laugh. "Who knows?
But you mustn't have it on your mind. It isn't good for you."
"I shall always have you on my mind--."
"But not to worry about, baby. I'm not worth it--."
Hilda came in with the evening paper. "Have you read