Sunny Slopes Part 9

"That is fever," she announced ominously. "Do you feel very badly?"

"Well, nothing extra," he a.s.sented grudgingly.

"David, if you love me, let's call a doctor. You are going to have the grippe, or pneumonia, or something awful, and--if you love me, David."

The pleading voice arrested his refusal and he gave the desired consent, still laughing at the silly notion.

So Carol sped next door to the home of Mr. Daniels, the fatherly elder.

"Mr. Daniels," she cried, brightly happy because David had consented to a doctor, and a doctor meant health and strength and the end of that hateful little cough. "We are going to have a doctor see David. What is the name of that man down-town--the one you think is so wonderful?"

Mr. Daniels gladly gave her the name, warmly approving the move, but he shook his head a little over David. "I am no pessimist," he said, "but David is not just exactly right."

"The doctor will fix him up," cried Carol joyously. "I am so relieved and comfortable now. Don't try to worry me."

David looked nervous when Carol gave him the name of the physician she had called.

"He is a Catholic,--and some of the members think--"

"Of course they do, but I am the head of this house," declared Carol, standing on tiptoe and a.s.suming her most lordly air. "And Doctor O'Hara is the best in town, and he is coming."

"Oh, all right, if you feel like that about it. I don't suppose he would give me strychnine just because I am a Presbyterian minister."

"Oh, mercy!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Carol. "I never thought of that. Do you suppose he would?"

But David only laughed at her, as he so often did.

When Carol met the doctor at the door, she found instant rea.s.surance in the strong, kind, clever face.

"It's a cold," she explained, "but it hangs on too long, and he keeps running down-hill."

The doctor looked very searchingly into David's pale bright face. And Carol and David did not know that the extra joke and the extravagant cheeriness of his voice indicated that things looked badly. They took great satisfaction in his easy manner, and when, after a brief examination, he said:

"Now, into bed you go, Mr. Duke, and there you stay a while. Get a subst.i.tute for Sunday. You've got to make a baby of a bad cold and pet it a little."

David and Carol laughed, and when the doctor went away, and David was safely in bed, Carol perched up beside him and they had a stirring game of parcheesi. But David soon tired, and lay very quietly all evening, eating no dinner, and talking very little. Telephone messages from "the members" came thick and fast, with offers of all kinds of tempting viands, and callers came streaming to the door. But Father Daniels next door turned them every one away.

"He can't talk any more," he said in his abrupt, yet kindly way. "He's just worn out talking to this bunch,--that's all that ails him."

Next day the doctor came again, gave another examination, and said there was some little congestion in the lungs.

"Just do as I have told you,--keep the windows up, drink a lot of fresh milk, and eat all the raw eggs you can choke down."

"He won't eat anything," said Carol.

"Let him fast then, and he'll soon be begging for raw eggs. I'll see you again to-morrow."

When he returned next day there was a little shadow in the kind eyes.

David lay on the cot, smiling, and Carol stood beside him.

"How do you feel to-day?"

"Oh, just fine," came the ready answer.

But the shadow in the doctor's eyes deepened.

"The meanest part of a doctor's work is handing out death blows to hope," he said. "But you two are big enough to take a hard knock without flinching, and I won't need to beat around the bush. Mr. Duke, you have tuberculosis."

David winched a little and Carol clutched his hand spasmodically, yet they smiled quickly, comfortingly into each other's eyes.

"That does not mean that your life is fanning out, by any means,"

continued the doctor in his easy voice. "We've got a grip on the disease now. You are getting it right at the start and you stand a splendid chance. Your clean life will help. Your laughing wife will help. Your confidence in a Divine Doctor will help. Everything is on your side. If you can, I think I should go out west somewhere,--to New Mexico, or Arizona. It is low here, and damp,--lots of people chase the cure here, and find it, but it is easier out there where the air is light and fine and the temperature is even, and where doctors specialize on lungs."

"Yes, yes, indeed, we shall go right away," declared Carol feverishly.

"Yes, indeed."

"Keep on with my treatment while you are here. And get out as soon as you can. Stay in bed all the time, and don't bother with many visitors. I don't need to tell you the minor precautions. You both have brains. Be sure you use them. Now, don't get blue. You've still got plenty to laugh at, Mrs. Duke. And I give you fair warning, when you quit laughing there's the end of the fight. You haven't any other weapon strong enough to beat the germs."

It was hard indeed for Carol to see anything to laugh at just that moment, but she smiled, rather wanly, at the doctor when he went away.

There was silence between them for a moment.

At last, she leaned over him and whispered breathlessly, "Maybe it is really a good thing, David. You did need a vacation, and now you are bound to get it."

David smiled at her persistent philosophy of optimism.

Again there was silence. Finally, with an effort he spoke. "Carol, I--I could have thanked G.o.d for letting us know this two years ago.

Then you would have escaped."

"David, don't say that. Just this minute I was thanking Him in my heart because we didn't know until we belonged to each other."

She lifted her lips to him, as she always did when deeply moved, and instinctively he lowered his to meet them. But before he touched her he stopped, stricken by a bitter thought, and pushed her face away almost roughly.

"Oh, Carol," he cried, "I can't. I can never kiss you again. I have loved to touch you, always. I have loved your cool, sweet, powdery skin, and your lips,--I have always thought of your lips as a crimson bow in a pale pink cloud,--I--I have loved to touch you. I have always adored your face, the look of it as well as the feel of it. I have _loved_ to kiss you."

Carol slipped an arm beneath his head and strove to pull his hand away from his face.

"Go on and do it," she whispered pa.s.sionately. "I am not afraid. You kissed me yesterday and it didn't hurt me. Kiss me, David,--I don't care if I do get it."

He laughed at her then, uncertainly, brokenly, but he laughed. "Oh, no you don't, my lady," he said. "You've got to keep strong and well to take care of me. You want to get sick so you'll get half the petting."

Like a flash came the revelation of what her future was to be. "Oh, of course," she cried, in a changed voice. "Of course we must be careful,--I forgot. I'll have to keep very strong and rugged, won't I?

Indeed, I will be careful."

Then they sat silent again.

"Out west," he said at last dreamily. "Out west. I've always wanted to go west. Not just this way, but--maybe it is our chance, Carol."