Chapter XXXII In which Two People set out upon a Journey
The Long ’Un lay staring at the wall-paper. How often had he counted that design! Above the window it was repeated seventeen times—over and over again he counted the pattern to make sure it was repeated seventeen times—eight each side and one odd one in the middle. And again underneath and along each wall ran the design in serried and monotonous rows. He knew every bend and turn of it by heart. It represented a herb or flower of some kind, the like of which never was seen by mortal eye in garden, forest, field, or dell.
Almost unceasingly Jim had gazed on this stiff unnatural growth since he had regained consciousness. He had nothing else to do. He didn’t want to talk, and he wasn’t encouraged to. All he could do was lie there and stare at the wall-paper.
And when he was not counting the wall-paper pattern he would close his eyes and picture Dora to himself. He would think of her in the neat coat and skirt she wore to the post-office and back; then simply in the blouse and skirt she dressed in “for the house”; then in the white frock she donned when bound for any entertainment in Jefferson’s company. On the whole, Jim most liked to dream of her in the blouse and skirt. He had seen her thus attired most frequently; such was her costume when he first set eyes on her in the A B C shop that memorable August afternoon.
And so he lay with his head in white bandages and his back in plaster-of-Paris—not able to sit up or to turn even; so he lay and gazed upon the pictures of Dora that floated before his mind’s eye.
They had not told him that no marriage had taken place. The matter had been delicately mentioned to the two great surgeons by Mr Maybury, but they had both set their faces against the idea of saying anything to Jim about it, Trefusis declaring that it would excite his patient too much.
Sir Savile concurring, Mr Maybury was obliged to submit, although he himself could not help thinking that the intelligence would banish that brooding expression for ever from Jim’s eyes. For Dora’s father sitting by the bedside, could see that Jim was suffering from something more than the physical injuries he had sustained in the Silent House.
Mr Maybury spoke to Koko about it.
“Yes,” said Koko, promptly; “I have a good mind to tell Jim, and let the doctors go hang. They only take a scientific view of his case. Shall I?”
“We must obey orders,” said Mr Maybury.
“Well I don’t believe it would do him all that harm—and it might do him an awful lot of good.”
“I think with you,” said Mr Maybury, “but the doctors probably know best.”
“All the same, doctors don’t know everything,” grumbled Koko.
Jim did not make a single inquiry on the subject. He presumed Dora was away honey-mooning under the fair blue skies of the Mediterranean. He had no idea she was still at No. 9, seriously considering the question of taking a business situation of some sort, since she could not return to the post-office. Her father did not encourage the idea, nor did he oppose it. If Dora would be happier going to a city office every day, well—she had better go. But, on the other hand, he was quite content that she should remain at home, now that he was so much better off.
So stood matters when old Doctor Mortimer stole a couple of days from his wealthy and, in many cases, hypochondriacal patients down at Threeways, and, running up to town to see Jim, pitched his tent in a quiet Arundel Street hotel. In order to reach Mount Street he had only to make his way along the Embankment to Blackfriars Bridge, whence to Derby Crescent was a smart fifteen minutes’ walk. For the Doctor always walked if it was fine weather. “It keeps a man alive—walking,” the old gentleman told Koko, who lunched with him on the day of his arrival in town. And, to be sure, it was good to see the Doctor’s stalwart form striding briskly along the crowded pavements, his fine, clean-cut face ruddy and wholesome showing up refreshingly against the pallid cheeks of London wayfarers.
“We must get Jim away to the seaside as soon as possible,” he said to Koko, as the latter with some difficulty kept step for step with his big companion; “what he wants is oxygen—oxygen.”
During lunch Koko had given Jim’s grandfather a complete history of the Jefferson episode. He also mentioned that Jim was being kept in ignorance of the closing incident. So, after a short silence, Dr Mortimer slackened his pace, and said: “She’s a nice girl, then, Mr Somers?”
“She’s as nice a girl as you could meet, Doctor.”
“Doesn’t spend all her time reading silly novels, I trust?”
“Hardly all her time, Doctor. She reads a certain number, I suppose.”
“She’s a good girl—I mean, a girl with religion? I don’t believe in your modern young lady who strums waltzes on the piano instead of going to church!”
“Nor do I,” said Koko. “Yes,” he added, “she’s a good girl. She’s been looking after the poor flower-seller who saved Jim’s face from the Hooligan’s boot.”
“And so,”—the Doctor slackened his pace still more,—“and so, if we manage to pull Jim round and make him as strong a man as he ever was, you think this girl will marry him?”
“I’m sure of it,” said Koko.
“And you’re sure this is no passing fancy of Jim’s? You think he will want to marry her?”
“I’d stake my life on it,” cried Koko.
“Then,” said the Doctor, “the very best medicine the boy can have is a daily visit from Miss—er——”
“Dora,” supplied Koko.
“From Miss Dora Maybury,” added the Doctor, emphatically. “Very good. I’ll take the responsibility of the matter on my own shoulders. He shall see her.”
Jim was staring at that abominable wall-paper pattern without coming to any decision about the number of times it was repeated over the window. For in every leaf he saw Dora’s face—and very soon he would see Dora herself, for he knew now that she hadn’t married Jefferson, and that she was coming to tea with him this very day. It was to be, in fact, quite a tea-party—a small one, and a very select one. The little Scottish nurse, who was all-powerful in the sick-room—and had made this fact very clear to everybody by this time—would act as hostess, and the guests would be strictly limited to Jim’s grandfather, Koko, and Dora. It would not do, said the nurse, firmly to have too many people to tea, and the party must only last half an hour at the outside. Another day she would invite Mr and Mrs Maybury, Miss Bird and Frank—but they must not come to-day; it would be too many for the little room.
So now Jim was feeling very happy. He and his grandfather had “made it up” completely. In fact Jim had been astonished by the change that had come over the old gentleman. True, the abrupt manner of speech remained, but behind it was a new gentleness, and a new understanding of Jim.
So they had shaken hands, and the Doctor was now downstairs talking to Koko and Dora.
The last page of this book was missing, however, it can be assumed that there was a happy ending.
The source book was in poor condition. Its title page mentions sixteen illustrations, only seven of which were still in the book.]