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He phoned Scotty and found that his pal was hearing equally wild rumors. The boys set a time and place to meet, just outside the main project building at five-thirty. Scotty was there when Rick arrived. "John Gordon come out yet?" Rick asked. Scotty shook his head. "Any news? I've got a million rumors more or less, but nothing solid."
"I don't know about that, Sam," returned Mrs. Brewster, thoughtfully. "I'd rather see Jeb start from here about four o'clock, so Mike and he can meet us at five-thirty at the school-house." "You must have some good reason for that," ventured Polly.
"What for?" demanded Portlaw, then sulkily begged pardon and pouted his dissatisfaction in silence. "When do you go, Malcourt?" asked Hamil, still wondering. "Now." He lifted his head but looked across at Portlaw. "I've telephoned the stable, and called up Pride's Fall to flag the five-thirty express," he said. Portlaw was growing madder and madder.
Doctor Meyer Isaacson's day's work was over at six, or was supposed to be over. Often, however, he gave a patient more than the fixed half-hour, and so prolonged his labours. But no one was admitted to his house for consultation after the patient whose name was against the time of five-thirty. And so Mrs. Chepstow would be the last patient he would see that day.
"If you don't mind I will take a nap in your father's room. And will you ask Ynez to have a bite to eat ready for me with a sandwich or two that I can slip into my pocket. Pat, you stay here and don't let anyone disturb me until five-thirty. Then call me sure. Tex will be here with the horse by that time." With the last word he disappeared into the house.
A week later Harry appeared at Marlowe, arrived unexpectedly at five o'clock, and coming up the walk sank into a porch chair in a state of exhaustion. Roxanne herself had had a busy day and was worn out. The doctors were coming at five-thirty, bringing a celebrated nerve specialist from New York. She was excited and thoroughly depressed, but Harry's eyes made her sit down beside him.
They were heroes not to be daunted. They swung the hammer of Thor against the earth and were worthy of an epic. Toward the middle of the afternoon of that day Carrigan said to the engineer: "We're making better time than I calculated. The holes will all be drilled by five o'clock; we're loading them as they're done and we'll shoot at five-thirty." "What about supper?" "Supper at five.
The Doctor had a sheaf of letters from her. And so the morning's task was over. He turned a page and came to the afternoon. "Two o'clock, Mrs. Lesueur; two-thirty, Miss Mendish; three, the Dean of Greystone; three-thirty, Lady Carle; four, Madame de Lys; four-thirty, Mrs. Harringby; five, Sir Henry Grebe; five-thirty, Mrs. Chepstow." The last name was that of the last patient.
The lump sum of pleasure that other people get spread for them more or less thickly over the surface of the years, she meant to take once for all, packed and pressed into one rapturous hour, one Saturday afternoon from four-thirty to five-thirty, the memory of it to be stored up and economised so as to last her life-time, thus justifying the original expense.
"No, come home at half-past five. That's late enough for little Queens of Sheba to stay away from their mothers." "All right, I'll skip at five-thirty. Good-bye, Mothery dearie." With a kiss and a squeeze Marjorie was off, and Mrs. Maynard watched her from the window, until she disappeared through the Spencers' doorway.
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