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Updated: May 7, 2025
A man's figure was stumbling along the little path which led diagonally from the back of the Birch premises through a gateway and off toward a back street, the route by which Lanse was accustomed to take an inconspicuous short cut toward the locomotive shops, by the river.
Charlotte laughed a ripple of merriment which was contagious, for Captain Rayburn smiled over the evening paper, and Lanse himself grinned cheerfully. "Mind telling us the occasion of such heartfelt joy?" he inquired.
"See here, Churchill," said Lanse, as the orchestra rested for a moment, "do you play any instrument?" "Only as a novice," admitted the doctor, with some reluctance. "Which one?" "The fiddle." "And never owned up!" chided Lanse. "You didn't want to belong to such an amateurish company?" "I did very much," said Churchill, with emphasis. "But you needed no more violins."
In the doorway of his office he came to a surprised halt. "Miss Charlotte! What's happened?" Lanse spoke faintly for himself: "Got hit at the shop wrench slipped out of man's hands above me nothing much " "No I see," the doctor answered, surveying the situation. He lifted Charlotte's cotton rolls, noted the character and extent of the injury, and lost no time in getting at work.
"Doctor Forester's coming out to hear us play," was all she would tell him, and Lanse groaned over the fact that the little orchestra was so out of practice. When the guests arrived, they found the man with the birthday anxiously looking over scores. He greeted them with enthusiasm. "Doctor Forester, this is good of you, if we can't play worth a copper cent. Miss Atkinson!
"Still I'm aware something is about to happen." Lanse eyed him affectionately. "Do you know it's a good deal to me to be gaining three brothers by this day's work?" the doctor added; and Lanse felt a sudden lump in his throat, which he had to swallow before he could answer: "I assure you we're feeling pretty rich, to-day, too, old fellow."
She reached a cautious hand under her pillow and drew out her soap-dish. "Please get rid of it for me," she whispered, "and wash the dish. I couldn't bear not to seem to eat it, so I slipped it in there." Striving to smother his mirth, Lanse bore the soap-dish away. Returning with it, he carefully replaced the soap and set the dish on the stand, where it had been within Celia's reach.
"When this siege is over," he remarked, "maybe I won't appreciate the privilege of wearing clean linen from morning till night every day in the week." "Poor old Lanse!" said Celia, with compassion. "That's been the part that has tried your soul, hasn't it! You haven't minded the work, but the dirt " "I hope I'm not a Nancy, either," Lanse went on.
After a little experimenting she found that by holding her cotton very firmly and pressing in a certain way, the flow of the blood was almost completely checked. "Does that hurt?" she asked Lanse. He nodded without speaking, but she did not lighten her pressure. She saw that he was very faint.
At length Doctor Churchill finished his manipulations and put on the smooth bandages, which, he remarked with a laugh, were to turn Lanse into the image of the Terrible Turk. "You show all the Spartan attributes of the real martyr," declared the doctor, as he helped his patient back to a couch. "It took pluck to get home here alone. How was it they sent no man with you?" "Everybody busy.
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