A Fussy Old Gentleman. . .

Free Lance, Volume I, Issue 22, 1 December 1900, Page 14

A Fussy Old Gentleman. . .

By Felicia Stone.

ONE day, I received a mysterious telegram from my sister, urging me, in ten of the most forcible words to be found in the dictionary, to come to her at once. I was sure that there was some calamity in the nursery for Mary adored her children, and I concluded that at least one of them was at the point of death. Strange as it may sound in these days, when girls in their teens think nothing of travelling alone, I had never before made a journey by myself ; and, though I had only a three hours' ride in the train, 1 felt uncomfortably nervous about it. Indeed, I became flurried when on entering the train I found it quite tull, with only a seat here and there--! cannot say empty, 'for every one of them was occupied, if not with a passenger, with his belongings. I hesitated to ask for a seat, hoping someone would notice my dilemma and offer me one. But no one took notice of me, thinking, I suppose, that I was capable of looking out for myself. 1 had not the courage to dislodge the packages of any of Jthe women, but preferred, at a smaller risk, to inconvenience an elderly white-haired gentleman, who had most luxuriously spread himself out, I fancied, for a long journey. , After I had shrunk as much as possible into the corner of my seat, I was conscious that my fellow traveller took not the smallest notice of me. I never saw a more fidgety person in my life. Instead of reading his newspapers (he had enough of them to occnpy him a week !) he was diving down after some article he fancied he missed, or hunting in his pockets for what was not in them. One moment he would raise the window, and then, muttering an apology, without waiting to hear my desire for fresh air, he would bring it down with a bang — only to open it again in the space of ten minutes. I felt the greateat desire to shake this portly handsome fidgety gentleman, and nail him to his seat. At last, after putting his head out of the window in the most dangerous manner, and escaping twenty times at least, he suddenly brought in his head, and applied his hand to his left eye. There was no mistaking the movement, even if his rather pained expression had not told me that he had a cinder in his eye. Though I felt that he richly deserved the accident, I was sincerely sorry for him. Cinders, like many of the small ills of life, are painful, so I ventured to express my sympathy, which was received gruffly enough. I mildly prescribed to rub the eye gently towards the nose, which was pooh-poohed as nonsense. As a last resort I offered to bind up his eye so as to exclude the light, wU-n he told me that, from a bit of carelessness on the part of his servant, he was travelling without a pocket-hand-kerchief. For the next few minutes I had a severe struggle with myself ; for a pockethandkerchief is the last thing you care to give away if you chance to have only one. . My travelling companion s sufferings were evidently increasing with the sun's glare, so I slipped my hand into my pocket and produced my handkerchief, folding it bias, in the prescribed shape of a bandage. "You had better let me bandage your eye," I suggested. "The cool linen will feel pleasant." "And what will you do ? " he asked. "I will keep my head within the window and avoid cinders. I get out at the next station, and in ten minutes will be in a paradise of handkerchief s>," I replied.

The soft, white folds looked cool and pleasant; and no doubt he was weary of holding his hand to his eye, for his objections to the bandage grew fainter. "What is that in the corner? he asked, as I lifted the handkerchief persuasively. . "Only my name embroidered tnere. Never fear, it shall not touch your cy And I dexterously folded my initials inside. , It was a little awkward to bandxge a stranger's eye, and I never saw any one so afraid of being hurt. I was half amused and half angry, and came to the conclusion that my patient knew very little of suffering, either personally or from observation, if he could be so timid at the approach of a lady's handkerchief. . I had the carnage full ot spectators to make me all the more nervous, and (was there anything more provoking?) my bandage did not meet by hardly the eighth of an inch. What could I do? Not continue to hold the bandage. Besides, we were quickly nearing the station. The handsome head (for it was a very handsome head, if it did wear gray hair) was bowed low for me to reach it. I was heartily tired of my role as a good Samaritan, yet not at all inclined to make a failure of myself, nor cause the poor man more suffering by removing the soft bandage. So, with my left hand I quietly undid my breastpin (an old-fashioned bar of gold, not of much value, and only worn because I had owned it since I was a child), and with it I securely fastened the handkerchief comfortably, for which service I received sufficient thanks. A minute more brought me to the station, at which, being only a country village, there was but a very short stoppage. I jumped up quickly when the conductor called the name, and, leaving the outside seat, I had bidden good-bye and was safely in the hands of a muchloved nephew before my patient (made blind by my handkerchief) had taken in the fact of my leaving him, though I did see a face with a bandaged eye through the window as the train sped on. Though my handkerchief was only marked with my initials, and I never expected to see it again, a strange thing happened. Two days after my adventure a package was left at the door for me, which proved to be my handkerchief, beautifully laundered. How my patient had found out my name and address was a puzzle. The sickness in Mary's nursery proved to be scarlet fever. The first case of the disease was light, and easily managed , but the baby took it in a violent form and was dreadfu'ly ill. At last our good doctor declared he had used every means in his power to check the .disease, and proposed a consultation, naming a physician of much celebrity in a neighbouring town. I was not in the room when the doctors paid their first or second visit. The new doctor's treatment was a success, and we had good hope of the baby's recovery. On their third visit I was in the nursery ; our poor little darling had fallen asleep holding my hand, and I could not release myself without wakening him. I was sitting with my back to the door, so I did not see who came in. Mary went to the window to draw up the blind. "Be careful," I said, "his eyes are painfully sensitive to the light." "Why, then, do you not bandage them. I know from experience that a soft handkerchief, used as a bandage, is of great comfort to sensitive eyes." I could not prevent myself from starting a little, for the new doctor's voice

was familiar to me. Yet when I turned my head to look at him there was not the slightest iook of recognition f.u his part, though I knew perfectly well he was my fussy travelling companion. Though I acknowledged that at first I was a little hurt at his evident forgetf ulness, I was glad of it, for there would have been an awkward explanation as to our acquaintance, which would have been out of place in the sick-room. For many weeks Dr. Stone was constantly in the nursery ; so kind, so patient, so steady, and to be relied upon, I wondered how I could ever have called him fussy. Frequently he watched with me over the baby's crib. All of the children were devoted to him, and played with him as if with one of themselves. Many a time I was on the brink of disgrace by being bidden by the children to tell of the "fussy man with the cindor in his eve," and only psoaped by adroitly recalling something funnier. One evening I had announced to the children the fact that I was to return home next day, and to console them I proposed a game of forfeits. Kneeling in the middle of the nursery floor, with my eyes tightly bandaged, something was held over my head, and the children sang in shrill voices : '"Heavy, heavy, what hangs over your head?" The forfeit was my own, and Dick, special favourite, called out, as if prompted : "Aunt Felicia, marry the doctor!" "Not .unless he asks me," I said, laughing, and undoing the handker-

chief which a moment afterward I would have gladly worn, for just opposite me stood Dr. Stone. Need I say I did not wait long for hi* proposal ? "I honestly confess," said nay future husband, "that if it had not been for the cinder in my eye, I would not have noticed you. lam singularly fidgety when travelling. But your kindness, and the way you put on the bandage, told me you were a good young woman, unselfish — " "You would never have found me if the baby had not been ill," I interrupted. "Would I not?" Did I not return your handkerchief, though I longed tokeep it?" "So you did! How did you discover my name ? When I gave you the handkerchief I never expected to see it again," I said. "One does not meet with many Felicias in one's life. I was not altogether honest." And he took from his pocket, very near hie heart (for elderly gentlemen are inclined to be sentimental), the little breastpin I had fastened the bandage with, and which I had quiteforgotten. It had my name, "Felicia Forsythe," with my birthday, engraved on it. Being the wife of the first physician in one of our large cities, married to a man tenderly attached to me, I can well say my small act of kindness wasrepaid with interest, and I never regretted the loan of my handkerchief.