________________________________________________
_ The shabby blue office coat hangs on the hook in the
little sporting room where Blackie placed it. No one
dreams of moving it. There it dangles, out at elbows,
disreputable, its pockets burned from many a hot pipe
thrust carelessly into them, its cuffs frayed, its lapels
bearing the marks of cigarette, paste-pot and pen.
It is that faded old garment, more than anything
else, which makes us fail to realize that its owner will
never again slip into its comfortable folds. We cannot
believe that a lifeless rag like that can triumph over
the man of flesh and blood and nerves and sympathies.
With what contempt do we look upon those garments during
our lifetime! And how they live on, defying time, long,
long after we have been gathered to our last rest.
In some miraculous manner Blackie had lived on for
two days after that ghastly ride. Peter had been killed
instantly, the doctors said. They gave no hope for
Blackie. My escape with but a few ridiculous bruises
and scratches was due, they said, to the fact that I had
sat in the tonneau. I heard them all, in a stupor of
horror and grief, and wondered what
plan Fate had in store for me, that I alone should have
been spared. Norah and Max came, and took things in
charge, and I saw Von Gerhard, but all three appeared dim
and shadowy, like figures in a mist. When I closed my
eyes I could see Peter's tense figure bending over
Blackie at the wheel, and heard his labored breathing as
he struggled in his mad fury, and felt again the helpless
horror that had come to me as we swerved off the road and
into the ditch below, with Blackie, rigid and desperate,
still clinging to the wheel. I lived it all over and
over in my mind. In the midst of the blackness I heard
a sentence that cleared the fog from my mind, and caused
me to raise myself from my pillows.
Some one--Norah, I think--had said that Blackie was
conscious, and that he was asking for some of the men at
the office, and for me. For me! I rose and dressed, in
spite of Norah's protests. I was quite well, I told
them. I must see him. I shook them off with trembling
fingers and when they saw that I was quite determined
they gave in, and Von Gerhard telephoned to the hospital
to learn the hour at which I might meet
the others who were to see Blackie for a brief moment.
I met them in the stiff little waiting room of he
hospital--Norberg, Deming, Schmidt, Holt--men who had
known him from the time when they had yelled, "Heh, boy!"
at him when they wanted their pencils sharpened.
Awkwardly we followed the fleet-footed nurse who glided
ahead of us down the wide hospital corridors, past
doorways through which we caught glimpses of white beds
that were no whiter than the faces that lay on the
pillows. We came at last into a very still and bright
little room where Blackie lay.
Had years passed over his head since I saw him last?
The face that tried to smile at us from the pillow was
strangely wizened and old. It was as though a withering
blight had touched it. Only the eyes were the same.
They glowed in the sunken face, beneath the shock of
black hair, with a startling luster and brilliancy.
I do not know what pain he suffered. I do not know
what magic medicine gave him the strength to smile at us,
dying as he was even then.
"Well, what do you know about little Paul Dombey?" he
piped in a high, thin voice. The shock of relief was too
much. We giggled hysterically, then stopped short and
looked at each other, like scared and naughty children.
"Sa-a-ay, boys and girls, cut out the heavy thinking
parts. Don't make me do all the social stunts. What's
the news? What kind of a rotten cotton sportin' sheet is
that dub Callahan gettin' out? Who won to-day--Cubs or
Pirates? Norberg, you goat, who pinned that purple tie
on you?"
He was so like the Blackie we had always known that
we were at our ease immediately. The sun shone in at the
window, and some one laughed a little laugh somewhere
down the corridor, and Deming, who is Irish, plunged into
a droll description of a brand-new office boy who had
arrived that day.
"S'elp me, Black, the kid wears spectacles and a
Norfolk suit, and low-cut shoes with bows on 'em. On the
square he does. Looks like one of those Boston infants
you see in the comic papers. I don't believe he's real.
We're saving him until you get back, if the kids in the
alley don't chew him up before that time."
An almost imperceptible shade passed over Blackie's
face. He closed his eyes for a moment. Without their
light his countenance was ashen, and awful.
A nurse in stripes and cap appeared in the doorway.
She looked keenly at the little figure in the bed. Then
she turned to us.
"You must go now," she said. "You were just to see
him for a minute or two, you know."
Blackie summoned the wan ghost of a smile to his
lips. "Guess you guys ain't got th' stimulatin' effect
that a bunch of live wires ought to have. Say, Norberg,
tell that fathead, Callahan, if he don't keep the third
drawer t' the right in my desk locked, th' office kids'll
swipe all the roller rink passes surest thing you know."
"I'll--tell him, Black," stammered Norberg, and
turned away.
They said good-by, awkwardly enough. Not one of them
that did not owe him an unpayable debt of gratitude. Not
one that had not the memory of some secret kindness
stored away in his heart. It was Blackie who had
furnished the money that had sent Deming's sick wife
west. It had been Blackie who had rescued Schmidt time
and again when drink got a strangle-hold. Blackie had
always said: "Fire Schmidt! Not much! Why, Schmidt
writes better stuff drunk than all the rest of the
bunch sober." And Schmidt would be granted another
reprieve by the Powers that Were.
Suddenly Blackie beckoned the nurse in the doorway.
She came swiftly and bent over him.
"Gimme two minutes more, that's a good nursie.
There's something I want to say t' this dame. It's de
rigger t' hand out last messages, ain't it?"
The nurse looked at me, doubtfully. "But you're not
to excite yourself."
"Sa-a-ay, girl, this ain't goin' t' be no scene from
East Lynne. Be a good kid. The rest of the bunch can
go."
And so, when the others had gone, I found myself
seated at the side of his bed, trying to smile down at
him. I knew that there must be nothing to excite him.
But the words on my lips would come.
"Blackie," I said, and I struggled to keep my voice
calm and emotionless, "Blackie, forgive me. It is all my
fault--my wretched fault."
"Now, cut that," interrupted Blackie. "I thought
that was your game. That's why I said I wanted t' talk
t' you. Now, listen. Remember my tellin' you, a few
weeks ago, 'bout that vacation I was plannin'? This is
it, only it's come sooner than I expected, that's all.
I seen two three doctor guys about it. Your friend Von
Gerhard was one of 'em. They didn't tell me t' take no
ocean trip this time. Between 'em, they decided my
vacation would come along about November, maybe. Well,
I beat 'em to it, that's all. Sa-a-ay, girl, I ain't
kickin'. You can't live on your nerves and expect t'
keep goin'. Sooner or later you'll be suein' those same
nerves for non-support. But, kid, ain't it a shame that
I got to go out in a auto smashup, in these days when
even a airship exit don't make a splash on the front
page!"
The nervous brown hand was moving restlessly over the
covers. Finally it met my hand, and held it in a tense
little grip.
"We've been good pals, you and me, ain't we, kid?"
"Yes, Blackie."
"Ain't regretted it none?"
"Regretted it! I am a finer, truer, better woman for
having known you, Blackie."
He gave a little contented sigh at that, and his eyes
closed. When he opened them the old, whimsical smile
wrinkled his face.
"This is where I get off at. It ain't been no long
trip, but sa-a-ay, girl, I've enjoyed every mile of the
road. All kinds of scenery--all kinds of
lan'scape--plain--fancy--uphill--downhill--"
I leaned forward, fearfully.
"Not--yet," whispered Blackie. Say Dawn--in the
story books--they--always--are strong on the--good-by
kiss, what?"
And as the nurse appeared in the doorway again,
disapproval on her face, I stooped and gently pressed my
lips to the pain-lined cheek. _
Read next: CHAPTER XXI - HAPPINESS
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