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Page 57
Throwing herself across the couch, she buried her face in the cushions,
crying chokingly, "Oh, I can't _bear_ to think of it! Oh, Jack! how
could such an awful thing happen to _you_!"
Sick and trembling, Mary sat as if dazed by a blow on the head, her
stunned senses trying to grasp the fact that some awful calamity had
befallen them; that out of a clear sky had dropped a deadly bolt to
shatter all the happiness of their little world. For an instant the
thought came to her that maybe she was only having a dreadful dream,
and in a few moments would come the blessed relief of awakening. But
instead came only the sickening realization of the truth, for Joyce,
with an imploring gesture, held the letter out to Phil for him to read
aloud.
Mrs. Ware had written as bravely as she could, trying not to alarm or
distress them unduly, but there could be no disguising or softening one
terrible fact. Jack, strong, sinewy, broad-shouldered Jack, whose
strength had been his pride, lay as helpless as a baby, and all the hope
the physicians could give was that in a few months he might be able to
go about in a wheeled chair. They had had three surgeons up from
Phoenix for a consultation. A trained nurse was with him at present
and they must not worry. Of course they mustn't think of coming home.
Joyce could do most good where she was, if later on they should have to
depend on her partly, as one of the bread-winners. And Mary must make
the most of the rest of the year at school. Jack had sent the check for
the balance of her expenses only the morning before the accident
occurred.
Mary waited to hear no more. With the tears streaming down her face, and
her lips working pitifully, she scrambled up from the floor, and ran
into the next room, shutting the door behind her. The hurt was too deep
for her to bear another moment, in any one's presence. She must go off
with it into the dark alone.
There was a page or two more, giving some details of the accident. Some
heavy timbers had fallen while they were making some extensions, and
Jack had been crushed under them. The blow on the spine had caused
paralysis of both limbs. When Phil finished the last sentence, he sat
staring helplessly at the floor, wishing he could think of something to
say; something comforting and hopeful, for Joyce's shoulders still
heaved convulsively, and Betty was crying quietly over by the window.
But he could find no grain of comfort in the whole situation. Mrs. Ware
had rejoiced in the fact that his life had been spared, but to Phil,
death seemed infinitely preferable to the crippled helpless
half-existence which the future held out for poor Jack.
Of all the young fellows of his acquaintance, he could think of none on
whom such a blow would fall more crushingly. He had counted so much on
his future. Phil got up and began to pace back and forth at the end of
the long studio, his hands in his pockets, recalling the days of their
old intimacy on the desert. Scene after scene came up before him, till
he felt a tightening of the throat that made him set his teeth together
grimly. Then Joyce sat up and began to talk about him brokenly, with
gushes of tears now and then, as one recalls the good traits of those
who have passed out of life.
"He was so little when papa died, but he's tried to take his place in
every way possible, ever since. So unselfish and uncomplaining--always
taking the brunt of everything! _You_ know how it was, Phil. You saw him
a thousand times giving up his own pleasure to make life easier for us.
And it doesn't seem right that just when things were getting where he
could reach out for what he wanted most, it should be snatched away from
him!"
"I wish Daddy were home," sighed Phil. "I'd take him out for a look at
him. I can't believe that it is so hopeless as all that. And anyhow,
I've always felt that Daddy could put me together again if I were all
broken to bits. He has almost performed miracles several times when
everybody else gave the case up. But he won't be back for months and
maybe a whole year."
"Oh, it's no use hoping, when the three best surgeons in Phoenix give
such a report," said Joyce gloomily. "If it was anything but his spine,
it wouldn't be so bad. We've just got to face the situation and
acknowledge that it means he'll be a life-long invalid. And I know he'd
rather have been killed outright."
"And it was just before his accident," said Betty, wiping her eyes,
"that he wrote to me so jubilantly about his plans. He said he couldn't
help being sanguine over them. It was so good to be young and strong and
feel that your muscle was equal to the strain put upon it, and that the
old world looked about all right to him that morning. It is going to be
such a disappointment to him not to be able to send Mary back to
school."
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