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Page 95
"Pendleton," began the doctor, abruptly, "I've come to you
because you, better than any one else in town, know something of
my relations with Miss Polly Harrington."
John Pendleton was conscious that he must have started
visibly--he did know something of the affair between Polly
Harrington and Thomas Chilton, but the matter had not been
mentioned between them for fifteen years, or more.
"Yes," he said, trying to make his voice sound concerned enough
for sympathy, and not eager enough for curiosity. In a moment he
saw that he need not have worried, however: the doctor was quite
too intent on his errand to notice how that errand was received.
"Pendleton, I want to see that child. I want to make an
examination. I MUST make an examination."
"Well--can't you?"
"CAN'T I! Pendleton, you know very well I haven't been inside
that door for more than fifteen years. You don't know--but I will
tell you--that the mistress of that house told me that the NEXT
time she ASKED me to enter it, I might take it that she was
begging my pardon, and that all would be as before--which meant
that she'd marry me. Perhaps you see her summoning me now--but I
don't!"
"But couldn't you go--without a summons?"
The doctor frowned.
"Well, hardly. _I_ have some pride, you know."
"But if you're so anxious--couldn't you swallow your pride and
forget the quarrel--"
"Forget the quarrel!" interrupted the doctor, savagely. "I'm not
talking of that kind of pride. So far as THAT is concerned, I'd
go from here there on my knees--or on my head--if that would do
any good. It's PROFESSIONAL pride I'm talking about. It's a case
of sickness, and I'm a doctor. I can't butt in and say, 'Here,
take me!'can I?"
"Chilton, what was the quarrel?" demanded Pendleton.
The doctor made an impatient gesture, and got to his feet.
"What was it? What's any lovers' quarrel after it's over?" he
snarled, pacing the room angrily. "A silly wrangle over the size
of the moon or the depth of a river, maybe--it might as well be,
so far as its having any real significance compared to the years
of misery that follow them! Never mind the quarrel! So far as I
am concerned, I am willing to say there was no quarrel.
Pendleton, I must see that child. It may mean life or death. It
will mean--I honestly believe--nine chances out of ten that
Pollyanna Whittier will walk again!"
The words were spoken clearly, impressively; and they were spoken
just as the one who uttered them had almost reached the open
window near John Pendleton's chair. Thus it happened that very
distinctly they reached the ears of a small boy kneeling beneath
the window on the ground outside.
Jimmy Bean, at his Saturday morning task of pulling up the first
little green weeds of the flowerbeds, sat up with ears and eyes
wide open.
"Walk! Pollyanna!" John Pendleton was saying. "What do you
mean?"
"I mean that from what I can hear and learn--a mile from her
bedside--that her case is very much like one that a college
friend of mine has just helped. For years he's been making this
sort of thing a special study. I've kept in touch with him, and
studied, too, in a way. And from what I hear--but I want to SEE
the girl!"
John Pendleton came erect in his chair.
"You must see her, man! Couldn't you--say, through Dr. Warren?"
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