useless person he was. It seemed to him that this was all he was fit
for , to hang about doing nothing while everybody else was busy and
proving his or her own worth.
A door opened and the little doctor came quietly down the stairs. Kirk
sprang at him.
'Well?'
'My dear man, everything's going splendidly. Couldn't be better.' The
doctor's eyes searched his face. 'When did you have anything to eat
last?'
'I don't know. I had some eggs and milk. I don't know when.'
The doctor took him by the shoulders and hustled him into the kitchen,
where he searched and found meat and bread.
'Eat that,' he said. 'I'll have some, too.'
'I couldn't.'
'And some whisky. Where do you keep it?'
After the first few mouthfuls Kirk ate wolfishly. The doctor munched a
sandwich with the placidity of a summer boarder at a picnic. His
calmness amazed and almost shocked Kirk.
'You can't help her by killing yourself,' said the doctor
philosophically. 'I like that woman with the gimlet eyes. At least I
don't, but she's got sense. Go on. You haven't done yet. Another
highball won't hurt you.' He eyed Kirk with some sympathy. 'It's a bad
time for you, of course.'
'For me? Good God!'
'You want to keep your nerve. Nothing awful is going to happen.'
'If only there was something I could do.'
''They also serve who only stand and wait,'' quoted the doctor
sententiously. 'There is something you can do.'
'What?'
'Light your pipe and take it easy.'
Kirk snorted.
'I mean it. In a very short while now you will be required to take the
stage and embrace your son or daughter, as the case may be. You don't
want to appear looking as if you had been run over by an automobile
after a night out. You want your appearance to give Mrs. Winfield as
little of a shock as possible. Bear that in mind. Well, I must be
going.'
And Kirk was alone again.
The food and the drink and the doctor's words had a good effect. His
mind became quieter. He sat down and filled his pipe. After a few puffs
he replaced it in his pocket. It seemed too callous to think of smoking
now. The doctor was a good fellow, but he did not understand. All the
same, he was glad that he had had that whisky. It had certainly put
heart into him for the moment.
What was happening upstairs? He strained his ears, but could hear
nothing.
Gradually, as he waited, his mood of morbid self-criticism returned. He
had sunk once more into the depths when he was aware of a soft tapping.
The door bell rang very gently. He went to the door and opened it.
'I kinder thought I'd look in and see how things were getting along,'
