After a month of worry, she had written to Nancy Ashford. Rejecting, after some debate, the thought of confiding the exact state of her affairs, she limited her inquiry to the possibility of converting her Brightwood stock into cash at the earliest moment a purchaser could be found. Mrs. Ashford would be surprised and disappointed, doubtless, but she would have to think what she liked about it. The real reason could not be divulged.
“Now—I wonder exactly why she wants to do that?” Nancy had said to Doctor Merrick, upon receipt of it. “Surely she has enough to live on … The income on her Northwestern Copper can’t be a penny less than six thousand a year … Preferred stock … sound as Gibraltar … Do you suppose somebody has been defrauding her? She knows so little about business.”
“Who’s handling her affairs while she is gone?”
“Nobody—so far as I know … There’s nothing very complicated about her business … I think she said her brother—her cousin, rather—would assist her in making out her income tax report.”
“D’you know anything about him?”
“Not a thing … Might he be handling her money?”
“Unlikely … Why should he? … Unless she gave him carte blanche to buy and sell; and she wouldn’t do that.”
“What shall I say to her, Bobby?”
“How much is her Brightwood stock worth?”
“Conservatively?” Nancy grinned.
“No—optimistically!—a Micawber appraisal!”
“About twenty thousand, I should think … Want it?”
“Yes … You tell her you have contracted to dispose of her Brightwood stuff for—for twenty-five thousand dollars … Tell her the man wishes to pay for it in twenty-five monthly instalments … That will insure her against being broke, over there; and meantime …”
“Yes? … Meantime?”
Doctor Merrick moved toward the door.
“Oh—I don’t know—I’m sure … It’s her affair.”
Again Helen took up the long letter she had just received from Mrs. Ashford with its lifesaving enclosure and the definite promise of more to come. The possession of it filled her with misgivings. She had snapped an important tie connecting her with Doctor Hudson’s most cherished interest. It was like closing a door on something he had lived for.
There was no reproach in the letter, either direct or implied … Easy to detect a note of anxiety, however.
“I hope this disposal of your Brightwood stock does not mean that your income from other sources is in any way depleted … Is there anything you would like to have us look after for you?”
Following the briefly clear statement of the deal she had made, and the terms of the sale, Nancy Ashford had served up a potpourri of local news … You wouldn’t know Detroit! … New clubs, new theatres, swagger hotels, metropolitan shops! … Even the hospital was adding a new unit. Plans already drawn.
“Young Doctor Merrick is with us now. Or perhaps you knew that. Of course it is a delight to me to see the rapid progress he is making, for I’ve always been interested in him … Naturally he has a great advantage over the typical intern because, having known from the first day of his medical course that he was going in for brain surgery, he comes here with more specialized knowledge and experience than any other young doctor who ever joined our organization … Already Doctor Pyle is treating him with a deference that amuses me. (Doctor Pyle is so short with the cubs.) … Bobby got permission to fit up a little laboratory of his own. There was a small alcove—perhaps you recall—just off the main solarium on the top floor. We had it partitioned. You should see the apparatus he has installed. It’s more of a physical than a chemical laboratory, I think … Glass-blowing! … A forge! … A blast-furnace! … All manner of electrical things! … You can’t get any information out of him … I was in there yesterday, and asked him if he was making a new radio set, and he said, ‘Something like that.’ … But that doesn’t mean much when he says it, except that he wishes you wouldn’t bother him.
“Oh—I never had a bigger thrill in my life than at his graduation! I had hoped so much for him, all along … And when it came to the big day … with his name starred on the Commencement programme (he hadn’t said a word to me about his taking second honours!) well, I just sat there and wept silly tears … His mother couldn’t come, so I pretended I was his mother … And you should have seen his grandfather! Proud? When the class marched across the platform for their diplomas, dear old Mr. Merrick stood in his seat, trying to wave his handkerchief and blow with it at the same time, until somebody pulled him down by the coattails.”
The sheets trembled in Helen’s hands as she read.
The last line on that page—it was numbered eight—had been scratched out, but was still legible:
“The young doctor who received—”
The next page had been originally numbered twelve. That had also been ineffectually deleted in favour of nine.
On second thought, Nancy Ashford had omitted a considerable part of her letter.
“Here’s that draft for a thousand,” Bobby Merrick had said, as he stood by Nancy’s desk.
“Thanks. I’ve just finished writing to her. I’ll get it off today.”
“That’s good! … By the way—you said nothing about the Dawsons, did you?”
“Why—yes … Rather I’d not?”
“Leave it out … I don’t think she’d be interested much … and—well, I have a reason.”
“As you like,” said Nancy, hastily extracting the pages on which she had written:
“—first honours is Doctor Merrick’s closest friend … Damon and Pythias … the kind of a friendship you read about! They worked together throughout their medical course—same speciality. First honours now carry a prize offered by Mr. Owen Simmons (Simmons Turbine Co.)—a year in Vienna, all expenses, scholarship, liberal allowance, etc … The Dawsons were here last Thursday—the day your letter came. She was going to New York to see her husband off.
“Actually, the three of them were like brothers and sister. I couldn’t help being jealous. They were closeted here in my office for a whole hour, and when they came out, and I met
