The Secret of the Reef

CHAPTER XIV – FIGHTING FOR A LIFE

Aynsley lay in danger for a long time; and Clay never left the mill. At last, however, the boy began to recover slowly, but when he grew well enough to notice things the scream of the saws and the throb of the engines disturbed him. The light wooden building vibrated with the roar of the machinery; and when the machinery stopped the sound of the river gurgling about the log booms broke his sleep. He grumbled continually.

“How long does the doctor mean to keep me here?” he asked his father one day.

“I can’t say, but I understand that you can’t be moved just yet,” Clay answered. “Aren’t you comfortable?”

“Can you expect me to be, with the whole place jingling and shaking? If I’m to get better it must be away from the mill.”

“I’ll see what the doctor thinks; but there’s the difficulty that I don’t know where to take you. You wouldn’t be much quieter in Seattle. It’s curious, now I think of it, that I haven’t had a home for a good many years, though I didn’t seem to miss it until this thing happened.”

Aynsley made a sign of languid agreement. He could not remember his mother, and his father had not kept house within his recollection. For the last few years he had rented luxurious rooms in a big hotel which Aynsley shared with him when not away visiting or on some sporting trip; but Aynsley now shrank from the lack of privacy and the bustle that went on all day and most of the night. There was not a restful nook in the huge, ornate building, which echoed with footsteps and voices, the clang of the street-cars, and the harsh grinding of electric elevators.

“I want to go somewhere where it’s quiet,” he said.

“Then I guess I’ll have to hire a bushman’s shack or take you to sea in the yacht. It never struck me before, but quietness is mighty hard to find in this country. We’re not a tranquil people.”

“I couldn’t stand for a voyage,” Aynsley grumbled. “She’s a wet boat under sail if there’s any breeze, and I don’t want to crawl about dodging the water. Then the fool man who designed her put the only comfortable rooms where the propeller shakes you to pieces when the engines are going.”

On the whole, Clay felt relieved, particularly as Aynsley’s hardness to please implied that he was getting better. He had spent some time at the mill and had a number of irons in the fire. It would damage his business if they got overheated or perhaps cooled down before they could be used.

“Well,” he suggested, “perhaps Osborne would take us in.”

Aynsley’s eyes brightened. Osborne’s house was the nearest approach to a home he had ever known. It was seldom packed with noisy guests like other houses he visited, and one was not always expected to take part in some strenuous amusement. The place was quiet and beautiful and all its appointments were in artistic taste. He thought of it with longing as a haven of rest where he could gather strength from the pine-scented breezes and bask in Ruth’s kindly sympathy.

“That would be just the thing! I feel that I could get better there. Will you write to him?”

“First mail,” Clay promised with a twinkle; “but I’m not sure that Ruth’s at home. Anyway, I’ve a number of letters to write now.”

“I expect I’ve been pretty selfish in claiming all your time; but, if Osborne will have me, it will give you a chance of going up to town and looking after things.”

“That’s so,” Clay replied. “As a matter of fact, some of them need it.”

The doctor rather dubiously consented to his patient’s being moved, and Clay neglected no precaution that might soften the journey. As he feared that the jolting of the railroad cars might prove injurious, a special room was booked on a big Sound steamer, and it was only Aynsley’s uncompromising refusal to enter it that prevented his bringing out an ambulance-van to convey him to the wharf. He reached the vessel safely in an automobile, and as she steamed up the Sound he insisted on throwing off his wraps and trying to walk about. The attempt fatigued him, and he leaned on the rail at the top of a stairway from a lower deck when the steamer approached a pine-shrouded island.

A tide-race swirled past the point, flashing in the sunshine a luminous white and green, and Aynsley took his hand from the rail and stood unsupported watching the shore glide by. As he was facing, he could not see an ugly half-tide rock that rose out of the surging flood not far ahead, and he was taken off his guard when the helm was pulled hard over. The fast vessel listed with a sudden slant as she swung across the stream, and Aynsley, losing his balance, fell down a few stairs and struck a stanchion with his side. He clung to it, gasping and white in face, and when Clay ran down to him there was blood on his lips.

“I’m afraid the confounded thing has broken out again,” he said.

They carried him into the saloon, and Clay summoned the captain, who came docilely at his bidding. It appeared that there was no doctor among the passengers, and the boat was billed to call at several places before she reached Seattle. None of these stops could be cut out, and the captain suggested that it would be better to land the injured man as intended, and send for assistance by fast automobile. Aynsley nodded feebly when he heard this.

“Put me ashore,” he murmured. “I’ll be all right there.”

An hour later the call of the whistle rang among the pines that rolled down to the beach, and as the side-wheels beat more slowly a launch came off across the clear, green water. Aynsley, choking back a cough, feebly raised himself.

“If Ruth’s on board that boat, she mustn’t be scared,” he said. “I’m going down as if there was nothing wrong.”

“You’re going down in the arms of the two biggest seamen I can get,” Clay replied. “If that doesn’t please you, we’ll lower you in a slung chair.”

Aynsley submitted when he found that he could not get up; and Ruth, sitting with her father in the stern of the launch, started as she saw him carried down the gangway. His face was gray and haggard when they laid him on a cushioned locker, and the girl was moved to pity. But the shock resolved some doubts that had long troubled her. She was startled and sorry for Aynsley, but that was all; she did not feel the fear and the suspense which she thought might have been expected.

Ansley saw her grave face, and looked up with a faint smile.

“I feel horribly ashamed,” he said. “If I’d known I’d make a fool of myself – ”

“Hush!” Ruth laid her hand on him with a gentle, restraining touch as she saw the effort it cost him to speak. “You must be quiet. We are going to make you better.”

“Yes,” he said disjointedly. “I’ve been longing – knew I’d get all right here – but I didn’t expect – to turn up like this – ”

A choking cough kept him still, and he hurriedly wiped his lips with a reddened handkerchief.

“I am afraid it may be very bad,” Clay whispered to Osborne. “Some miles to the nearest ‘phone call, isn’t it?”

Osborne nodded affirmatively, and as they neared the beach he waved his hand to a man on the lawn.

“Car!” he shouted. “Get her out! I’ll tie up the boat.”

With some trouble Aynsley was carried into the house, and the doctor who arrived some hours later looked grave when he saw him. The next morning he brought two nurses, and for several days his patient hovered between life and death. He was delirious most of the time, but there were intervals when his fevered brain partly recovered its balance and he asked for Ruth. It was seldom that he spoke to her sensibly when she came, but it was obvious that her presence had a soothing effect, for his eyes followed her with dull satisfaction, and a few quiet words from her would sometimes lull him to the sleep he needed.

Ruth felt her power, and used it for his benefit without hesitation and without much thought about its cause. She was filled with pity and with a curious, protective tenderness for the man, and there was satisfaction in feeling that he needed her. It was her duty and pleasure to assist as far as possible in his recovery. Clay watched her with growing admiration, and sometimes she became disturbed under his searching glance. She felt that he was curious about the motive which sustained her in her task, and this caused her some uneasiness, for she suspected that she might presently have to make it clear to herself and to others. But the time for this had not come. Aynsley was still in danger, and all concerned must concentrate their attention on the fight for his life.

Once when she left his room with an aching head and heavy eyes after a long watch with the nurse, who could not control her fevered patient without the girl’s assistance, Clay met her on the stairs, and as he gave her a swift, inquiring glance, she saw that his face was worn.

“Asleep at last,” she said. “I think he’ll rest for a few hours.”

He looked at her with gratitude and some embarrassment, which was something she had never seen him show.

“And you?” he asked. “How much of this can you stand for?”

Ruth did not think the question was prompted by consideration for her. He would be merciless in his exactions, but she could forgive him this because it was for his son’s sake. Besides, there was subtle flattery in his recognition of her influence.

“I dare say I can hold out as long as I am needed,” she answered with a smile. “After all, the nurses and the doctor are the people on whom the worst strain falls.”

“Bosh!” he exclaimed with rough impatience. “I guess you know you’re more use than all three together. Why that’s so doesn’t matter at present; there the thing is.”

Ruth blushed, though she was angry with herself as she felt her face grow hot, because she had no wish that he should startle her into any display of feeling; but, to her relief, he no longer fixed his eyes on her.

“My dear,” he said, “I want your promise that you’ll pull him through. You can, if you are determined enough; and he’s all I have. Hold him back – he’s been slipping downhill the last few days – and there’s nothing you need hesitate about asking from me.”

“Though it may not be much, I’ll do what I can.” Ruth’s tone was slightly colder. “But one does not expect – ”

“Payment for a kindness?” Clay suggested. “Well, I suppose the best things are given for nothing and can’t be bought, but that has not been my luck. What I couldn’t take by force I’ve had to pay for at full market price. The love of a bargain is in my blood. Pull my son through, and whatever I can do for you won’t make me less your debtor.”

Ruth was silent a moment. She had of late been troubled by a vague uneasiness on her father’s account, and with a sudden flash of insight she realized that it might be well to have the man’s gratitude.

“After all, I may ask you for a favor some day,” she answered, smiling.

“You won’t find me go back on my word,” he promised.