Chapter 15: Again Susan Takes a Hand

That evening Daniel Burton told Susan. “Keith is to go home with Dr. Stewart next week. The doctor will operate as soon as possible. Keith will live at the sanatorium connected with the doctor’s home and be under his constant supervision.”

Susan tried to speak, but instead of speaking she burst into tears.

“Why, Susan!” exclaimed the man.

“I know, I know,” she choked, angrily dashing the drops from her eyes.
“An’ me cryin’ like this when I’m gettin’ jest what I want, too!”
“But there’s no certainty, Susan, that it’ll be successful; remember that,” warned the man, his face clouding a little. “We can only—hope.”

“An’ there’s the—the pay.” Susan looked up, her voice vibrating with fearful doubts.

“Oh, that’s all right.” The man lifted his head with the air of one who at last has reached firm ground after a dangerous crossing on thin ice. “The doctor’s going to buy the highboy and that mirror in the studio, and—oh, several other things.”

“You mean that old chest of drawers in the settin’-room?” scorned
Susan openly.
“Yes.” Daniel Burton’s lips twitched a little.

“But will he PAY anything for ‘em? Mr. Burton, you can’t get nothin’, hardly, for second-hand furniture. My mother had a stove an’ a real nice bedstead, an’ a red-plush parlor set, an’ she sold ‘em. But she didn’t get anything—not hardly anything, for ‘em; an’ they was ‘most new, some of ‘em, too.”

“That’s the trouble, Susan—they were too new, probably,” laughed the man. “It’s because these are old, very old, that he wants them, I suspect.

“An’ he’ll really pay MONEY for ‘em?” Plainly Susan still had her doubts.

“He certainly will. I’d be almost ashamed to tell you HOW much he’ll pay, Susan,” smiled the man. “It seemed to me sheer robbery on my part. But he assures me they are very valuable, and that he’s more than delighted to have them even at that price.”

“Lan’ sakes! An’ when I’d been worryin’ an’ worryin’ so about the money,” sighed Susan; “an’ now to have it fall plump into your lap like that. It jest shows you not to hunt for bridges till you get your feet wet, don’t it? An’ he’s goin’ jest next week?”

“Yes. The doctor and his daughter start Tuesday.”

“You don’t mean that girl Dorothy’s goin’ too?” Susan had almost bounced out of her chair.

“Why, yes, Dr. Stewart SAID she was. What’s the matter?”

“Matter? Matter enough! Why, if she goes—Say, why IS she taggin’ along, anyhow?” demanded Susan wrathfully.

“Well, I shouldn’t exactly call it ‘taggin’ along’ to go home with her father for the Christmas vacation,” shrugged the man. “As I understand it, Dorothy’s mother died several years ago. That’s why the girl is here in the East so much with her relatives, going to school. The doctor’s home has become practically a sanatorium—not the most desirable place in the world to bring up a young daughter in, I should say. Let’s see, how old is Miss Dorothy?”

“Sixteen, Keith says. I asked him one day. She’s about his age.”

“Hm-m; well, however that may be, Susan, I don’t see how we can help ourselves very well. I fancy Miss Dorothy’ll still—tag along,” he finished whimsically.

“Maybe, an’ then maybe not,” mumbled Susan darkly, as she turned away.

For two days after this Susan’s kitchen, and even Keith himself, showed almost neglect; persistently and systematically Susan was running “down street” every hour or two—ostensibly on errands, yet she bought little. She spent most of her time tramping through the streets and stores, scrutinizing especially the face of every young girl she met.

On the afternoon of the second day she met Dorothy Parkman coming out of the post-office.

“Well, I’ve got you at last,” she sighed, “though I’m free to confess
I was beginnin’ to think I never would see you.”
“Oh, yes, about Keith,” cried the girl joyously. “Isn’t it splendid!
I’m so glad! And he’s going home with us right away, you know.”
“Yes, I know. An’ that’s what—that is, I wanted—” stammered Susan, growing red in her misery. “Oh, Miss Dorothy, you WOULD do anything for that poor blind boy, wouldn’t you?”