The House in the Hedge/Chapter 5
V
I KIDNAP MR. TULLY
I got my chance at Mr. Tully that afternoon.
Auntie was not feeling well enough to go to drive and so I went out alone in the car. Frank likes to take me alone for I don't bother him. When Aunt Myra is along she is forever saying: “Frank, go slowly down this hill,” or “Blow your horn, Frank,” or Keep further to the side of the road, Frank, ” and she will never let him go faster than twelve miles if she knows it. So when we get out alone, just Frank and I, we have a dandy time, and there are moments when the needle on the dial hovers around sixty. Frank is a wonderful chauffeur and I always feel perfectly safe with him. He is not an ordinary chauffeur at all. When he left school he went to work in a bank, and was going to be president of it some day, but a friend took him out for a ride in an automobile and it was all over with Frank. He went to some sort of a night school where they teach you to run automobiles and take them to pieces and put them together again. When he got through there, he left the bank and went to work in a garage to get experience. His first position was with a Philadelphia man, who had a French car. One night when Frank wasn't around, the man went to the garage and got the car, and took a party of friends down to Atlantic City. Coming back, he ran the car into an oil-wagon—oil wagons don't carry lights, and the man didn't see it, Frank says—and broke the car all up and injured several of his friends pretty badly. Of course Frank couldn't stand that, and told him so. “I don't care what you do to your friends,” he told him, “but I'm not going to have you sneaking off with my car and smashing it all up. You can get another chauffeur.” Then he came to us. He made it a condition that the car wasn't to be taken out without his knowledge, and the Major said certainly, that was quite understood. There never was any danger of the Major going for midnight runs to Atlantic, for he's as scared of an automobile as I am of a cow!
Frank's great ambition is to run a racing car. He knows every track record ever made and thinks Oldfield the greatest man in the world, after Roosevelt. And some day he's going to build a car of his own. He knows just what the trouble is with the present cars, and his car is going to be quite different. Sometimes, when we get away back in the country, I get on the front seat and Frank lets me take the wheel, but I'm not keen about it, because I can't help thinking every minute, that if anything should happen, Aunt Myra would know about it, of course, and would never get over it.
This afternoon, when we were coming home at about five o'clock, we saw Mr. Tully walking along the road, and I told Frank to stop when we got up to him. We came up behind him very softly and I'm quite sure he didn't know there was anyone about him until I called. But you simply can't surprise that man. He just looked around quickly, raised his hat, and said, “Good afternoon, Miss Pryde” quite as though we'd had an appointment under that particular tree at that moment. He was going to walk on again, but, of course, I wasn't going to let him. So I asked about his garden and he had to turn back and talk to me. And after he had thanked me for the plants and for the flowers I'd sent that forenoon, he was standing by the car. So I moved over and smiled as sweetly as I knew how.
“Get in and I'll take you home,” I said.
The poor man didn't want to ride a bit, I'm sure, but after he'd hesitated a moment and had looked longingly back at the side walk, he got in.
“There,” I said, “you know this is nicer than walking in all the dust. I do wish we might have a shower, don't you? The trees are looking so parched and dusty. I wonder if you've ever been along the Rowley road. Is it late, Frank?”
“Quarter after five, ma'am,” said Frank.
“That's lovely. Turn into the Rowley road, Frank; I want Mr. Tully to see how pretty it is.”
“It's very kind of you,” said Mr. Tully uneasily, “but I must really be getting back. Mister—the patient”
“Why are you so careful to avoid speaking his name?” I asked. “That's twice you've caught yourself up. Isn't he a—a respectable person?”
Mr. Tully looked worried.
“Quite, only” He paused and looked at me for a full moment rather disconcertingly. Then, “Miss Pryde, I don't think you're the sort of a girl—that is, lady”
“Girl will do,” I laughed. “Go on, Mr. Tully.”
“I was going to say that I didn't think you the sort of of person who would willingly be unkind.”
“Oh!” I said, opening my eyes a little wider. “I hope not.”
“Then you won't ask me to tell you the gentleman's name, Miss Pryde, since he doesn't want it known. And you have been so kind that it would pain me to have to refuse you.”
Now that was rather nice for Mr. Tully, wasn't it? I began to have hopes for him.
“Why, in that case,” I said, “of course I won't ask you. If there is any reason why the gentleman doesn't want to be known”
“There is no reason; that is to say, no reason aside from his own morbidness.” Mr. Tully paused again. Meanwhile we had turned into the Rowley road and were leaving home behind, at thirty miles an hour.
“Perhaps,” continued Mr. Tully, “having said so much, I had better say more. But I'm going to ask you, Miss Pryde, not to let it go any further.”
“You can trust me, really,” I assured him earnestly.
“I have no doubt of it,” he replied with one of his little curt nods. “My patient, for I am merely an attendant, although I knew—er—the gentleman while at college, is a young man, wealthy, of very good family—a New Englander—who during his college days was one of our foremost athletes. After leaving college, he continued his athletic pursuits; played golf and tennis—he was New England champion for several years, I believe—was a good polo player and an enthusiastic automobilist. His father left him a great deal of money and he never went into any business or profession, although he prepared for the law. He is an only child and both his parents have been dead for several years. He has always been more or less daring. He has had two accidents on the polo field, for instance. About a month ago—nearly five weeks now—he was thrown out of his automobile and almost killed. He struck against a tree”
“Oh!”
Mr. Tully looked around inquiringly.
“How awful!” I murmured.
“He sustained slight concussion of the brain and serious injury to the spine. He was taken to the hospital and an operation was performed to relieve the pressure on the spinal cord. The operation proved successful as far as it went, and undoubtedly saved his life. But a fracture remains and at present he is paralyzed from the waist down.”
But that's terrible!” I cried. “Can't anything be done?”
“We hope so. The doctors speak encouragingly. Just now he is under observation. If he continues to do as well as he is doing now, there will probably be another operation in about a month They will trepan and remove”
“Oh, please don't,” I said faintly.
“I beg your pardon.”
“It's silly of me, but I don't like to hear about such things,” I said apologetically. “How awful it must be for anyone who has been so—so active to have to lie there like that, helpless, and just wait.”
“It is,” he said gravely. “He is a man who has always taken pride in his physical strength and prowess. Except for the accidents I've mentioned, he has never been unwell a day of his life, he tells me. You can imagine what a shock this is to him. Or, rather, you can't imagine. He takes it all wrong. He looks upon it as a disgrace, almost as a crime. Ever since it happened he has hid himself from all his friends. He had himself brought down here because he thought he would be getting farther away from everyone. He has never seen a soul, save his nurses and doctors and me, never spoken to anyone.”
I dropped my gaze.
“And that, Miss Pryde, is why I can't tell you his name. He doesn't want anyone to know it. He doesn't want anyone to even suspect his presence in the house. We traveled down here at night to escape observation, although I was not sanguine of success.”
“You have been with him ever since the accident, Mr. Tully?”
“Since a fortnight after it, save the night of his arrival here. Personal affairs called me away for a few hours. I saw him on the train in Boston and rejoined him the next day. I traveled down on the train with you and Miss Groves. I knew him slightly when in college; not well, for we belonged to different sets, even different worlds. By accident, I heard of his injury from one of the doctors at the hospital, who is a friend of mine. I called to inquire about him and he made them bring me up to him. We talked a little and then, a week later, when he went to his home, he sent for me and asked me to stay with him. I had never done anything of the sort and told him so, but he insisted and offered me a salary that I couldn't resist. I am not well off, you see. I suppose I don't earn the money he pays me, and I tell him so, but he says he is satisfied. If I could have afforded it, I would have been glad to come with him without payment, for I always liked him, admired him during college days, perhaps just because he did, so successfully, things I wanted to do and couldn't.”
“What sort of things, Mr. Tully?”
“Athletic things He was end on the football team, captained his class crew and rowed seven in the 'Varsity boat, played on the hockey team and was a brilliant man all around. Those were the things, Miss Pryde, I'd like to have done.”
“But, surely, you look—big enough and—and able to do any of them.”
“I never had the time,” he said simply. “I had to work my way the first three years, and—I was pretty busy.”
“That was a shame. What college did you go to, Mr. Tully?”
“Harvard.”
“How nice! I have a brother in Harvard now. He's a sophomore and is rowing on the 'Varsity crew. He's at Red Top now. Didn't you ever do any of the things you wanted to?”
“Not those things, except that I won my 'H.A.A.' in my senior year by getting third place in the hammer throw in the duals. But I didn't mean to talk so much about myself when I started out. You must forgive me.”
“But I think it's nice of you to tell me. Do you know, I don't feel nearly so much in awe of you as I did at first?”
“In awe of me? You're making fun of me, Miss Pryde.”
“Indeed, I'm not. I suppose you don't realize how little and and trivial you made me feel the other day. You see, Mr. Tully, you're so—so serious and old! Don't you ever smile?”
“Smile?” He looked bewildered “Why, I think so, Miss Pryde.”
“I don't believe it! Do it!”
“Do?”
“Smile, I mean. See if you can.”
But he just colored up and frowned a little.
“There!” I said disappointedly. “I knew you couldn't. Never mind, Mr. Tully, I won't tease you any more. I do wonder, though if you're as old as you seem. I don't see how you can be.”
“I—possibly not. How old”
“Do you seem? About forty.”
“I'm thirty-one,” he said quietly. “After I left college I tutored for several years. Perhaps that accounts for it. You have to try and look old, you see, or fellows think you don't know what you're teaching.”
“I'm sure that was it,” I agreed hurriedly, afraid that I had hurt his feelings with my nonsense. “Is the—is your patient as old as you are?”
“No, he is twenty-nine. He was in the class below me at college. He left the law school four years ago and I got my Ph.D. the year before that.”
“Then you're a Doctor of Philosophy!” I exclaimed. “That explains everything. I'm sure Doctors of Philosophy never smile.”
And then, if you'll believe it, he actually did it! Actually smiled, I mean! It wasn't much of a smile; just a sort of wrinkling around the outer corners of the eyes and the merest moving of his mustache, but it seemed a veritable triumph.
“You did it!” I cried ecstatically.
“Did what?” he asked in alarm.
“You smiled! I saw it! There's no use denying it.”
“Oh! did I?” he asked blankly. He looked at his watch apologetically. “Are we going toward home, Miss Pryde?”
“Yes. And, oh dear, I forgot to show you the scenery! You'll just have to let me take you out again some day. Will you, Mr. Tully?”
“You're very kind, but—I have so little leisure”
“But surely you allow yourself some time every day?”
“An hour in the afternoon. Then I usually walk, as that's the only exercise I get at present.”
“I shall take you again some day, nevertheless,” I said decidedly, “and there's no use trying to wriggle out of it. I owe you a ride, at least, for rescuing Fairfax.”
“He has been over several times lately, Miss Pryde. I tried to shoo him back once or twice, but he didn't seem to understand what I was up to. He doesn't appear to be afraid of anything. So I had to pick him up and take him around and drop him over your fence. But it didn't do any good, for he came right back each time. He seems to like me. Yesterday I took him in and showed him to my patient. He was—er—much interested.”
“The cat or the patient?” I asked mischievously.
“I meant the patient,” replied Mr. Tully gravely “The cat went to sleep on the bed.”
“He's a very badly behaved cat,” I said severely, “and I can't do anything with him, and that's all there is about it. If he bothers you, you must just—just throw things at him.”
“I tried that, but he thought I was playing, and just chased the pebbles. But he's not in the way at all, Miss Pryde. In fact, I like him, and so does—my patient. I hope you don't mind my taking him into the house. This morning he—er—found the way himself and came in and jumped onto the bed.”
“Well, I never!”
“My patient was quite pleased. The cat amuses him, you see. And I'm always glad whenever anything happens to take his mind from his troubles.”
“I'm glad that Fairfax is some use to somebody,” I replied. “Please do whatever you want with him. But don't let him bother you. I suppose it is really very trying to have to look after a person so absolutely helpless, Mr. Tully.”
“No, but it is hard to stand by and be so helpless myself. If there was only something I could do, Miss Pryde. If I could only keep him from being despondent.”
“But surely he is not that,” I protested, remembering yesterday's conversation with him.
“Terribly so; terribly depressed. He calls himself a useless hulk and has absolutely no hope of ever being restored to health in spite of what the doctors tell him That makes it very hard. But just of late, though, for the past four or five days, he has seemed more himself; at times he has been almost cheerful. He laughed at your cat this morning, and he hasn't laughed twice before since I've been with him. I have been all along opposed to his cutting himself off from his friends as he has done. It does no good; in fact it works harm, to my thinking. If he would only see somebody now and then and keep in touch with the world. Why, he won't even let me read the papers to him. Things that he used to care about no longer interest him. And yet even there, there has been a change, for yesterday evening he asked me how the ball team was getting on and seemed rather interested when I told him we'd won the Princeton series. Yes, I can see a change just the last few days.”
“Oh, I'm sure he will get better here,” I said hopefully. “If only he could get out of doors.”
“I have hopes of that,” said Mr. Tully. “So far he has refused to allow himself to be taken from the house for fear someone might see him. He seems to imagine that people would find his appearance repulsive. The doctor and I have both pleaded with him and I think he will come around. I have sent for a wheel couch and by the time it comes, perhaps he will let me take him out onto the porch. I shall have a screen there, so that he can't be seen from the gate.”
“That will be splendid for him, I'm sure. And, Mr. Tully, there's one thing I would so like to know. Please answer me quite truthfully, for I shall never speak a word of what you tell me. Is he—is his mind quite right?”
“Absolutely, I assure you, Miss Pryde. His mind is just as clear as yours or mine.”
I heaved a sigh of relief.
“I'm so very, very glad,” I murmured. “And thank you for telling me all that you have, Mr. Tully. It is quite safe with me.”
“I'm afraid I've bored you,” he replied with an anxious glance.
“Indeed you haven't. I've been awfully interested in every word. You see, one can't help being more or less interested in one's next-door neighbors, can one? And then one does feel so badly for a person who is maimed and helpless. I do wish I might do something for him, Mr. Tully. Do you think I could? If I can, you'll let me, won't you? And if there's anything you want at any time, please, please don't hesitate to come and ask for it. Both my aunt and I would be so glad to help.”
“You've been very kind already,” said Mr. Tully earnestly. “If there's anything you can do, you may be sure I'll tell you.”
“Do, please. And here's your home. You see I can be trusted to return you safely. Perhaps now, you'll think better of going with me again. Stop at the House in the Hedge, Frank. Good-afternoon, Mr. Tully. I hope you'll find your patient better.”
We shook hands quite cordially, he thanked me for the ride, raised his hat and went through the gate and across the porch. Frank started the car slowly as Mr. Tully opened the front door. And at that moment, through the open window of the front room, came an angry voice:
“That you, Tully? Where the devil have you been all the afternoon? I thought you were looking after me!”