however, and a sense of the full significance of it all came to her, the happy days that would never be again, she put her hands to her eyes and brushed away uncontrollable tears. To think that all that was should come to this.
Yet when he called the same evening after visiting Short, his manner redolent of a fairly worth-while achievement, she merely said, after listening to his explanation in as receptive a manner as she could: “Do you know just where this is, Clyde? Can we get there on the car without much trouble, or will we have to walk a long way?” And after he had explained that it was but a little way out of Gloversville, in the suburbs really, an interurban stop being but a quarter of a mile from the house, she had added: “Is he home at night, or will we have to go in the daytime? It would be so much better if we could go at night. There’d be so much less danger of any one seeing us.” And being assured that he was, as Clyde had learned from Short, she went on: “But do you know is he old or young? I’d feel so much easier and safer if he were old. I don’t like young doctors. We’ve always had an old doctor up home and I feel so much easier talking to some one like him.”
Clyde did not know. He had not thought to inquire, but to reassure her he ventured that he was middle-aged — which chanced to be the fact.
The following evening the two of them departed, but separately as usual, for Fonda, where it was necessary to change cars. And once within the approximate precincts of the physician’s residence, they stepped down and made their way along a road, which in this mid- state winter weather was still covered with old and dry-packed snow. It offered a comparatively smooth floor for their quick steps. For in these days, there was no longer that lingering intimacy which formerly would have characterized both. In those other and so recent days, as Roberta was constantly thinking, he would have been only too glad in such a place as this, if not on such an occasion, to drag his steps, put an arm about her waist, and talk about nothing at all — the night, the work at the factory, Mr. Liggett, his uncle, the current movies, some place they were planning to go, something they would love to do together if they could. But now . . . And on this particular occasion, when most of all, and if ever, she needed the full strength of his devotion and support! Yet now, as she could see, he was most nervously concerned as to whether, going alone in this way, she was going to get scared and “back out”; whether she was going to think to say the right thing at the right time and convince the doctor that he must do something for her, and for a nominal fee.
“Well, Bert, how about you? All right? You’re not going to get cold feet now, are you? Gee, I hope not because this is going to be a good chance to get this thing done and over with. And it isn’t like you were going to some one who hadn’t done anything like this before, you know, because this fellow has. I got that straight. All you have to do now, is to say, well, you know, that you’re in trouble, see, and that you don’t know how you’re going to get out of it unless he’ll help you in some way, because you haven’t any friends here you can go to. And besides, as things are, you couldn’t go to ’em if you wanted to. They’d tell on you, see. Then if he asks where I am or who I am, you just say that I was a fellow here — but that I’ve gone — give any name you want to, but that I’ve gone, and you don’t know where I’ve gone to — run away, see. Then you’d better say, too, that you wouldn’t have come to him only that you heard of another case in which he helped some one else — that a girl told you, see. Only you don’t want to let on that you’re paid much, I mean — because if you do he may want to make the bill more than I can pay, see, unless he’ll give us a few months in which to do it, or something like that, you see.”
Clyde was so nervous and so full of the necessity of charging Roberta with sufficient energy and courage to go through with this and succeed, now that he had brought her this far along with it, that he scarcely realized how inadequate and trivial, even, in so far as her predicament and the doctor’s mood and temperament were concerned, his various instructions and bits of inexperienced advice were. And she on her part was not only thinking how easy it was for him to stand back and make suggestions, while she was confronted with the necessity of going forward, and that alone, but also that he was really thinking more of himself than he was of her — some way to make her get herself out of it inexpensively and without any real trouble to him.
At the same time, even here and now, in spite of all this, she was still decidedly drawn to him — his white face, his thin hands, nervous manner. And although she knew he talked to encourage her to do what he had not the courage or skill to do himself, she was not angry. Rather, she was merely saying to herself in this crisis that although he advised so freely she was not going to pay attention to him — much. What she was going to say was not that she was deserted, for that seemed too much of a disagreeable and self- incriminating remark for her to make concerning herself, but rather that she was married and that she and her young husband were too poor to have a baby as yet — the same story Clyde had told the druggist in Schenectady, as she recalled. For after all, what did he know about how she felt? And he was not going with her to make it easier for her.
Yet dominated by the purely feminine instinct to cling to some one for support, she now turned to Clyde, taking hold of his hands and standing quite still, wishing that he would hold and pet her and tell her that it was all right and that she must not be afraid. And although he no longer cared for her, now in the face of this involuntary evidence of her former trust in him, he released both hands and putting his arms about her, the more to encourage her than anything else, observed: “Come on now, Bert. Gee, you can’t act like this, you know. You don’t want to lose your nerve now that we’re here, do you? It won’t be so hard once you get there. I know it won’t. All you got to do is to go up and ring the bell, see, and when he comes, or whoever comes, just say you want to see the doctor alone, see. Then he’ll understand it’s something private and it’ll be easier.”
He went on with more advice of the same kind, and she, realizing from his lack of spontaneous enthusiasm for her at this moment how desperate was her state, drew herself together as vigorously as she could, and saying: “Well, wait here, then, will you? Don’t go very far away, will you? I may be right back,” hurried along in the shadow through the gate and up a walk which led to the front door.
In answer to her ring the door was opened by one of those exteriorly as well as mentally sober, small-town practitioners who, Clyde’s and Short’s notion to the contrary notwithstanding, was the typical and fairly conservative physician of the countryside — solemn, cautious, moral, semi-religious to a degree, holding some views which he considered liberal and others which a fairly liberal person would have considered narrow and stubborn into the bargain. Yet because of the ignorance and stupidity of so many of those about him, he was able to consider himself at least fairly learned. In constant touch with all phases of ignorance and dereliction as well as sobriety, energy, conservatism, success and the like, he was more inclined, where fact appeared to nullify his early conclusion in regard to many things, to suspend judgment between the alleged claims of heaven and hell and leave it there suspended and undisturbed. Physically he was short, stocky, bullet-headed and yet interestingly-featured, with quick gray eyes and a pleasant mouth and smile. His short iron-gray hair was worn “bangs” fashion, a bit of rural vanity. And his arms and hands, the latter fat and pudgy, yet sensitive, hung limply at his sides. He was fifty-eight, married, the father of three children, one of them a son already studying medicine in order to succeed to his father’s practice.
After showing Roberta into a littered and commonplace waiting room and asking her to remain until he had finished his dinner, he presently appeared in the door of an equally commonplace inner room, or office, where were his desk, two chairs, some medical instruments, books and apparently an ante-chamber containing other medical things, and motioned her to a chair. And because of his grayness, solidity, stolidity, as well as an odd habit he had of blinking his eyes, Roberta was not a little overawed, though by no means so unfavorably impressed as she had feared she might be. At least he was old and he seemed intelligent and conservative, if not exactly sympathetic or warm in his manner. And after looking at her curiously a moment, as though seeking to recognize some one of the immediate vicinity, he began: “Well, now who is this, please? And what can I do for you?” His voice was low and quite reassuring — a fact for which Roberta was deeply grateful.
At the same time, startled by the fact that at last she had