I stayed up later than usual last night putting my desk in order
and--sort of making up my mind to face the New Year. Toward twelve I
suddenly realized that the hour was late and that I was very tired. I
had begun getting ready for bed when I was startled by a banging on
the front door. I stuck my head out of the window and demanded who was
there.
"Tommy Kehoe," said a very shaky voice.
I went down and opened the door, and that lad, sixteen years old,
tumbled in, dead drunk. Thank Heaven! Percy Witherspoon was within call,
and not away off in the Indian camp.
I roused him, and together we conveyed Thomas to our guest room, the
only decently isolated spot in the building. Then I telephoned for the
doctor, who, I am afraid, had already had a long day. He came, and we
put in a pretty terrible night. It developed afterward that the boy had
brought along with his luggage a bottle of liniment belonging to his
employer. It was made half of alcohol and half of witch hazel; and
Thomas had refreshed his journey with this!
He was in such shape that positively I didn't think we'd pull him
through--and I hoped we wouldn't. If I were a physician, I'd let such
cases gently slip away for the good of society; but you should have seen
Sandy work! That terrible lifesaving instinct of his was aroused, and he
fought with every inch of energy he possessed.
I made black coffee, and helped all I could, but the details were pretty
messy, and I left the two men to deal with him alone and went back to
my room. But I didn't attempt to go to bed; I was afraid they might be
wanting me again. Toward four o'clock Sandy came to my library with
word that the boy was asleep and that Percy had moved up a cot and would
sleep in his room the rest of the night. Poor Sandy looked sort of ashen
and haggard and done with life. As I looked at him, I thought about how
desperately he worked to save others, and never saved himself, and about
that dismal home of his, with never a touch of cheer, and the horrible
tragedy in the background of his life. All the rancor I've been saving
up seemed to vanish, and a wave of sympathy swept over me. I stretched
my hand out to him; he stretched his out to me. And suddenly--I don't
know--something electric happened. In another moment we were in each
other's arms. He loosened my hands, and put me down in the big armchair.