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10 and she stared at the drenched little figure iii amazement. ■'Stephen Garfield!" she gasped. "I9 my father here?" inquired the boy anxiously "Yes, come on in." She caught hold of a saturated sleeve and tugged him into the hall, where he dripped water upon a nig while she was shutting the door. "If you don't look like a wet rooster I never saw one I Go in there where it's warm, and get out of those wet clothes 1 I'll call your father." Stephen was still in the laboratory, writing a letter. She went to the top of the stairs and called down to him: "Dr. Garfield, Steve's here!" "Steve?" The astonished parent ascended to her. " Did you say Steve ?" "Yes," she replied, "and you should see him —soaked to the skin!" Steve was in the drawing-room, shivering in front of a blazing fire Mrs. Pearson had lit an hour before, and his father viewed him iu high concern. "Whut on earth are you doing here on a night like this, Steve?" he exclaimed. "I—I ran away," quavered the youngster. "Why did you run away?" "On account of that Imogene." "Well, never mind about Imogene—let's get those wet things off. Mrs. Pearson, will you get my bath-robe and a turkish towel?" The caDk-housckeeper bustled off, and Stephen helped his son out of his jacket, re- moved his collar and tie, and finally had him naked in front of the fire. Mrs. Pearson re- turned with a big towel and a bath-robe, and Steve was rul>bed vigorously with the towel and then enveloped in the robe. " Are you hungry, sonny ?" inquired his father. "I sure am!" "How about fixing something to eat for him?" Stephen said to Mis. Pearson. "And then will you make him some hot chocolate?" "Eight away," she responded, and whisked up the wet garments and was gone. "Well, what about Imogene?" Steve explained all about the trouble with Imogene. "But that's not the only reason I ran away, dad," he added piteously. "They're always naggin' at me as if I was in the way there. Yon won't ti-y to talk me into going back to Uncle George's, will you ? I wanna stay with you." Stephen sat down in a chair and lifted him on to his knees. "There's nothing I'd like better than having you stay with me," he said, "but it just can't be. But cheor up—we'll have most of the .summer together. If things work out as I expect, why, we'll be able to take a real trip. Where'd you like to go—Me.xico—Canada?" "I dunno, dad," Steve ri^plied more happily. "Any place where there's real good fishing." "All right. So, in the meantime, don't do anything that will upset our plans." "l won't," promised the boy Mrs. Pearson prepared quite a moal, and he did full justice to it, in the living-room, while his clothes were being dried in the kitchen. He was talking to his father aliout the pro- jected trip when the telephone bell rang, and in his alarm he forgot his iiioinise. "Dad, if that's mother," he began, "don't (ell her " "Son, I'll have to," said his father gravely. "I'll tell her you're here and that I'm bring- ing you back." "Okay, dad." Stephen crossed the hall to the drawing-room and spoke into the telephone. It was his wife at the other end of the line. "Yes, Virginia," he said, "Steve is here. lie arrived about an hour ago, soaking wet." "Well, you might have let me know!" sho blazed. "I've been almost frantic!" ""There's no reason to get excited," Stephen rcmonstratod. "I'll bring him home as soon as his clothes are dry." "Oh, you needn't bother—I'll come for him myself!" In less than half an hour she arrived in a two-seater sho had acquired .soon after she had gone to live with her brother, and she was still in a temncr when Stephen opened the door to her. "Where is he?" .she demanded. February 24t1), 1940. BOY'S CINEMA "In the living-room," Stephen answered, and followed her along the hall. The boy was standing dejectedly by the table in the living-room, dressed in his own clothes, and if sho was glad to sec him there was nothing in her manner to suggest it. "Stephen," she said bitingly, "if you think you're going to run to your father every time I have to punish you you're mistaken. Now come along!" The boy looked appeal ingly at his father, but his father said gently: "Run oiit to the car, son—I want to talk to your mother." Steve went out and climbed into the two- seater, keeping back tears that wanted to flow. "Virginia," expostulated Stephen, "you might get along much better with the boy if you'd try to understand him." "I think I know how to handle him!" she retorted. "Very well. But if this ever happens again I'm going to bring him back here with me." "You try it!" she challenged. "See how far you'd get!" She flounced away into the hall, slammed the door as sho went out from the house, and got into the car behind its steering wheel. The car shot oflf along the avenue and headed north. "I'm sorry I ran away, mother," the boy said after a while. "I won't do it again." " We're going so far away, Stephen, you won't get another chance," she informed him ominously. He .stared at her in the light of a street lamp they were passing. "Aren't we going back to Uncle George's?" "No!" she snapijed. "We're going out of town." "Then—then I won't get to go fishing with dad this summer?" He sat crushed with disappointment while she negotiated a sharp turn on the wrong side of the road, " Aw, gee, mother, don't you love dad any more?" he wailed. "Don't a.sk so many questions!" A motor-truck, loaded with crates, was ap- proaching the comer on its proper side of a highway. .A. tarpaulin that had been fastened over tl^ crates had broken loose on one side, and the tarpaulin was flapping in the wind like a sail. Virginia had turned to administer that last reprimand, and she did not see the truck. But Steve saw it, and he shrieked: " Look out!" The flapping tarpaulin covered the wind- screen even as the warning was uttered. Vir- ginia jammed on the brakes, but the two- seater skidded on the wet asphalt and crashed headlong into the trvick. The heavy vehicle was shaken by the im- pact, but the two-seater was flung off, sideways, struck the opposite kerb, overturned—and burst into flames. The driver of the truck jumped from his cabin, but was helpless. Men came running from a neighbouring petrol-filling station, armed with fire-extinguishers, and the blaze was subdued by the time the police had taken charge. But Virginia was dead by then, and her small son was unconscious when he was ex- tricated from the wrecked vehicle. SAVED! WITHIN an hour of the accident, Stephen (lashed into the main hall of the General Hospital and across it to a desk behind which a nur.se-reccptionist was speaking into a tele- )3hone. The police had informed him of the accident. "What ward is Stephen Garfield in?" ho questioned agitatedly. "I'm his father." The nurse looked round from the switchboard at which, she was standing. "Five-twelve." fhe replied tonelessly. .He thanked her and sped to a lift, and he had been swept upwards no more than a minute when a newspaper reporter invaded the hall from a staircase and leaned over the counter- like desk. ■'Can I use the phone?" he asked, displaying his Press card. "Surely," nodded the nurse. A telephone was on the desk and she pro- vided him with a line. lie dialled a number, nnd presently was speaking to a re-write man in tho new3-3'oom of the "Herald." Every Tuesday "Oh, Jimmy, this is Dave," he said. "I'm over at the General Hospital. Take this, will you ? Virginia Garfield, estranged wife of Dr. Stephen Garfield—yeah, yeah, the chemist, that's right—was almost instantly killed when the car in which she was riding with her young son crashed into a motor-truck at Gun Hill Road and Vernon Highway at nine-fifteen this evening, and they don't give the kid much chance. She was taking the turn on the wrong side of Gun Hill Road——" Stephen reached the door of Ward 512, on the tenth floor of the hospital, just as a young doctor in white opened it from within. "Hallo, Williams," Stephen greeted—and was afraid to ask tha question that was on his lips. "Garfield," said the young doctOr regret- fully, "we're very sorry about your wife, but there was nothing we could do." "I understand," muttered Stephen, and .sum- moned all his courage. "Tell me, h-how is my boy?" Dr. Williinis hesitated, but decided that it would be foolish to attempt to conceal tho truth. "He's pretty badly burned from the thighs down," he said slowly, "and his heart is very uncertain. Come and have a look at him— he's stib in a coma." They went into the ward together and looked down at the unconscious boy. His face was hardly any whiter than Stephen's, and it bore none of the signs of suffering that Stephen's exhibited as he asked hoarsely: "What do you think of his chances?" "It's too early yet to form an opinion," Dr. Williams replied. "What are you doing for him?" " The usual treatment. Sprays of tannic acid solution over the burned areas, and regular saline infusions. We're having a consultation on his ease in the morning." "What time?" "Eight o'clock." "Will Dr Morley be in on it?" "Yes, he will." "I'll stay here." "Do, by all means." Dr. Williams moved towards the door as tha anguished father sank on to a chair beside the cot. "If you should need me just tell the nurse." All through the night Stephen watched over his boy. At seven o'clock in the morning he left the hospital, but at ten minutes to eight he returned to it, and at five minutes to eight he was waiting in the ante-room of Dr. Augustus Morley's office. Dr. Williams and Dr. Mather were wiih tho superintendent, and it was not till five minutes past eight that the door was opened and Dr. Williams beckoned. Morley was 'standing behind his desk, and his handshake was not reassuring. "Dr. Garfield," he said abruptly, "we've been holding a consultation on your son's, case. The shock ha.3 .subsided, but the heart i.s weaker, and there are new complications—I'm afraid ho has developed a septic condition. Log amputations are indicated if we are to save his life. Of course, wo must have your consent." Stephen drew a long breath, and his hand went to his coat-pocket. During his ab.sence from the hospital he had been to his laboratory. "I could never consent to that," he stated definitely. Dr. Morley frowned. "I think I can guess what's in the back of your mind, Garfield," he said almost sharply, " but have you forgotten what hapiiened to that other burn case ?" "That wasn't a fair test, and you know it!" "Of course, that's only your opinion," Morley returned stifl?y. " It's more than my opinion," Stephen assured him. "I've been experimenting for months, only to prove that I was right in tho first instance." " Tests on guinea-pigs don't mean much in a case like this!" exploded tho superintendent. "Have you ever used it successfully on a hiiinaii being?'* " No," Stephen admitted, " but I'm ab.<o- lutelv sure of it." "Then you're willing to gamble with an un- tested formula on your own son?" "I'm not gambling, doctor. You wouldn't suggest leg amputation if there was any other way out of it." 1 P