Radio and television mirror (Nov 1939-Apr 1940)

"Miss Gidley," she called, "would you mind calling Dr. Clark? Tim's complaining of a headache, and I think he's running a high fever." For an instant there was silence in the hall. Thelma Gidley let her eyes linger on Bess' drawn, worried face before she nodded. "Very well, Miss Johnson. I'll call him at once," she said, and there seemed to be a note of triumph in her voice. Dinner with Bess and Miss Gidley sitting silently at opposite ends of the long table, was over before Dr. Robbie arrived. Preoccupied with her worry over Tim, Bess did not at first notice anything strange about his manner — did not notice how his eyes refused to meet hers directly, but searched her face covertly when she was not looking. THEY went directly to Tim's tiny cubicle in the little boys' dormi. tory, and Robbie made a quick examination. Bess, standing by and watching his quick, sure hands, thought distractedly how wonderful it must be to hold in oneself the power to heal, how doubly wonderful to heal the tiny and the helpless. He straightened up. "I'm not sure," he said slowly. "I won't be, until tomorrow. But I think—" He broke off. "How long has he been ill?" "Why — not long. That is, he didn't seem very well this morning, and I was afraid he might be catching a little cold. And then this afternoon . he — that is, something upset him." She flushed, thinking of the child's hysterical invasion of her office while Steve was there. "Urn," Robbie said abstractedly. "Well — it just might be serious. We'll wait until morning. Then, if he isn't better. I'd like to move him to the hospital." Bess' face shocked him, so white did it become. "The hospital! But — what is it?" He hated himself for ' suspecting her — but would she have been so concerned over a mere orphan? "Might be mastoid," he said shortly, unnecessarily and intentionally cruel. "Can't tell now." He was about to leave, but then the misery in her face, her weary figure, brought him back to her. "Don't worry, Bess," he said awkwardly. "It may not be that at all. I'll look in first thing in the morning." Driving back down the hill, he cursed himself. Why, if he could not dismiss from his mind what Stella had told him, didn't he have enough courage to ask Bess about it straight out? She would despise him if she knew his secret thoughts, despise him the more for keeping them secret. There was little sleep for him that night, and even less for Bess. Lying awake in the darkness, she found her thoughts going in a never-ending, maddening circle. Steve Cortland — her promise to Marjorie — Tim — Tim's illness — Steve Cortland again. . . . And suddenly the remembrance of Robbie's strange manner, dormant in her thoughts since he had left, sprang into full life. He had been so remote — not at all the dear friend she knew. Fruitlessly she tried to think of some way in which she might have offended him. And so a new problem, a new worry, took its place in the circling parade of thoughts. Several times she tiptoed down the hall into Tim's room, and at dawn she was there again, staring down at his hot face, ringed with damp hair. He was not better. He was worse, and at nine o'clock Dr. Robbie came and moved him to the hospital. The necessity for hiding her anxiety almost drove her frantic. In Thelma Gidley's eyes she had caught already a look of suspicion — so definite a suspicion that it was useless to tell herself she was only being nervy. SHE plunged desperately into the morning's work — only to find herself sitting at her desk, letters and lists spread out in front of her, neglected while she stared into space. She had planned, after lunch to go to the hospital, find Robbie and learn all he knew of Tim's condition. But before she could leave the house, she had a visitor — Steve Cortland. He came directly into her office without waiting to be announced. "I want to talk to you about my son," he said without the briefest of preliminaries. "Are you going to let me have him? Quietly?" "No," she said, leaning back in her chair, gripping the edge of her desk with her hands. "Then I shall start a suit to get custody of him. I'll win it, too, you know. You haven't a shadow of right to him." "Steve," she begged, "you don't want Tim. You know you don't. You only want to hurt me. Please, Steve, don't use that helpless child as an instrument for your own bitterness!" His face didn't change. He might not have heard her. "There will be a scandal if I have to sue. You'll probably lose your precious job here." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "You can't sue now. Tim is ill — very ill. They took him to the hospital this morning." "111!" Anger darkened his eyes, pulled at the muscles of his face. She'd forgotten his sudden, fierce rages. "And you sent him to the hospital? Without consulting me? What hospital? Who's the doctor?" His anger helped her to be calm. "He's at the Glendale Hospital, and the doctor is our own doctor here. A very capable one." "What's the matter with him?" "Mastoid, we think," she said. E stood up. "I'm going to see him. I want to see that doctor, H too." "Don't you think you are being just a bit ridiculous — all this concern now, when you weren't even interested enough to come to the hospital when he was born?" He didn't answer, but she saw hatred flare in the look he gave her, and for a moment after he'd gone she could only sit there, trembling; seeing Tim taken away from her, Hilltop House and her work crumbling before her eyes. Then she got up and started downtown, to the hospital. Steve was there before her, pacing the polished floor of the corridor outside Tim's room. He met her furiously. "Who is this Dr. Clark you have on the case?" he demanded. "He refuses to let me into Tim's room." "He's quite right," she said coldly. "Tim is ill, he doesn't know you, you would probably be very bad for him." "The insolent young fool! See here, Bess, I'm calling in another doctor on this case, from Chicago. ..." "I'll have to ask you to be quieter," cut in Robbie's voice from behind them. He was standing outside Tim's door, which he had just closed, looking at them both with icy bitterness. Then ignoring Cortland, he said to Bess: "It is mastoid. I would like to operate at once." You'll (Continued on page 54) RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR