He stood very quietly, patting my head in a brotherly way
and behaving very well, save that once he said:
"Don't cry too long, Kit; I can stand only a certain amount."
And just then the nurse opened the door to the studio, and with
Max's arm still around me, I raised my head and looked in.
Mr. Harbison was conscious. His eyes were open, and he was
staring at us both as we stood framed by the doorway.
He lay back at once and closed his eyes, and the nurse shut the
door. There was no use, even if I had been allowed in, in trying
to explain to him. To attempt such a thing would have been to
presume that he was interested in an explanation. I thought
bitterly to myself as I brought the nurse cracked ice and
struggled to make beef tea in the kitchen, that lives had been
wrecked on less.
Dal was allowed ten minutes in the sick room during the
afternoon, and he came out looking puzzled and excited. He
refused to tell us what he had learned, however, and the rest of
the afternoon he and Jim spent in the cellar.
The day dragged on. Downstairs people ate and read and wrote
letters, and outside newspaper men talked together and gazed over
at the house and photographed the doctors coming in and the
doctors going out. As for me, in the intervals of bringing
things, I sat in Bella's chair in the upper hall, and listened to
the crackle of the nurse's starched skirts.
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