infatuation. He wished Philip was in Washington. He knew Laura, and she
had a great respect for his character, his opinions, his judgment.
Perhaps he, as an uninterested person whom she would have some
confidence, and as one of the public, could say some thing to her that
would show her where she stood.
Philip saw the situation clearly enough. Of Laura he knew not much,
except that she was a woman of uncommon fascination, and he thought from
what he had seen of her in Hawkeye, her conduct towards him and towards
Harry, of not too much principle. Of course he knew nothing of her
history; he knew nothing seriously against her, and if Harry was
desperately enamored of her, why should he not win her if he could.
If, however, she had already become what Harry uneasily felt she might
become, was it not his duty to go to the rescue of his friend and try to
save him from any rash act on account of a woman that might prove to be
entirely unworthy of him; for trifler and visionary as he was, Harry
deserved a better fate than this.
Philip determined to go to Washington and see for himself. He had other
reasons also. He began to know enough of Mr. Bolton’s affairs to be
uneasy. Pennybacker had been there several times during the winter, and
he suspected that he was involving Mr. Bolton in some doubtful scheme.
Pennybacker was in Washington, and Philip thought he might perhaps find
out something about him, and his plans, that would be of service to Mr.
Bolton.
Philip had enjoyed his winter very well, for a man with his arm broken
and his head smashed. With two such nurses as Ruth and Alice, illness
seemed to him rather a nice holiday, and every moment of his
convalescence had been precious and all too fleeting. With a young
fellow of the habits of Philip, such injuries cannot be counted on to
tarry long, even for the purpose of love-making, and Philip found himself
getting strong with even disagreeable rapidity.
During his first weeks of pain and weakness, Ruth was unceasing in her
ministrations; she quietly took charge of him, and with a gentle firmness
resisted all attempts of Alice or any one else to share to any great
extent the burden with her. She was clear, decisive and peremptory in
whatever she did; but often when Philip, opened his eyes in those first
days of suffering and found her standing by his bedside, he saw a look of
tenderness in her anxious face that quickened his already feverish pulse,
a look that, remained in his heart long after he closed his eyes.
Sometimes he felt her hand on his forehead, and did not open his eyes for
fear she world take it away. He watched for her coming to his chamber;
he could distinguish her light footstep from all others. If this is what
is meant by women practicing medicine, thought Philip to himself, I like
it.
“Ruth,” said he one day when he was getting to be quite himself,
“I believe in it?”
“Believe in what?”
“Why, in women physicians.”
“Then, I’d better call in Mrs. Dr. Longstreet.”
“Oh, no. One will do, one at a time. I think I should be well tomorrow,
if I thought I should never have any other.”
“Thy physician thinks thee mustn’t talk, Philip,” said Ruth putting her
finger on his lips.
“But, Ruth, I want to tell you that I should wish I never had got well
if–”
“There, there, thee must not talk. Thee is wandering again,” and Ruth
closed his lips, with a smile on her own that broadened into a merry
laugh as she ran away.
Philip was not weary, however, of making these attempts, he rather
enjoyed it. But whenever he inclined to be sentimental, Ruth would cut
him off, with some such gravely conceived speech as, “Does thee think
that thy physician will take advantage of the condition of a man who is
as weak as thee is? I will call Alice, if thee has any dying confessions
to make.”
As Philip convalesced, Alice more and more took Ruth’s place as his
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