Don't Pick Me

CHAPTER XXXIV

It seemed to Jane that the world was a great void, filled with the strangled breathing of the baby. Since the first swift descent of danger she had worked mechanically, under the doctor's orders, without sleep, with no attention to the food which they forced her to swallow. Her muscles obeyed the orders of her brain, but her subconscious mind spilled over into her consciousness every minute of the time, and a dreary monologue repeated itself interminably:

"Why did I bring him here? Why did I risk his life this way? For my own selfish purposes, and now God will punish me. He will take him away. I shall have killed him—little Jerry." Over and over it ran, the same words, the same aching accusation. With a reversion to the old, avenging God of her childhood, she foresaw quick doom for sin.

Jerry Jr. had never been ill before and Jane was unprepared for the suddenness of the seizure. A strange doctor had to be summoned, Anna's terror quieted, a trained nurse sent for. Things had to be done quickly for the need was immediate. The baby had evidently taken cold—it had gone into membranous croup before they realized that he was really ill.

Miss Garnett and the doctor were kindness itself, but it seemed to Jane that she was as alone with Nemesis, as if she were lost in the desert. The first day, and part of the second, the doctor insisted there was no need of alarm, but the afternoon of the second day the breathing grew more and more difficult. Then Jane wired for Jerry.

As she waited for him, she tried to think how he would feel toward her, if his son were sacrificed. She thought of the night before they came away—how he had bathed him and said his good-bye to him. He was just beginning to take an interest in him, to be proud of him. And now! She fought down the desire to break into hysterical weeping. She must spare him that, at least.

When, finally, he came into the room, her tragic face drew him to her swiftly. He took her cold hands for a second, with a low word of greeting. Then he went to the baby's bed and bent over him.

"Poor little chap!" he exclaimed, as he looked at the fevered, panting atom of humanity. He asked the nurse quick questions. Jane sat still as a graven image.

"I asked Doctor Grant to come on the next train, Jane. I thought we'd better have him, because he knows Jerry's constitution best."

"Oh, Jerry!" she said, out of her agony.

He went to her and laid his hand on her shoulder.

"Don't be discouraged, Jane; we'll pull him through, he's strong."

"No. I've killed him, Jerry."

"Nonsense! He ran the same chance in New York. Now tell me about it from the beginning."

His matter-of-fact tone steadied her. She told him the details from the first and he listened intently, nodding as she talked in an undertone not to disturb the child. It was such a relief to share the present responsibility with Jerry, no matter how she reserved the initial responsibility for herself. The thought of Doctor Grant's coming brought hope. He had taken care of Jerry Jr. since his coming; he knew him thoroughly—understood. If anybody could do it, he could thwart God.

Jerry Jr. began to cry. The pitiful wail of sick babyhood. It was agonizing to hear him. Jerry went to him and spoke to him. The baby turned bright eyes upon him, and a smile that was a spasm of pain followed.

"Let me take him up. I know I can help him get his breath," he said to the nurse.

"No, I think you'd better not move him," she said.

"Well, I can't stand here and see him suffer like that," said Jerry. Deftly and with infinite tenderness he lifted his small son, blankets and all, holding his head up with one hand. He walked slowly up and down the room with him, talking to him.