The Box-Car Children
hill. When the car reached the road at the base of the hill, Dr.
McAllister said shortly, "Stay here in the car," and disappeared up the
hill alone.
When the doctor returned he was carrying Violet in his arms. Jess and
Benny and Watch were following closely. Nobody spoke during the drive to
the McAllister house as they flew through the darkness. When they
stopped at last, the doctor said three words to his mother, who opened
the door anxiously.
The three words were, "Pneumonia, I'm afraid." They all heard it.
Irish Mary appeared from the kitchen with hot-water bottles and warm
blankets, and Mrs. McAllister flew around, opening beds and bringing
pillows. A trained nurse in a white dress appeared like magic from
nowhere in particular. They all worked as best they could to get the
sick child warmed up. Soon the hot blankets, hot water, and steaming
drinks began to take effect and the shivering stopped.
Mrs. McAllister left the sick room then, to attend to the other
children. Henry and Benny were left in a large spare room with a double
bed. Jess was put in a little dressing room just out of Mrs.
McAllister's own room. Upon receiving assurances that Violet was warm
again, they went to sleep.
But Violet was not out of danger, for she soon grew as hot as she had
been cold. And the doctor never left her side until ten o'clock the next
morning. Violet, although very ill, did not have pneumonia.
At about nine o'clock the doctor had a visitor. It was a man who said he
would wait. He did wait in the cool front parlor for over half an hour.
Then Benny drifted in.
"Where _is_ the doctor?" asked the man sharply of Benny.
"He's nupstairs," answered Benny readily.
"This means a lot of money to him, if he only knew it," said the visitor
impatiently.
"Oh, _that_ wouldn't make any difference," Benny replied with great
assurance as he started to go out again. But the man caught him.
"What do you mean by that, sonny?" he asked curiously. "What's he
doing?"
"He's taking care of my sister Violet. She's sick."
"And you mean he wouldn't leave her even if I gave him a lot of money?"
"Yes, that's it," said Benny politely. "That's what I mean."
The visitor seemed to restrain his impatience with a great effort. "You
see, I've lost a little boy somewhere," he said. "The doctor knows where
he is, I think. He would be about as old as you are."
"Well, if you don't find him, you can have me, I shouldn't wonder,"
observed Benny comfortingly. "I like you."
"You do?" said the man in surprise.
"That's because you've got such a nice, soft suit on," explained Benny,
stroking the man's knee gently. The gentleman laughed heartily.
"No, I guess it's because you have such a nice, soft laugh," said Benny
changing his mind. The fact was that Benny himself did not know why he
liked this stranger who was so gruff at times and so pleasant at others.
He finally accepted the man's invitation and climbed into his lap to see
his dog's picture in his watch, feeling of the "nice soft suit," on the
way. The doctor found him here when he came down at ten o'clock.
"Better go and find Watch, Benny," suggested the doctor.
"Perhaps some day I'll come again," observed Benny to his new friend. "I
like your dog, and I'm sorry he's dead." With that he scampered off to
find Watch, who was very much alive.
"I expected you, Mr. Cordyce," said the doctor smiling, "only not quite
so soon."
"I came the moment I heard your name hinted at," said James Cordyce. "My
chauffeur heard two workmen say that you knew where my four
grandchildren were. That's all I waited to hear. Is it true? And where
are they?"
"That was one of them," said the doctor quietly.
"That was one of them!" repeated the man. "That beautiful little boy?"
"Yes, he is beautiful," assented Dr. McAllister. "They all are. The only
trouble is, they're all frightened to death to think of your finding
them."
"How do you know that?" said Mr. Cordyce, sharply.
"They've changed their name. At least the older boy did. In public,
too."
"What did he change it to?"
Dr. McAllister watched his visitor's face closely while he pronounced
the name clearly, "Henry James."
A flood of recollections passed over the man's face, and he flushed
deeply.
"That boy!" he exclaimed. "That wonderful running boy?"
Then events began to move along rapidly.
CAUGHT
"They never will go with you in this world," declared Mrs. McAllister
finally to the distracted grandfather, "unless you give us time to break
the news gradually. And above all, when Violet is so ill."
"Couldn't I see them?" begged the man, almost like a boy. "I could
pretend I was a friend of yours, visiting you, who liked children. I
would promise not to tell them until you consented."
"That might do," said Dr. McAllister. "If they grew to like you before
they knew who you were, it would make things easier, certainly."
So James Henry Cordyce's chauffeur was sent for a gold-monogrammed
suitcase and his young man to wait upon him, and Irish Mary held up her
hands in despair when she learned for whom she must cook.
"Don't you worry, Mary Bridget Flynn," said Dr. McAllister with
emphasis. "You could cook for the King of England! Just make one of your
peach shortcakes for lunch and broil a chicken, and I'll answer for
him."
When lunch time came J. H. Cordyce saw all his grandchildren except
Violet. He smiled with delight when he saw Jess coming down the stairs
in her womanly fashion. Henry shook hands with him before he sat down,
but he kept glancing at the stranger all through the meal.
"Where have I seen that man before?" he thought.
Mrs. McAllister had given the children's names clearly when she
introduced them--Jess, Benny, and Henry. Henry James, she had added. But
she had not added the man's name.
"She forgot," thought Jess. "Because she knows him so well, she thinks
we do."
But although nameless, the stranger caught their attention. He told them
wonderful stories about a steel rail which held up an entire bridge
until the people had time to get off, about his collie dog, about a
cucumber in his garden, growing inside of a glass bottle. Henry was
interested. Benny was fascinated.
"I'd like to see the cucumber," said Benny, pausing in the middle of his
shortcake.
"Would you, indeed?" said Mr. Cordyce, delighted. "Some day, if Mrs.
McAllister is willing, you and I will ride over to my garden and pick
it."
"And we'll bring it to Violet?" asked Benny, waiting breathlessly for an
answer.
"We'll bring it to Violet," agreed Mr. Cordyce, resuming his shortcake.
After lunch he went to sleep in the easy-chair in the doctor's big
office. That is, he threw his head back and shut his eyes, and breathed
very heavily. Jess went through the room once with ice water, humming,
for Violet was better. But the moment she saw the stranger asleep, she
stopped her singing abruptly and tiptoed the rest of the way. Then as
suddenly she turned around and came back, and very carefully shoved a
cushion under the man's feet. It was so gently done that even if he had
been really asleep, he would never have wakened. As it was, he could not
resist opening one eye the slightest crack to see the bright chestnut
hair as it passed out of sight.
"No," he thought to himself, "if she really hated me, she would never
have done that."
But the children were very far from hating him. They liked him
immensely. And when at last, one day, he was allowed to see Violet, and
came softly into her room with a nosegay of fragrant English double
violets, for her, they loved him. He won all their hearts when he patted
her dark head and told her very simply that he was sorry she had been
sick.
It would be hard to say that J. H. Cordyce ever had a favorite
grandchild, but certainly his manner with Violet was very gentle. It was
clear to every one, even to the anxious nurse, that the stranger was not
tiring the sick child. He told her in a pleasant everyday voice about
his garden and his greenhouses where the violets came from--about the
old Swede gardener who always said he must "vater the wi-lets."
"I'd love to see him," said Violet earnestly.
"How long you going to stay here?" Benny piped up.
It was not altogether a polite question, but it was clear to them all
that Benny wanted him to stay, so they all laughed.
"As long as they'll let me, my boy," answered the stranger quietly. Then
he left the sick room, for he knew he should not stay long.
But something in the man's last sentence rang in Henry's ears. He
repeated it over and over in his mind, trying to remember where he had
heard that same voice say "my boy." He made an excuse to work in the
flower beds along the veranda, in order to glance occasionally at the
man's face, as he sat under a tree reading.
Often Henry thought he had caught hold of his truant memory. Then the
man turned his head and he lost it again altogether. But suddenly it
came to him, as the man smiled over his book--it was the man who had
shaken hands with him on the day of the race! And he had said, "I like
your spirit, my boy." That was it.
Henry sat down out of sight and weeded geraniums for a few moments. It
is a wonder he did not pull up geraniums instead of weeds, his mind was
so far away.
"I didn't remember him at first, because I was so jolly excited when he
shook hands with me," decided Henry. Then he was apparently
thunderstruck afresh. He sat with his weeder on his knee and his mouth
open. "He's the man who passed me the cup with the wings!" He stole
another look around the corner, and this satisfied him. "Same man
exactly," he said.
When he had finished the flower bed he thought he heard the young doctor
moving in the office. He stuck his head in the open door. The doctor sat
at his desk, taking notes from a book.
"Do you know who presented the prizes Field Day?" asked Henry curiously.
"Know what his name was?"
"James Cordyce, of the Steel Mills," replied the doctor carelessly. "J.
H. Cordyce--over in Greenfield."
Dr. McAllister, to all appearances, returned to his notes. His eyes were
lowered, at any rate. But for Henry the skies were reeling. He withdrew
his head and sat still on the step. That delightful man his
_grandfather_? It was impossible. He was too young, to begin with. Henry
expected a white-haired gentleman with a cane and a terrible voice. But
all the time, he knew in his soul that it was not only possible, but
really true. He recalled the man's reply to Benny's direct question--he
had said he was going to stay as long as they would let him. Could it be
that the man knew them without introducing himself? A perfect torrent of
thoughts assailed Henry as he sat crouched on the office steps. It was
clear to him now that Mrs. McAllister had failed to mention his name on
purpose. It was a wonder Benny hadn't asked what it was, long before
this. He noticed that the man was getting out of his chair under the
trees.
"It's now or never," thought Henry. "I've got to know!"
He walked eagerly after the man who was going toward the garden with his
back turned. Henry easily caught up with him, breathing with difficulty.
The man turned around.
"Are you James Henry Cordyce of Greenfield?" panted Henry.
"I am, my boy," returned the man with a long look. "Does that question
of yours mean that _you_ know that _I_ know that you are Henry James
Cordyce?"
"Yes," said Henry, simply.
The man's eyes filled with tears, and J. H. Cordyce of the Steel Mills
shook hands for the third time with his grandson, H. J. Cordyce of the
Home for Tramps.
A NEW GRANDFATHER
In less than an hour the town was buzzing with the news. The chauffeur
told the maids and the maids told the grocery man, and the grocery man