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Upas Tree, A Christmas Story for all the Year, The

<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> <h4>A FRIEND IN NEED</h4> As Aubrey Treherne, on his way back from despatching the telegram, stood in the general entrance hall, fumbling with the latch-key at the door of his own flat, a tall young man in an ulster dashed up the wide stone stairs, rapidly read the names on the various brass plates, and arrived at Aubrey's just as his door had yielded to persuasion and was admitting him into his own small passage. "Hullo," said a very British voice. "Do you happen to be Ronald West's wife's cousin?" Aubrey turned in the doorway, taking stock of his interlocutor. He saw a well-knit, youthful figure, a keen resourceful face, and a pair of exceedingly bright brown eyes, unwavering in the steady penetration of their regard. Already they had taken him in, from top to toe, and were looking past him in a rapid investigation of as much of his flat as could be seen from the doorway. Aubrey was caught! He had fully intended muffling his electric bell, and not being at home to visitors. But this brisk young man, with an atmosphere about him of always being ten minutes ahead of time, already had one of his very muddy boots inside the door, and eagerly awaited the answer to his question; so it was useless to reply to the latter in German, and to bang the former. Therefore: "I have that honour," replied Aubrey, with the best grace he could muster. "Ah! Well, I'm sorry to bother you so late, but I must have a word with you; and then I am going round to spend the night with Ronnie at his hotel." "Come in," said Aubrey, in a low voice; "but we must not talk in the passage or we shall wake him. I saw he was not fit to be alone, so I sent to the hotel for his traps, and am putting him up here. He turned in, half an hour ago, and seemed really inclined to sleep. He was almost off, when I left him." Aubrey, closing the door, led the way to his sitting-room, where the three easy chairs were still drawn up before the stove. "I conclude you are Dr. Cameron," said Aubrey, turning up the light, and motioning his visitor to the chair which had lately been Ronnie's. "Yes, I am Dick Cameron, Ronnie's particular chum; and if ever he needed a particular chum, poor old chap, he does so at this moment. But I am glad he has found a friend in you, and one really able to undertake him. You did right not to leave him at the hotel; and he must not travel back to England alone." "I have already arranged to accompany him," said Aubrey Treherne. "Good; it will save me a journey." Dick pulled off his ulster, threw it across the red velvet sofa, flung his cap after it, and took the proffered chair. In his blue serge suit and gay tie, he looked like the captain of a college football team. Aubrey, eyeing him with considerable reserve and distaste, silently took up his position in the chair opposite. He felt many years older than this peremptory young man, who appeared to consider himself master of all situations. Dick turned his bright eyes on to the empty chair between them. "So Ronnie has spent the evening with you?" "He has." "Who was the third party?" "The third party was the Infant of Prague." "Oh, bother that rotten Infant!" exclaimed Dr. Dick. "I came near to putting my foot through its shining tummy this morning! Still it may serve its silly use, if it takes his mind off his book, until we can get him safely home. I suppose you know, sir, that Ronald West is about as ill as a man can be? It will be touch and go whether we can get him home before the crash comes." "I thought he seemed excited and unwell," said Aubrey. "What do you consider is the cause of his condition?" "Well, the bother is, we can't exactly tell. But I should say he has been letting himself in for constant exposure to extreme heat by day, and to swampy dampness by night; not taking proper food; living in a whirl of excited imagination with no rational companionship to form an outlet; and, on the top of all this, contracted some malarial germ, which has put up his temperature and destroyed the power of natural sleep. This condition of brain has enabled him to work practically night and day at his manuscript, and I have no doubt he has written brilliant stuff, which an enchanted world will read by-and-by, with no notion of the price which has been paid for their pleasure and edification. But meanwhile, unless proper steps are taken to avert disaster, our friend Ronnie will be, by then, unable to understand or to enjoy his triumph." Aubrey's lean face flushed. "I hope you are taking an exaggerated view," he said. "I hope you understand," retorted Dr. Dick, "that I am doing nothing of the kind. I cannot tell you precisely what course the illness will run; the nuisance of these African jungle poisons is that we know precious little about them. But I have known Ronnie since he and I were at school together, and any poison goes straight to his brain. If he gets influenza, he never sneezes and snuffles like an ordinary mortal, but walks about, more or less light-headed, all day; and lies dry awake, staring at the ceiling all night." "What do you recommend in this case?" "Ah, there we arrive at my reason for coming to you. I don't know Ronnie's wife. I conclude you do." "She is my first cousin. I have known her intimately all her life." "Can you write to her to-night, and mail the letter so that it will reach her before he arrives home?" "I have every intention of doing so." Dick Cameron sat forward, eagerly. "Good! It will come better from you than from a total stranger. No doubt I am known to her by name; but we have never chanced to meet. Without alarming her too much, I want you to make Ronnie's condition quite clear to her. Tell her he must be kept absolutely quiet and happy on his return; and, with as little delay as may be, she must have the best advice procurable." "Whom would you recommend?" "To be quite honest, I am afraid a brain specialist. But I will give you the name of a man who has also made a special study of the conditions caused by malarial fever, and exposure to tropical heat." Dick produced a note-book, wrote down a name and address, tore out the leaf, and handed it to Aubrey. "There! You can't do better than that. Of course it is everything that you are taking him right home. But, even so, let your letter get there first. You might have difficulty in seeing Mrs. West alone, and mischief might be done in a moment, which you would be powerless to prevent. Tell her, that above all else, she must avoid any sort of shock for him. A violent emotion of any kind would probably send him clean off his head." "I am sure you are right, there," said Aubrey. "He suddenly became violent to-night, while we were talking about his 'cello; got up, staggered across, and struck me on the mouth." Dr. Dick's keen eyes were instantly bent upon Aubrey Treherne in perplexed scrutiny. Aubrey shifted uncomfortably in his seat; then rose and put fuel into the stove. Still Dick sat silent. When Aubrey resumed his seat, Dick spoke—slowly, as if carefully weighing every word. "Now that is peculiar," he said. "Ronnie's mental condition is a perfectly amiable one, unless anything was said or done to cause him extreme provocation. In fact, he would not be easily provoked. He is inclined rather to take a maudlinly affectionate and friendly view of things and people; to be very simply, almost childishly, pleased with the last new idea. That wretched Infant of his is a case in point. I should be glad if you would tell me, sir, what happened in this room just before Ronnie hit out." "Merely a conversation about the 'cello," replied Aubrey, hurriedly. "A perfectly simple remark of mine apparently annoyed him. But I soon pacified him. He was obviously not responsible for his actions." "He was obviously in a frenzy of rage," remarked Dr. Dick, drily; "and he caught you a good one on the mouth. Did he apologise afterwards?" "He fell asleep," said Aubrey, "and appeared on awaking to have absolutely forgotten the occurrence." Dick got up, put his hands in his pockets, walked over to the organ, and, bending down, examined the stops. He whistled softly to himself as he did so. Aubrey, meanwhile, had the uncomfortable sensation that the whole scene with Ronnie was being re-acted, with Dick Cameron as an interested spectator. It tried Aubrey's nerves. "I do not wish to hurry you," he suggested presently. "But if I am to post my letter to my cousin before midnight, the sooner I am able to write it, the better." Dick turned at once and took up his ulster. Aubrey, relieved, came forward cordially to lend him a hand. "No, thank you," said Dr. Dick. "A man should always get into his coat unaided. In so doing, he uses certain muscles which are exercised in no other way." He swung himself into the heavy coat, and stood before Aubrey Treherne—very tall, very grave, very determined. "You quite understand, sir, that if you were not yourself taking Ronnie home, I should do so? And if, by any chance, you are prevented from going, just let me know, and I can be packed and ready to start home with him in a quarter of an hour." "Very good of you," said Aubrey, "but all our plans are made. We reach the Hague to-morrow night. He requires a day there for making his translation and publishing arrangements. So we sleep at the Hague to-morrow, crossing by the Hook of Holland on the following evening. I have wired to the Hôtel des Indes for a suite. I feel sure my cousin would wish him to have the best of everything, and to be absolutely comfortable and quiet. At the Hôtel des Indes they have an excellent orchestra, and a particularly fine 'cellist. West will enjoy showing him the Infant. They can compare babies! It will keep him amused and interested all the evening." "Good idea," agreed Dr. Dick. "But Ronnie need not come down on his wife for his hotel expenses! He is making a pot of money himself, now. You will be careful to report to Mrs. West exactly what I have said of his condition?" "I will write immediately. As we stay a night en route, and another is taken up in crossing, my cousin should receive my letter twenty-four hours before our arrival." "Impress upon her," said Dr. Dick, earnestly, "how dangerous any mental shock might be." "Do you fear brain fever?" questioned Aubrey. Dick laughed. "Brain fever is a popular fiction," he said. "It is not a term admitted by the faculty. If you mean meningitis—no, I trust not. But probably temporary loss of memory, and a complete upsetting of mental control; with a possible impairing, for a considerable time, of his brilliant mental powers." "In other words, my cousin's husband is threatened with insanity." "Lor, no!" exclaimed Dick, with vehemence. "How easily you good people hand a fellow-creature over to that darkest of all fates! Ronnie's condition is brought about by temporary circumstances which are not in the least likely to have permanent results. He has always had the eccentricity of genius; but, since his genius has been recognised, people have ceased to consider him eccentric. Now I must be off. But I will see him first. Will you show me his room?" "He is asleep," objected Aubrey. "Is it not a pity to disturb him?" "I doubt his being asleep," replied Dick. "But if he is, we shall not wake him." He stepped into the passage, his attitude one of uncompromising determination. Aubrey Treherne opened the door of Ronnie's room. It was in darkness. He stepped back into the passage, lighted a candle, handed it to Dick Cameron, and they entered quietly together. Ronnie lay on his back, sleeping heavily. His eyes were partly open, his face flushed, his breathing rapid. One arm was flung out toward a chair beside the bed, on which lay his pocket-book, his watch, and a small leather miniature-case containing a portrait of Helen. This lay open upon the watch, having evidently fallen from his fingers. A candle had burned down into the socket, and spluttered itself out. Dick picked up the miniature, held it close to the light of his own candle, and examined it critically. "He certainly went in for beauty," he remarked in a low voice to Aubrey Treherne, as he laid the miniature beside the pocket-book. "Of course Ronnie would. But it is also a noble face—a face one could altogether trust. Ronnie will be in safe hands when once you get him home." Aubrey's smile, in the flare of the candle, was the grin of a hungry wolf. He made no reply. Dr. Dick, watch in hand, stood silently beside the bed, counting the rapid respiration of his friend. Then he turned, took up an empty tumbler from the table behind him, smelt it, and looked at Aubrey Treherne. "I thought so," he said. "You meant well, no doubt. But don't do it again. Drugs to produce sleep may occasionally be necessary, but should only be given under careful medical supervision. Personally, I am inclined to think that any sort of artificial sleep does more harm to a delicately poised brain, than insomnia. However, opinions differ. But there is no question that your experiment of to-night must not be repeated. I have given him stuff to take during his homeward journey which will tend to calm him, lessen the fever, and clear his mind. See that he takes it." Young Dick Cameron walked out of Ronnie's room, blew out the candle he carried, and replaced the candlestick on a little ornamental bracket. Aubrey followed, inwardly fuming. If Dick had been at the top of the tree, the first opinion procurable from Harley Street, W., his manner could hardly have been more authoritative, his instructions more peremptory. "Upstart!" said Aubrey to himself. "Insolent Jackanapes!" When Dick Cameron reached the outer door his cap was on the back of his head, his hands were thrust deep into his coat pockets. "Good-evening," he said. "Excuse my long intrusion. I shall be immensely obliged if you will let me have a wire reporting your safe arrival, and a letter, later on, with details as to Ronnie's state. I put my address on the paper I gave you just now, with the name of the man Mrs. West must call in." Dick crossed the great entrance-hall, and ran lightly down the stone steps. Aubrey heard the street door close behind him. Then he shut and double locked his own flat. "Upstart!" he said. "Jackanapes! Insolent fool!" It is sometimes consoling to call people that which you know they are not, yet heartily wish they were. Aubrey entered his sitting-room. He wanted an immediate vent for his ill-humour and sense of impotent mortification. The leaf from Dick's note-book lay on the table. Aubrey took it up, opened the iron door of the stove, and thrust the leaf into the very heart of the fire. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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