The Coming of Bill

"I mean it. In a very short while now you will be required to take the stage and embrace your son or daughter, as the case may be. You don't want to appear looking as if you had been run over by an automobile after a night out. You want your appearance to give Mrs. Winfield as little of a shock as possible. Bear that in mind. Well, I must be going."

And Kirk was alone again.

The food and the drink and the doctor's words had a good effect. His mind became quieter. He sat down and filled his pipe. After a few puffs he replaced it in his pocket. It seemed too callous to think of smoking now. The doctor was a good fellow, but he did not understand. All the same, he was glad that he had had that whisky. It had certainly put heart into him for the moment.

What was happening upstairs? He strained his ears, but could hear nothing.

Gradually, as he waited, his mood of morbid self-criticism returned. He had sunk once more into the depths when he was aware of a soft tapping. The door bell rang very gently. He went to the door and opened it.

"I kinder thought I'd look in and see how things were getting along," said a voice.

It was Steve. A subdued and furtive Steve. Kirk's heart leaped at the sight of him. It was as if he had found something solid to cling to in a shifting world.

"Come in, Steve."

He spoke huskily. Steve sidled into the studio, embarrassment written on every line of him.

"Don't mind my butting in, do you? I've been walking up and down and round the block till every cop on the island's standing by waiting for me to pull something. Another minute and they'd have pinched me on suspicion. I just felt I had to come and see how Miss Ruth was making out."

"The doctor was down here just now. He said everything was going well."

"I guess he knows his business."

There was a silence. Kirk's ears were straining for sounds from above.

"It's hell," said Steve.

Kirk nodded. This kind of talk was more what he wanted. The doctor meant well, but he was too professional. Steve was human.

"Go and get yourself a drink, Steve. I expect you need one."

Steve shook his head.

"Waggon," he said briefly. And there was silence again.

"Say, Kirk."

"Yes?"

"What a wonder she is. Miss Ruth, I mean. I've helped her throw that medicine-ball—often—you wouldn't believe. She's a wonder." He paused. "Say, this is hell, ain't it?"

Kirk did not answer. It was very quiet in the studio now. In the street outside a heavy waggon rumbled part. Somebody shouted a few words of a popular song. Steve sprang to his feet.

"I'll fix that guy," he said. But the singing ceased, and he sat down again.

Kirk got up and began to walk quickly up and down. Steve watched him furtively.

"You want to take your mind off it," he said. "You'll be all in if you keep on worrying about it in that way."

Kirk stopped in his stride.

"That's what the doctor said," he snapped savagely. "What do you two fools think I'm made of?" He recovered himself quickly, ashamed of the outburst. "I'm sorry, Steve. Don't mind anything I say. It's awfully good of you to have come here, and I'm not going to forget it."

Steve scratched his chin reflectively.

"Say, I'll tell you something," he said. "My mother told me once that when I was born my old dad took it just like you. Found he was getting all worked up by having to hang around and do nothing, so he says to himself: 'I've got to take my mind off this business, or it's me for the foolish-house.'

"Well, sir, there was a big guy down on that street who'd been picking on dad good and hard for a mighty long while. And this guy suddenly comes into dad's mind. He felt of his muscle, dad did. 'Gee!' he says to himself, 'I believe the way I'm feeling, I could just go and eat up that gink right away.' And the more he thought of it, the better it looked to him, so all of a sudden he grabs his hat and beats it like a streak down to the saloon on the corner, where he knew the feller would be at that time, and he goes straight up to him and hands him one.

"Back comes the guy at him—he was a great big son of a gun, weighing thirty pounds more than dad—and him and dad mixes it right there in the saloon till the barkeep and about fifty other fellers throws them out, and they goes off to a vacant lot to finish the thing. And dad's so worked up that he gives the other guy his till he hollers that that's all he'll want. And then dad goes home and waits quite quiet and happy and peaceful till they tell him I'm there."

Steve paused.

"Kirk," he said then, "how would you like a round or two with the small gloves, just to get things off your mind for a spell and pass the time? My dad said he found it eased him mighty good."

Kirk stared at him.

"Just a couple of rounds," urged Steve. "And you can go all out at that. I shan't mind. Just try to think I'm some guy that's been picking on you and let me have it. See what I mean?"

For the first time that day the faint ghost of a grin appeared on Kirk's face. 

"I wonder if you're right, Steve?"