Page:Walpole - Fortitude.djvu/257

 head. He wore an old, faded velveteen jacket out of the pockets of which stuck innumerable papers. He was very often drunk and had a shrew of a wife who made the sober parts of his life a misery, but he was kind-hearted and generous and had a very real knowledge of his business.

Mrs. Williams volubly could not conceal her concern at Peter's condition—“and 'im such a nice-spoken young genelman as I was saying only yesterday tea-time, there's nothin' I said, as I wouldn't be willin' to do for that there poor Mr. Westcott and that there poor Mr. Brant 'oo are as like two 'elpless children in their fightin' the world as ever I see and 'ow ever can I help 'em I said—”

“Well, my good woman,” the little doctor finally interrupted, “you can help here and now by getting some hot water and the other things I've put down here.”

When she was gone he turned slowly to Stephen who stood, the picture of despair, looking down upon Peter.

“'E's goin' to die?” he asked.

“That depends,” the little doctor answered. “The boy's been starved—ought never to have been allowed to get into this condition. Both of you hard up, I suppose?”

“As 'ard up as we very well could be—” Stephen answered grimly.

“Well—has he no friends?”

There—the question at last. Stephen took it as he would have taken a blow between the eyes. He saw very clearly that the end of his reign had come. He had done what he could and he had failed. But in him was the fierce furious desire to fight for the boy. Why should he give him up, now, when they had spent all these weeks together, when they had struggled for their very existence side by side. What right had any of these others to Peter compared with his right? He knew very well that if he gave him up now the boy would never be his again. He might see him—yes—but that passing of Peter that he had already begun to realise would be accomplished. He might look at him but only as a wanderer may look from the valley up to the hill. The doctor broke in upon him as he stood hesitating there—

“Come,” he said roughly, “we have not much time. The boy may die. Has he no friends?”