Chapter XV: A Life in the Balance

The House of Martin during the next few hours was the scene of much anxiety and despair.

A white-capped nurse was passing in and out of the sick-room, while Westy and his sister sat on the stairway, apprehensive each time that she had come to tell them the worst.

Mrs. Martin, sitting faithfully by her husband’s side, dry-eyed, seemed shaken with grief inwardly and her white face looked haunted with lost hope.

Four hours had passed and still he had not regained consciousness. The doctor was standing, silently gazing down into the darkened street. He turned back toward the bedside and Mrs. Martin, watching his mobile face intently, thought she detected the faintest glimmer of hope pass across his features.

“Another half hour will tell,” he told her, “and if he lives he’ll have his son to thank not only for his life, but for the half-dozen others he saved from being dashed to pieces.”

The doctor, it seems, had witnessed the accident, and sang Westy’s praises for many a long day after.

Archie had left to go home two hours before, saying he was too upset from the ordeal to stand the suspense of waiting. They couldn’t seem to get a coherent account from him as to how Mr. Martin injured his head. He said he couldn’t seem to remember, he was so excited, except that he saw him fall just as Westy jumped on the steps of the runaway bus.

So Archie went and no one cared to detain him.

Twenty minutes, then a half hour, went by that seemed to the waiting trio like years.

The nurse, reëntering the room, took the sick man’s pulse and nodded to the doctor who was standing close by.

Slowly but surely Mr. Martin opened his eyes, smiling rather wanly at his wife, who was now bending eagerly over him. She was afraid to speak lest he should fall back again into that coma.

The doctor, suspecting her fear, spoke softly. “He’ll be all right now, providing he has nothing to excite him. Perfect quiet and rest will do the trick. I’ll be back in a few hours!”

The nurse went out of the room with him and Mrs. Martin clasped her husband’s hand in hers, fighting back the fears of joy that were continually overflowing. The door opened once again, but this time it was Doris and Westy whose youthful figures were framed in the doorway.

Mrs. Martin put her finger to her lips and motioned for them to come.

“That’s all right,” Mr. Martin spoke weakly. “I want to talk to that boy of mine!”

“Not now, dear,” Mrs. Martin said almost pleadingly. “I’m afraid you’re not quite up to it just yet.”

“Rats!” he replied firmly this time. “Takes a whole lot to kill me, I guess. Westy, come here!”

“Yes, Father,” said Westy, with tears brimming in his large eyes as he knelt once more by his father’s side.

“My boy, you’re a real he-man, do you know that?” he said, raising his hand from under the coverlet and placing it on Westy’s bowed head. “I’m no end proud of you, lad!”

“M-mm,” was all Westy could say.

“After what I witnessed to-day--is it still to-day?” he asked, turning his head toward the window where the shades were now drawn.

His wife nodded.

“After what I witnessed to-day,” he continued, sheer gratitude inflecting his voice, “I’m quite sure that there isn’t a boy alive who is any better able to take care of himself than our boy. Isn’t that right, Mother?”

Mrs. Martin smiled her assent.

“And so,” he went on, “the only way I can repay this modern hero of ours is to grant him the wish of his heart’s desire.”

“I don’t wish to be repaid, Father. It was no more than I should have done,” Westy said, vainly trying to conceal his embarrassment.

“Oh, no, son, that wasn’t any mere duty you performed on my behalf and also the others; it was true courage, the stuff that one rarely sees displayed so splendidly. I wouldn’t have believed it was in you really!”

“I’ve always tried to tell you that!” Mrs. Martin exclaimed with a touch of maternal pride.

“But, Father,” chimed in Doris, clasping her father’s other hand, “just what was it that happened to you?”

“It’s not much to tell, Dorrie, it all happened so quick. Archie and I were sitting together in the back seat of the bus chatting, after we left the station. We had gone but a few blocks when I happened to notice that the driver didn’t stop as we passed by River Street, and I thought it was strange, as a lady waiting there had hailed to him, but he seemed to take no notice of her. Suddenly, as I was just about to mention it to Archie, the poor fellow collapsed, and of course we were all thrown into a panic. No one seemed to know what to do to stop it, and by that time we were running wild. Then, I chanced to look ahead and there was Westy standing in the middle of the street waving his arms frantically. Naturally I forgot all else and got up out of the seat intending to start for the front of the bus. Previously we had all been seated, as the car, swerving from one side of the street to the other, prevented us from keeping on our feet. Archie, meanwhile, had been quaking with fear and I did my best to calm him, but, as I was saying, when I saw Westy I got up and Archie evidently misinterpreted my intention for he arose also. I suppose he didn’t know what he was doing--panic-stricken, I guess, but he pushed me aside to try and get to the front of the bus first and in doing so knocked me backwards, throwing me against the rear window. My head must have gone clear through it, for I could hear the crash of glass and then I seemed to strike something sharp. I don’t remember anything after that.”

“Miss Doris Martin, a Mr. Captroop is downstairs and wishes to see you!” the nurse said, entering the room.

“If you’ll be so kind, Miss Treat, will you tell him I’m not at home and that my father is doing nicely?”

“Surely, I’m only too glad to,” the nurse replied, “and now if you will let Mr. Martin rest for a while, you can see him again in the morning.”

“Before you go,” Mr. Martin said, “I want to tell Westy that he can do as he wants to, providing he comes back next fall determined to get through school as quick as he can and get to business instead of wasting his summers hereafter.”

“Do you mean, Father,” Westy asked breathlessly, “that I can ask Artie? Do you mean that?”

“Something like that,” Mr. Martin answered.

Westy grasped his father’s hand and impetuously stooped and kissed him. Rushing out of the room and down the stairs he flung his coat and hat on in the hall and hurried to tell the news to Artie!