It seemed to Kirk, as the days went by, that a mist of unreality felllike a curtain between him and the things of this world. Commonplaceobjects lost their character and became things to marvel at. There wasa new bond of sympathy between the world and himself.
A citizen walking in the park with his children became a kind ofmiracle. Here was a man who had travelled the road which he wastravelling now, who had had the same hopes and fear and wonder. Once heencountered a prosperous looking individual moving, like a liner amongtugs, in the midst of no fewer than six offspring. Kirk fixed him withsuch a concentrated stare of emotion and excitement that the other wasalarmed and went on his way alertly, as one in the presence of danger.
It is probable that, if Kirk had happened to ask him the time at thatmoment, or indeed addressed him at all, he would have screamed for thepolice.
The mystery of childbirth and the wonder of it obsessed Kirk as timecrept on. And still more was he conscious of the horrible dread thatwas gathering within him. Ruth's unvarying cheerfulness was to himalmost uncanny. None of the doubts and fears which blackened his lifeappeared to touch her. Once he confided these to his friend, the littledoctor, and was thoroughly bullied by him for his foolishness. But inspite of ridicule the fear crept back, cringingly, like a whipped dog.
And then, time moving on its leisurely but businesslike fashion, theday arrived, and for the first time in his life Kirk knew what fearreally meant. All that he had experienced till now had, he saw, been amild apprehension, not worthy of a stronger name. His flesh crawledwith the thoughts which rose in his mind like black bubbles in a pond.
There were moments when the temptation to stupefy himself with drinkwas almost irresistible.
It was his utter uselessness that paralysed him. He seemed destined tobe of no help to Ruth at just those crises when she needed him most.
When she was facing her father with the news of the marriage he had notbeen at her side. And now, when she was fighting for her life, he coulddo nothing but pace the empty, quiet studio and think.
The doctor had arrived at eight o'clock, cheery as ever, and had comedownstairs after seeing Ruth to ask him to telephone to Mrs. Porter. Inhis overwrought state, this had jarred upon Kirk. Here, he felt, wassomebody who could help where he was useless.
Mrs. Porter had appeared in a cab and had had the cold brutality to askfor a glass of sherry and a sandwich before going upstairs. She putforward the lame excuse that she had not dined. Kirk gave her thesherry and sandwich and resumed his patrol in a glow of indignation.
The idea of any one requiring food at this moment struck him as grossand revolting.
His wrath did not last. In a short while fear came back into its own.
The hands of the clock pointed to ten before he stooped to followingMrs. Porter's example. George Pennicut had been sent out, so he wentinto the little kitchen, where he found eggs, which he mixed with milkand swallowed. After this he was aware of a momentary excess ofoptimism. The future looked a little brighter. But not for long.
Presently he was prowling the studio as restlessly as ever.
Men of Kirk's type are not given to deep thought. Until now he hadprobably never spent more than a couple of minutes consecutively inself-examination. This vigil forced him upon himself and caused him topass his character under review, with strange and unsatisfactoryresults. He had never realised before what a curiously contemptible anduseless person he was. It seemed to him that this was all he was fitfor--to hang about doing nothing while everybody else was busy andproving his or her own worth.
A door opened and the little doctor came quietly down the stairs. Kirksprang at him.
"Well?""My dear man, everything's going splendidly. Couldn't be better." Thedoctor's eyes searched his face. "When did you have anything to eatlast?""I don't know. I had some eggs and milk. I don't know when."The doctor took him by the shoulders and hustled him into the kitchen,where he searched and found meat and bread.
"Eat that," he said. "I'll have some, too.""I couldn't.""And some whisky. Where do you keep it?"After the first few mouthfuls Kirk ate wolfishly. The doctor munched asandwich with the placidity of a summer boarder at a picnic. Hiscalmness amazed and almost shocked Kirk.
"You can't help her by killing yourself," said the doctorphilosophically. "I like that woman with the gimlet eyes. At least Idon't, but she's got sense. Go on. You haven't done yet. Anotherhighball won't hurt you." He eyed Kirk with some sympathy. "It's a badtime for you, of course.""For _me_? Good God!""You want to keep your nerve. Nothing awful is going to happen.""If only there was something I could do.""'They also serve who only stand and wait,'" quoted the doctorsententiously. "There is something you can do.""What?""Light your pipe and take it easy."Kirk snorted.
"I mean it. In a very short while now you will be required to take thestage and embrace your son or daughter, as the case may be. You don'twant to appear looking as if you had been run over by an automobileafter a night out. You want your appearance to give Mrs. Winfield aslittle of a shock as possible. Bear that in mind. Well, I must begoing."And Kirk was alone again.
The food and the drink and the doctor's words had a good effect. Hismind became quieter. He sat down and filled his pipe. After a few puffshe replaced it in his pocket. It seemed too callous to think of smokingnow. The doctor was a good fellow, but he did not understand. All thesame, he was glad that he had had that whisky. It had certainly putheart into him for the moment.
What was happening upstairs? He strained his ears, but could hearnothing.
Gradually, as he waited, his mood of morbid self-criticism returned. Hehad 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 thesight of him. It was as if he had found something solid to cling to ina shifting world.
"Come in, Steve."He spoke huskily. Steve sidled into the studio, embarrassment writtenon every line of him.
"Don't mind my butting in, do you? I've been walking up and down andround the block till every cop on the island's standing by waiting forme to pull something. Another minute and they'd have pinched me onsuspicion. I just felt I had to come and see how Miss Ruth was makingout.""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 doctormeant 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 thatmedicine-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 streetoutside a heavy waggon rumbled part. Somebody shouted a few words of apopular song. Steve sprang to his feet.
"I'll fix that guy," he said. But the singing ceased, and he sat downagain.
Kirk got up and began to walk quickly up and down. Steve watched himfurtively.
"You want to take your mind off it," he said. "You'll be all in if youkeep on worrying about it in that way."Kirk stopped in his stride.
"That's what the doctor said," he snapped savagely. "What do you twofools think I'm made of?" He recovered himself quickly, ashamed of theoutburst. "I'm sorry, Steve. Don't mind anything I say. It's awfullygood of you to have come here, and I'm not going to forget it."Steve scratched his chin reflectively.
