I had in any case to wait a moment till the postmaster was free, for I could not use the telephone myself. My mother had a horror of our touching1 the public one. She had spoken with disgust of the mouthpiece that everybody breathed into. "Full of germs!" Then it must be bad for other people, we said. "Other people must take their chance." I remembered that as I leaned against the counter, panting, while the postmaster wrote out a telegram. We were "taking the chance" now. Such a little thing—my not knowing how to telephone. Yet it might cost my mother her life.
The postmaster rang up Brighton.
The doctor was out.
What could be done but leave a message!
I would go to the Helmstones and ask for a motor-car. Why had I not thought of that before?[Pg 52]
Then the postmaster said that the Helmstones had all left for London that morning. He had seen them go by. Two motors full. He recommended the doctor at Littlecombe. If I waited a while, the baker's cart would come back from its rounds, and I could send, or go myself with the driver to Littlecombe.
"Wait"? There was that at Duncombe that would not wait. For me, too, waiting was the one impossible thing. I cast about in my distracted mind.
That new acquaintance of the Helmstones'! Was he not a sort of a doctor? "The scientific chap," as his lordship called the man who had taken rooms at Big Klaus's farm. Lord Helmstone had complained of his Scotch3 arrogance—"frankly astonished if a Southron makes a decent drive." We had not seen him—at least, not to distinguish an arrogant4 Scot from other golfers.
I ran most of the way to the farm.
As I stood waiting for the door to open, a man came up the path with golf clubs. Tallish. In careless clothes, otherwise of a very un-careless aspect. In those seconds of watching the figure come up the pathway with a sort of rigidity5 of[Pg 53] gait, I received an impression of something so restrained and chilling that I hoped he was not the man I had come for. In any case this was not a person before whom one would care to show emotion. I asked if he were Mr. Annan. Yes, his name was Annan. His tone asked: and what business was it of mine? But he halted there, below me, as I stood on the step explaining very briefly6 my errand.
He did not want to come; I could see that.
He made some excuse about not being a general practitioner7.
I was sorry I had spoken in that self-possessed way. I saw I had given him no idea of the urgency of our need. I had to explain that all we asked of him was to give some help at once. And only for once. Our regular doctor would be with us very soon.
He seemed slow-witted, for he stood there several seconds, with one free hand pulling at his rough moustache of reddish-brown.
"We mustn't lose time," I said.
As I led the way, I heard the door open behind me, and the sound of golf clubs thrown down in a stone passage.[Pg 54]
He caught up with me at the gate, and we walked rapidly across Big Klaus's fields. While we were going by the pond, in the lower meadow, a moorhen scuttled8 to her nest in the tangle9 on the bank. Her creaking cry had always sounded so cheerful since my mother pointed10 out that the mechanic "click! click!" was like a Christmas toy. To-day I knew it for a warning.
The man had caught up a stick. He struck sharply with it, as he passed, at the tall nettles11 growing in the ditch.
What was happening at home all this time? I began to walk faster, with a great misery12 at my heart. What was the good of this man who wasn't a general practitioner? He was too like all the other broad-shouldered young golfers in Norfolk jackets—far too like them, to help in so dire13 a need as ours.
I tried to hearten myself by recalling what Lord Helmstone had said of him. That "the bigwigs in the world of science spoke2 of Annan with enthusiasm." "An original mind." "A demon14 for work" (that was, perhaps, why he hadn't wanted to come with me).
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