The Fighting Chance

"Mentally?" repeated Siward under his breath.

"Yes, mentally. What's the trouble? Stocks? Bonds? Lawsuits? Love?" the slightest pause, and a narrowing of the gimlet eyes behind the lenses. "Love?" he repeated harshly. "Which is it, boy? They're all good to let alone."

"Business," said Siward. But, being a Siward, he was obliged to add "partly."

"Business--partly," repeated the doctor. "What's the matter with business--partly?"

"I don't know. There are rumours. Hetherington is pounding us--apparently. That Inter-County crowd is acting ominously, too. There's something underhand, somewhere." He bent his head and fell to plucking at the faded brocade on the arm of his chair, muttering to himself, "somewhere, somehow, something underhand. I don't know what; I really don't."

"All right--all right," said the doctor testily; "let it go at that! There's treachery, eh? You suspect it? You're sure of it--as reasonably sure as a gentleman can be of something he is not fashioned to understand? That's it, is it? All right, sir--all right! Very well--ver-y well. Now, sir, look at me! Business symptoms admitted, what about the 'partly,' Stephen?--what about it, eh? What about it?"

But Siward fell silent again.

"Eh? Did you say something? No? Oh, very well, ver-y well, sir. … Perfectly correct, Stephen. You have not earned the right to admit further symptoms. No, sir, you have not earned the right to admit them to anybody, not even to yourself. Nor to--her!"

"Doctor!"

"Sir?"

"I have--admitted them."

"To yourself, Steve? I'm sorry. You have no right to--yet. I'm sorry--"

"I have admitted them--admitted them--to her."

"That settles it," said the doctor grimly, "that clinches it! That locks you to the wheel! That pledges you. The squabble is on, now. It's your honour that's engaged now, not your nerves, not your intestines. It's a good fight--a very good fight, with no chance of losing anything but life. You go up the river to Mulqueen's. That's the strategy in this campaign; that's excellent manoeuvring; that's good generalship! Eh? Mask your purpose, Steve; make a feint of camping out here under my guns; then suddenly fling your entire force up the Hudson and fortify yourself at Mulqueen's! Ho, that'll fix 'em! That's going to astonish the enemy!"

His harsh, dry, crackling laughter broke out like the distant rattle of musketry.

The ghost of a smile glimmered in Siward's haunted eyes, then faded as he leaned forward.

"She has refused me," he said simply.

The little doctor, after an incredulous stare, began chattering with wrath. "Refused you! Pah! Pooh! That's nothing! That signifies absolutely nothing! It's meaningless! It's a detail. You get well--do you hear? You go and get well; then try it again! Then you'll see! And if she is an idiot--in the event of her irrational persistence in an incredible and utterly indefensible attitude"--he choked up, then fairly barked at Siward--"take her anyway, sir! Run off with her! Dominate circumstances, sir! take charge of events! … But you can't do it till you've clapped yourself into prison for life. … And God help you if you let yourself escape!"