Flash and Filigree Read Free Page A

couch, his face in his hands. Suddenly he lurched forward, getting to his feet, then fell back bodily onto the couch, catching himself with one hand.
    “Where is the Doctor?” he cried. “Where is Dr. Eichner? What happened ?”
    Miss Mintner gave a start, involuntarily shrank back toward the window; then, as quickly, she crossed the room to his couch.
    “Now, please,” she was firm, “please lie quietly. Everything is all right.” She put her hands on both his shoulders and pushed down on him. Mr. Treevly resisted.
    “What’s the matter?” he repeated, looking around rather wildly. “Where is the Doctor?”
    “Nothing’s the matter,” Miss Mintner shrilled. “Now please lie back! I’m going to give you something and you’ll be perfectly all right.” She looked anxiously toward the door, speaking half aloud. “Oh, where is that boy ?”
    Mr. Treevly shook her away violently. “What’s going on here?” he cried. “What’s up!” There seemed to be pain and a certain desperation in his voice.
    Miss Mintner dropped her hands and stepped back abruptly, so angry she could cry.
    “Nothing happened I tell you! You had too-much-to-drink and now you’re acting like a baby!” Then in a burst of indignation, she came forward, cross enough with herself to slap him, and began to push on his shoulders again. But her anger was spent in the gesture and there only remained a tearful petulance. “Please lie back!” she said. “Please.” She drew the word out in a sob.
    Mr. Treevly made an odd grimace, felt his head with outstretched fingers, then closed his eyes and lay back, one hand to his brow.
    Barbara Mintner sighed, not quite audibly, touched her hair and dabbed lightly at her moist temples. Suddenly she shot a fearful glance to the window where she had whispered with Garcia. She moved as if to determine whether or not he was there now, listening.
    “Is this the Hauptman Clinic?” asked Mr. Treevly without raising his head.
    Miss Mintner stopped, stood looking at him from mid-floor. “Yes,” she answered, as caution and uneasiness crept back into her face.
    “I’m a patient of Dr. Eichner,” said the young man evenly.
    “Yes, that’s right,” said Miss Mintner. She glanced at the door. “Where is that little fool!” she said under her breath.
    Mr. Treevly raised his head, his eyes open wide. “You know then?” He had risen to one elbow.
    “Yes, of course,” said Miss Mintner moving toward him, and again as if to prevent his getting off the couch, she put one hand on his shoulder. “Now please . . .” she said in the tone she had used with the gardener. “Please lie back!”
    Mr. Treevly shook her off. “Where is the Doctor?” he demanded. “What’s up?”
    “He isn’t here,” she cried irately. “I’ve told you that!”
    “This isn’t his office!” Treevly said sharp, looking at her with such wild accusation, she could have surely thought him insane.
    Miss Mintner started for the door, and stopped short. “Really,” she said, turning suddenly in tears at the unfairness of it, “I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re a bundle of never-ends! A person would think you’d been taking Benzedrine, instead of . . . instead of . . . whiskey . . . and goodness knows what else!” she added with forced contempt, her hand just touching the knob of the door as Mr. Treevly slumped back to a lying position on the couch, his hands covering his face.
    Standing at the door in silence, putting a handkerchief to her soft wet eyes, she watched him narrowly. “I don’t care,” she said half-aloud in bitterness, “it just isn’t fair!”
    On the couch, Mr. Treevly groaned painfully.
    And watching his helplessness now, Miss Mintner began to feel herself once more at the helm of the situation. She eased toward him from the door, still clutching the small handkerchief in her hand. When she was quite near the couch, Mr. Treevly spoke in a broken whisper. “Something is wrong, do you