The Last Leaf - Part One

In New York city there is a district west of Washington Square called Greanwich Village. Its narrow streets and eighteenth-century buildings give it a great deal of charm. Not many years ago, artists were attracted there because of the low rents. Thus the interesting old Village became a popular art "colony".

At the top of a three story brick house, Sue and Johnsy had their studio. Sue and Johnsy's real name was Joanna. She had come from California to live in New York. The other girl was from Maine. They had met at a small restaurant on Eighth Street. When they found out that theire tastes in art, food, and dress were very much alike, they decided to share a studio.

That was in May. In November, a cold, silent stranger, whom the doctors called Mr. Pneumonia, moved quietly about the colony, touching one here and one there with his icy fingers.

Mr. Pneumonia was not a polite old gentleman. Little Johnsy, her blood thinned by the warm California weather, was no match for that red-faced, short-breathed, old fellow. And so he touched Johnsy with his icy fingers, too; and she lay ill, scarcely moving, on her old iron bed, looking through the small window at the blank side of the brick house next door.

One day when the busy doctor came to examine Johnsy, he asked Sue to follow him into hall. "She has about one chance in ten," he said as he shook down his thermometer. "And that chance depends on whether she wants to live. This patient has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Is there anything on her mind?"

"Well, she has always siad that she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day," answered Sue.

"Paint? Nonsense ! Is there anything on her mind worth thinking about twice - a man, for instance?"

"A man?" Sue exclaimed in surprise. "No, doctor, I'm sure she's not worrying about a man."

"Well, her problem is just weakness then, caused by the fever. I'll do everything in my power to save her. But when a patient loses hope of getting well, the power of medicine is reduced by at least fifty percent. If she starts asking questions about the new winter fashion, I can promise you a one-in-five chance for her in stead of one-in-ten."

After the doctor has gone, Sue went into the studio and sobbed. Then forcing her herself to smile, she entered Johnsy's room with her drawing materials, whistling a popular tune.

Johnsy lay very still under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window, Sue stopped whistling, thinking Johnsy was asleep. She put down the drawing board and began to make some pen and ink sketches to illustrate a magazine story. As Sue was drawing figures on the board, she heard a low sound which was repeated several times, she went quickly to the bedside.

Johnsy's eyes were wide open. She was looking out of the window and counting but counting backward.

"Twelve," she said, and a little later, "eleven"; and then "ten" and then "nine"; and then "eight " and "seven".

Sue looked curiously out the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare dull yard and the blank side of the brick house a few feet away. An old vine, decayed at the root, climbed halfway up the brick wall. The cold autumn wind had blown the leaves from the vine until its branches were almost bare.

"What is it, dear? Tell me !"

"Six," said Johnsy, almost whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."

"Five what, dear? Please tell me."

"Leaves" - on the vine. When the last one falls. I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"

"Oh, I've never heard such nonsense," said Sue. "What have those old leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that old vine so much. Don't be silly. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances of getting well soon are ten-to-one! That's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on a streetcar or walk past a building under construction. Please try to eat some soup now. Let me go back to my drawing, so I can earn some money to buy food and wine for us."

"You needn't buy any more wine," said Johnsy as she continued to stare at the bare vine. "There goes another leaf. No, I don't want any soup. There are just four leaves left. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too."

"Johnsy, dear,' said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise to keep your eyes closed and not look out the window until I've finished my work? I must deliver these drawings tomorrow. I need the light; otherwise I would pull down the window shade."

"Can't you work in the other room?" Johnsy asked coldly.

"I'd rather be here with you," replied Sue. "Besides, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly old leaves."

"Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes and lying white and still as a statue. "I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of thinking. I want to go just like one of those poor, tired leaves."

"Try to sleep now," said Sue. "I must go downstairs to ask Behrman to be a model for my next drawing. I won't be gone a minute. Don't try to move until I get back."

To be continued