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1. Solution Manual for Java How to Program,
Early Objects (11th Edition) (Deitel: How to
Program) 11th Edition
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Introduction to Java
Applications; Input/Output
and Operators 2
What’s in a name?
That which we call a rose
By any other name would
smell as sweet.
—William Shakespeare

The chief merit of language

is clearness.
—Galen

One person can make a

difference and every person
should try.
—John F. Kennedy

Ob je cti v e s
In this chapter you’ll:
■ Write simple Java
applications.
■ Use input and output
statements.
■ Learn about Java’s primitive
types.
■ Understand basic memory
concepts.
■ Use arithmetic operators.
■ Learn the precedence of
arithmetic operators.
■ Write decision-making
statements.
■ Use relational and equality
operators.
jhtp_02_IntroToApplications.FM Page 2 Sunday, May 18, 2014 9:41 PM

Self-Review Exercises 2

Self-Review Exercises
2.1 Fill in the blanks in each of the following statements:
a) A(n) begins the body of every method, and a(n) ends the body of
every method.
ANS: left brace ({), right brace (} ).
b) You can use the statement to make decisions.
ANS: if.
c) begins an end-of-line comment.
ANS: //.
d) , and are called white space.
ANS: Space characters, newlines and tabs.
e) are reserved for use by Java.
ANS: Keywords.
f) Java applications begin execution at method .
ANS: main.
g) Methods , and display information in a command win-
dow.
ANS: System.out.print, System.out.println and System.out.printf.
2.2 State whether each of the following is true or false. If false, explain why.
a) Comments cause the computer to print the text after the // on the screen when the pro-
gram executes.
ANS: False. Comments do not cause any action to be performed when the program exe-
cutes. They’re used to document programs and improve their readability.
b) All variables must be given a type when they’re declared.
ANS: True.
c) Java considers the variables number and NuMbEr to be identical.
ANS: False. Java is case sensitive, so these variables are distinct.
d) The remainder operator (%) can be used only with integer operands.
ANS: False. The remainder operator can also be used with noninteger operands in Java.
e) The arithmetic operators *, /, %, + and - all have the same level of precedence.
ANS: False. The operators *, / and % are higher precedence than operators + and -.
2.3 Write statements to accomplish each of the following tasks:
a) Declare variables c, thisIsAVariable, q76354 and number to be of type int.
ANS: int c, thisIsAVariable, q76354, number;
or
int c;
int thisIsAVariable;
int q76354;
int number;
b) Prompt the user to enter an integer.
ANS: System.out.print("Enter an integer: ");
c) Input an integer and assign the result to int variable value. Assume Scanner variable
input can be used to read a value from the keyboard.
ANS: value = input.nextInt();
d) Print "This is a Java program" on one line in the command window. Use method
System.out.println.
ANS: System.out.println("This is a Java program");
jhtp_02_IntroToApplications.FM Page 3 Sunday, May 18, 2014 9:41 PM

3 Chapter 2 Introduction to Java Applications; Input/Output and Operators

e) Print "This is a Java program" on two lines in the command window. The first line
should end with Java. Use method System.out.printf and two %s format specifiers.
ANS: System.out.printf("%s%n%s%n", "This is a Java", "program");
f) If the variable number is not equal to 7, display "The variable number is not equal to 7".
ANS: if (number != 7)
System.out.println("The variable number is not equal to 7");

2.4 Identify and correct the errors in each of the following statements:
a) if (c < 7);
System.out.println("c is less than 7");
ANS: Error: Semicolon after the right parenthesis of the condition (c < 7) in the if.
Correction: Remove the semicolon after the right parenthesis. [Note: As a result, the
output statement will execute regardless of whether the condition in the if is true.]
b) if (c => 7)
System.out.println("c is equal to or greater than 7");
ANS: Error: The relational operator => is incorrect. Correction: Change => to >=.
2.5 Write declarations, statements or comments that accomplish each of the following tasks:
a) State that a program will calculate the product of three integers.
ANS: // Calculate the product of three integers
b) Create a Scanner called input that reads values from the standard input.
ANS: Scanner input = new Scanner(System.in);
c) Declare the variables x, y, z and result to be of type int.
ANS: int x, y, z, result;
or
int x;
int y;
int z;
int result;
d) Prompt the user to enter the first integer.
ANS: System.out.print("Enter first integer: ");
e) Read the first integer from the user and store it in the variable x.
ANS: x = input.nextInt();
f) Prompt the user to enter the second integer.
ANS: System.out.print("Enter second integer: ");
g) Read the second integer from the user and store it in the variable y.
ANS: y = input.nextInt();
h) Prompt the user to enter the third integer.
ANS: System.out.print("Enter third integer: ");
i) Read the third integer from the user and store it in the variable z.
ANS: z = input.nextInt();
j) Compute the product of the three integers contained in variables x, y and z, and assign
the result to the variable result.
ANS: result = x * y * z;
k) Use System.out.printf to display the message "Product is" followed by the value of
the variable result.
ANS: System.out.printf("Product is %d%n", result);
jhtp_02_IntroToApplications.FM Page 4 Sunday, May 18, 2014 9:41 PM

Exercises 4

2.6 Using the statements you wrote in Exercise 2.5, write a complete program that calculates
and prints the product of three integers.
ANS:

1 // Ex. 2.6: Product.java

2 // Calculate the product of three integers.
3 import java.util.Scanner; // program uses Scanner
4
5 public class Product
6 {
7 public static void main(String[] args)
8 {
9 // create Scanner to obtain input from command window
10 Scanner input = new Scanner(System.in);
11
12 int x; // first number input by user
13 int y; // second number input by user
14 int z; // third number input by user
15 int result; // product of numbers
16
17 System.out.print("Enter first integer: "); // prompt for input
18 x = input.nextInt(); // read first integer
19
20 System.out.print("Enter second integer: "); // prompt for input
21 y = input.nextInt(); // read second integer
22
23 System.out.print("Enter third integer: "); // prompt for input
24 z = input.nextInt(); // read third integer
25
26 result = x * y * z; // calculate product of numbers
27
28 System.out.printf("Product is %d%n", result);
29 } // end method main
30 } // end class Product

Enter first integer: 10

Enter second integer: 20
Enter third integer: 30
Product is 6000

Exercises
NOTE: Solutions to the programming exercises are located in the ch02solutions folder.
Each exercise has its own folder named ex02_## where ## is a two-digit number represent-
ing the exercise number. For example, exercise 2.14’s solution is located in the folder
ex02_14.
2.7 Fill in the blanks in each of the following statements:
a) are used to document a program and improve its readability.
ANS: Comments.
b) A decision can be made in a Java program with a(n) .
ANS: if statement.
c) Calculations are normally performed by statements.
ANS: assignment statements.
d) The arithmetic operators with the same precedence as multiplication are and
.
jhtp_02_IntroToApplications.FM Page 5 Sunday, May 18, 2014 9:41 PM

5 Chapter 2 Introduction to Java Applications; Input/Output and Operators

ANS: division (/), remainder (%)

e) When parentheses in an arithmetic expression are nested, the set of paren-
theses is evaluated first.
ANS: innermost.
f) A location in the computer’s memory that may contain different values at various times
throughout the execution of a program is called a(n) .
ANS: variable.
2.8 Write Java statements that accomplish each of the following tasks:
a) Display the message "Enter an integer: ", leaving the cursor on the same line.
ANS: System.out.print( "Enter an integer: " );
b) Assign the product of variables b and c to variable a.
ANS: a = b * c;
c) Use a comment to state that a program performs a sample payroll calculation.
ANS: // This program performs a simple payroll calculation.
2.9 State whether each of the following is true or false. If false, explain why.
a) Java operators are evaluated from left to right.
ANS: False. Some operators (e.g., assignment, =) evaluate from right to left.
b) The following are all valid variable names: _under_bar_, m928134, t5, j7, her_sales$,
his_$account_total, a, b$, c, z and z2.
ANS: True.
c) A valid Java arithmetic expression with no parentheses is evaluated from left to right.
ANS: False. The expression is evaluated according to operator precedence.
d) The following are all invalid variable names: 3g, 87, 67h2, h22 and 2h.
ANS: False. Identifier h22 is a valid variable name.
2.10 Assuming that x = 2 and y = 3, what does each of the following statements display?
a) System.out.printf("x = %d%n", x);
ANS: x = 2
b) System.out.printf("Value of %d + %d is %d%n", x, x, (x + x));
ANS: Value of 2 + 2 is 4
c) System.out.printf("x =");
ANS: x =
d) System.out.printf("%d = %d%n", (x + y), (y + x));
ANS: 5 = 5
2.11 Which of the following Java statements contain variables whose values are modified?
a) p = i + j + k + 7;
b) System.out.println("variables whose values are modified");
c) System.out.println("a = 5");
d) value = input.nextInt();
ANS: (a), (d).
2.12 Given that y = ax3 + 7, which of the following are correct Java statements for this equation?
a) y = a * x * x * x + 7;
b) y = a * x * x * (x + 7);
c) y = (a * x) * x * (x + 7);
d) y = (a * x) * x * x + 7;
e) y = a * (x * x * x) + 7;
f) y = a * x * (x * x + 7);
ANS: (a), (d), (e)
2.13 State the order of evaluation of the operators in each of the following Java statements, and
show the value of x after each statement is performed:
jhtp_02_IntroToApplications.FM Page 6 Sunday, May 18, 2014 9:41 PM

Exercises 6

a) x = 7 + 3 * 6 / 2 - 1;
ANS: *, /, +, -; Value of x is 15.
b) x = 2 % 2 + 2 * 2 - 2 / 2;
ANS: %, *, /, +, -; Value of x is 3.
c) x = (3 * 9 * (3 + (9 * 3 / (3))));
ANS: x = ( 3 * 9 * ( 3 + ( 9 * 3 / ( 3 ) ) ) );
4 5 3 1 2
Value of x is 324.
2.19 What does the following code print?
System.out.printf("*%n**%n***%n****%n*****%n");

ANS:

*
**
***
****
*****

2.20 What does the following code print?

System.out.println("*");
System.out.println("***");
System.out.println("*****");
System.out.println("****");
System.out.println("**");

ANS:

*
***
*****
****
**

2.21 What does the following code print?

System.out.print("*");
System.out.print("***");
System.out.print("*****");
System.out.print("****");
System.out.println("**");

ANS:

***************

2.22 What does the following code print?

System.out.print("*");
System.out.println("***");
jhtp_02_IntroToApplications.FM Page 7 Sunday, May 18, 2014 9:41 PM
jhtp_02_IntroToApplications.FM Page 8 Sunday, May 18, 2014 9:41 PM

7 Chapter 2 Introduction to Java Applications; Input/Output and Operators

System.out.println("*****");
System.out.print("****");
System.out.println("**");

ANS:

****
*****
******

2.23 What does the following code print?

System.out.printf("%s%n%s%n%s%n", "*", "***", "*****");

ANS:

*
***
*****
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Exploring the Variety of Random
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The young man glanced at the address carelessly. His face lighted
up.
"Fine! I'll tell him to send her some corking ones—a big bunch of
them!"
"You can tell him what I said," said his father dryly. "And have them
sent to-day."
"All right, sir." He half turned away. "I'd like to pick some roses
myself—for Miss Canfield— You won't object, I suppose?" His
father's roses were sacred.
But Herman Medfield waved it away. "Pick all you like." He was
gracious with it.
"But not the best ones," laughed the boy. He tucked the card in his
pocket and went out.
Aunt Jane, sitting at her desk in the office, looked up as he went by.
He nodded and smiled to her, thinking of the little card tucked away
in his pocket.
She got up and came across. "You going out home?" she asked.
He radiated happiness. "A ripping good day, isn't it!" He waved his
hand at all outdoors.
"You'll have a good time," said Aunt Jane. "And Miss Canfield's a nice
girl." She was surveying his new clothes kindly. "I'm glad you're
going to take her."
"So am I!" said the boy. "She's waiting for me—" And he hurried on.
But Miss Canfield was not in the waiting-room. He glanced hurriedly
about, and crossed to the open window and looked into the street.
He could not sit down.
It was a glorious day—floating clouds, everything fresh and flooded
with light.... Down on the walk under the window the man-of-all-
work trundled a low cart, and the rumble of the wheels came up,
chucking clumsily along.
The young man scarcely heard the sound of the wheels. His ear was
waiting for something in the corridor—for light footsteps that would
come.... He shrugged his shoulders, looking down on the man
trundling his cart, and he whistled softly.... Then his ear caught the
sound, coming along the corridor far off—light, tripping steps and
the little swish of draperies—and he had turned to face her.
It was not Miss Canfield!
A young woman stood in the doorway, looking in inquiringly.
She was tall and slender, with a certain quiet grace as she stood
there, glancing into the room. There was something poised in the
motion—a kind of freedom and lightness.
The young man's eye rested on her a minute—and turned back to
the window indifferent.... She was very late. He took out his watch
and looked—five minutes past the hour. He put it back with a little
impatient gesture. They would miss the best light for the garden!
Behind him, in the room, he was conscious that the young woman
had come in. She was waiting for some one, it seemed, like himself
—and he heard her move a little ... and then a subdued laugh. He
half turned his head—it reminded him of something.... Could he
have met her somewhere—before he went abroad? The steps
rustled and came nearer and a touch fell on his shoulder—very light,
as if it might drift away—as if perhaps it were not there....
Julian turned swiftly—and stared into her eyes; they were bubbling
over with laughter, and the hair fluffing under the little modish hat,
caught reddish gleams and glinted at him. And he stared!
She laughed out—the hands hanging easily before her. "You didn't
know me!"
"You are not—you!" blurted Julian. "You are—you're different!"
Then he seized her hands and looked at her—"I say! Come on!...
You are—You're stunning, you know!"
"Thank you!" said the girl. "Yes—I'm ready." And they went out into
the sunshine.
And all the way, in the street-car, sitting beside her, the young man
stole glimpses.
She was different! He had expected that she would be changed, of
course—a little different in her street clothes; and underneath he
discovered he had been half afraid of the change—afraid perhaps
that she might be a little common or awkward, without the
distinction of her cap and uniform.... But this young woman— He
stole another glance, and his shoulders straightened in a gesture of
pride and bewildered delight. This was the real thing! The other girl
was masquerading.
"Who are you?" he said abruptly, as he put up his hand to help her
from the car. "I don't know you! I thought I did—but you are
somebody else!" He was looking at her keenly.
"Goose!" she laughed. "I am Mary Canfield, of course— Which way
do we go?"
"This way." They fell into step. And he was conscious that the light,
tripping, hospital step had given way to a free, swinging movement
of the whole body. She was like the radiant day about them.... And
she was like the roses—when at last they stood among them.... Her
freedom had the same careful air of cultivation; and the crisp little
color in her cheeks had the same dainty refinement.
He plucked a rose and held it against her cheek. "Just a match!" he
said critically. "Goes with you! Will you have it?"
She tucked it in her belt—among the endless frills—and he looked at
it admiringly.
When he saw the gardener's eyes following them, he walked with
conscious pride. He had not known that any one felt like this! He
would have liked to walk with her always—with the whole world
looking on and admiring her.... She belonged to him!
"I say!" He stopped short in the path. "You are engaged to me, you
know!"
"Oh—am I?" She laughed.
He went in a panic— Some girls were such frightful flirts! They had
no decency—They didn't play the game!
"You are mine!" he said fiercely and he glared at the gardener
among his roses across the path.
"Oh—very well! Have it so!" Her voice was laughing and sweet.
His courage came flooding back. "You are to wait here—please, and
we'll have the tea brought out."
"Oh— How pretty!" She was looking into the pergola. A green maze
of branches crossed and recrossed the sides; and among them the
scattered roses flushed transparently in the light. "How beautiful it
is!"
"Will you go in?" he said, standing aside.
"Will you walk into my parlor?" She stepped lightly in and faced him.
"Now go and get tea! I like it here!"
She sat down and he looked at her once—and was off.
He hurried fast. Suppose she didn't stay?... Suppose it were not real!
He fussed about cakes and sandwiches—and there must be
strawberries. Everything must be of the best. Suppose she didn't
wait! He hurried back.
She had taken off her hat and sat with her hands clasped, looking
up into the mazy green tracery and the bits of rose color shining
through.
"It is like us," she said with a little motion of her hand.
"Like you," he said soberly, sitting beside her. "I'm not a rose!"
"No!" She laughed out. "But it is like us—it's just happiness—nothing
to it!" She crushed it in her hand.
And he stared at her.
"No one takes us seriously," she said. "They just think how young we
are——"
"And how beautiful you are!"
"They know it won't last." She was looking at it musingly. "And they
think we don't know——"
"It will last!" said the boy vehemently.
"Will it?" She held out her hand prettily and he kissed it.
"It's going to last forever," he said stoutly.
"But we don't care if it doesn't.... Do you know, I think that is what
makes it beautiful—" She glanced at the leafy walls of the pergola.
"We know it will not be like this always—and so we just—love it!"
He stared a little. "You are not the least bit what I thought you
were!" he said helplessly.
"Don't you like me!" Her eyes demanded it.
"I—adore you!" he said softly. "But all these ideas about not lasting
— Good Lord!—Here's the tea!" He sprang up and took it from the
man and set it out for her. And they drank it—with the light coming
in through the crossing vines and checkering the table, and falling
on her hair and gleaming delicately at him in little glints like stars—
all through it.
 XXXIV
"Do you think we'd better tell dad?"
They had gathered an armful of the roses and loitered along the
winding paths, and were standing at last by the curb, waiting for the
car.... She carried a few of the roses in her hand. She looked down
at them thoughtfully. And suddenly the look of Miss Canfield, the
nurse, flashed back to him.
"We don't want to upset him," she said slowly.
"I don't believe it will—upset him.... Do you know, I believe he wants
it—I half suspect he's been planning it all along!"
"Do you? What makes you think so?" She had turned to him
curiously.
He shook his head.
"Father's deep! I can't tell exactly why I think he knows.... But I
never got very far ahead of him yet!"
"Very well—we will tell him."
"To-night?"
"If you like."
"I want him to see you like this— There's the car!" He hailed it.
So they came into Herman Medfield's room and stood before him
with the armful of flowers. And he looked up at them—and smiled.
"God bless you, my children!" he said, after a critical glance at their
smiling faces. "That is the proper thing to say, isn't it?" His eyes
dwelt on them fondly.
Julian glanced at her. "I told you!" he said meaningly.
"What did you tell her?"
"That you knew all along, sir. I told her I never fooled you yet!"
"Well, you have tried hard enough.... Come here, please, Daughter."
So she went over and stood beside him and bent a little for him. And
he kissed her, and looked at the delicate color that came and went in
her face, and at the slender freshness of her figure as it straightened
itself.
"I am glad my boy has done so well," he said quietly.... "I think I'll
go to bed, when my nurse comes back. I am a little tired, I find."
"She will be here in a minute, sir—as soon as she changes her
gown." She nodded to him and was gone.
And the boy and his father sat facing each other, with the light
lessening in the room.
"How was the garden?" asked Medfield.
"Fine! I never saw it look so well!" The boy's voice was happy.
Medfield's eyes twinkled. "Perhaps you were not altogether fitted to
judge." He was leaning back in his chair and looking at the light in
his son's face.
"Perhaps not. I was never so happy in my life—I know that!" And his
voice was serious now, with a deeper note in it than his father had
heard.
And Herman Medfield began to speak of the business and of Dalton,
and of his purpose to see Dalton.... They could use him, perhaps, in
some minor capacity and see how he did.
"I have an idea that he may be the very man for your secretary—for
your personal work, you know. I've always depended a good deal on
Sully. You must have some one of your own.... Suppose you see this
man Dalton yourself. See him to-morrow. Get the address from Aunt
Jane—" He paused.... A look came to his face.
"You told Munson to send the roses, did you?"
"I told him. Yes. He'll send them to-night." The reply was absent.
The young man's mind was reaching out to business and to the
responsibilities that he saw his father would lay on him.
His shoulders straightened a little as he stood up. "I feel as if I had
just come home," he said. "I've never felt at home before—
anywhere!... It is curious to feel that way in a hospital, isn't it?"
His father's eyes were fixed on him dreamily. "I've been feeling 'at
home,' too. And I have an idea a good many people feel that way—
in the Berkeley House of Mercy." He said the last words slowly and
softly, as if they pleased him.
"Why should they, I wonder?" said the boy.
"I wonder—" said Herman Medfield. "Perhaps I shall be able to tell
you some day. I feel as if I were beginning to understand a good
many things I never knew before.... If you will just give me your arm
now, across the room, I think I'll get to bed."
 XXXV
Aunt Jane was tired. She would not acknowledge it—even to herself.
But it had been a trying day. The people in the laundry had been
surprisingly difficult—when she went to give them their talking to,
and she finally had to put her foot down.
She went slowly along the hall now, giving a last look for the night
and glancing into shaded rooms, here and there.... At the door of 16
she paused.... The case in 16 troubled her. Dr. Carmon was anxious
about the case. He did not need to tell her. She had known by the
little hunched-over look of his broad shoulders down the hall.... She
knew that look as far as she could see it.... And he had already been
twice to look after Room 16.
She went in and gave a few directions to the nurse and glanced at
the figure on the bed, and went on to her office.
The room looked very inviting as she came in. Her big chair stood
waiting for her, the light comfortably shaded beside it, and she
crossed to it leisurely. She would rest a few minutes, and make her
entries in the day-book and go to bed.
She sat down with a sigh of comfort and rocked gently.
The house was very quiet. The softly creaking rockers seemed the
only thing awake....
Aunt Jane's eye fell on a long pasteboard box resting on a chair
across the room. She looked at it doubtingly. She was too tired to
get up. But the sight of the long box irritated her subtly. She had
thought flowers were over—for the day. Sometimes Aunt Jane
wished that she might never see another flower-box! She wished so
now.... Just as she wanted to rest! Well, she would get up presently
and take it to the ice-box. Let it stay there till morning. It was no
time of night to be sending flowers.... Everybody in bed and asleep!
She looked at it severely and got up from her chair and took it up.
Her eye fell on the address— She looked at it disbelievingly—and put
it back on the chair—and looked at it.... She fidgeted about the room
and came back to the chair.
Aunt Jane had never received a box of flowers in her life. She had
handled hundreds of them—they had passed through her hands into
the eager waiting hands held out for them. She had watched the
faces light up, and she had looked on and smiled tolerantly. Folks'
faces were her flowers, she had said.... She had never wanted to
keep the flowers herself. Flowers were things to be passed on to
some one else. No one had ever sent them to her. They knew better!
She looked down at the innocent box as if it contained something
baleful—something that would disturb the quiet routine of life for
her. She did not want to be disturbed—She did not want flowers!
And she reached out her hand to the box.... It was very long and
big. She wondered how she could have overlooked it when she came
in.... If she had not been so tired she would have seen it—perhaps.
Who could have sent it, she wondered; and a little, mild curiosity
came under the white cap as her fingers undid the tape, and rolled it
methodically, and lifted the lid of the box and raised the bit of waxed
paper underneath— Aunt Jane gave a pleased sigh.
Herman Medfield's best roses—three dozen of them—shed their
fragrance about her; and the little card lying on top of them held
their message. She took it up gingerly and read it and put it down
sharply—as if it had burned her—and looked at it.
Then she gathered up the roses in her hands and held them against
her face—until her very cap was lost to sight.... It was a subdued
face that emerged from the roses at last. Something of their hardy
color seemed to have been caught in its disturbed quiet.
She laid them on the table and brought a great vase of water and
shook them loose in it—standing off to look at them and touching
them here and there.... The subdued look glanced softly at the roses
as she lifted the vase and set it on her desk—and stood back again
to admire them.
They made a gorgeous show—lighting up the wall behind them. The
room was filled with rose fragrance.
She moved slowly backward, gazing at them—a troubled, happy look
in her face.... Then her eye fell on the little card lying on the table.
She looked down at it, fascinated, and took it firmly in her fingers
and carried it to the desk and slipped it beneath the vase—with
Herman G. Medfield's name exposed.... There was no reason why
Mr. Medfield should not send flowers to her!
She surveyed them complacently. It was very natural for Mr. Medfield
to send flowers—and the little card announced to all the world—how
natural it was.... The words jotted on the other side of the card were
safely out of sight.
Aunt Jane sat down at her desk and folded her hands on the edge of
the blotter and looked at the flowers. Her peaceful face gave no hint
of anything but the most serene admiration and pride.
Her hand reached out for the big day-book and drew it forward and
opened it and took up the pen; and Aunt Jane's finger found the
place and moved along the dotted lines composedly.... And two
great tears fell on the spotless page and blurred it and Aunt Jane sat
up and sought swiftly for her handkerchief. She dabbed at two more
tears that were sweeping down—she moved the handkerchief
quickly across her face and wiped it over the page, and once more
across her face—that kept breaking up in little incredulous, ashamed
waves. She shut up the day-book impatiently and folded her arms on
top of it and dropped her face on her arms and sobbed—a great,
shamed, bewildered sob that shook the quiet shoulders; then they
were very still.
Presently she sat up. She shook out her handkerchief and blew her
nose methodically and opened the book. "I am a fool!" she said
softly. "Room 36—" And two left-over tears splashed down on Room
36 and flooded it— Tears enough to wash Room 36 out of existence.
They overwhelmed Aunt Jane.
She got up abruptly and closed the book and turned down the light
—groping for it and glancing hastily at the open door. The light
shone dimly on a very disturbed and crumpled face.
She looked about her for a minute. Then she went to a small door
and drew a key from beneath her apron and inserted it in the lock.
No one in the hospital knew what was behind the small door. It was
popularly supposed to hold Aunt Jane's private supplies—dangerous
remedies for emergencies, perhaps. No one knew.
She opened the door slowly and stepped in, closing it gently behind
her; the key still dangled from the lock. There was no light in the
little room—except for the moonlight shining through a small window
and lighting up the bareness of the place; it shone on a single chair
by the window. There was nothing else in the room. Aunt Jane went
across to it and sat down.... She was not crying now. She folded her
hands in her lap and sat very quiet, and the moonlight filtered in
through the window and touched the muslin cap and the white
figure, and passed silently across it and fell on the floor, making a
luminous path in the blackness.... And Aunt Jane did not stir.
Often when she was sought for in the hospital and could not be
found, high or low, Aunt Jane was sitting by the window of this tiny
room, gathering up the tangled fibres of pain and discord and
holding them steady.... She knew all the stars that moved across the
window—at every hour of the night, and every night of the year. It
was not a new experience for her to sit very quiet, while the stars
travelled across.... But to-night she was not reaching out to stars
and drawing them down into the pain of the world to heal it.
She was looking into a very queer, disturbed heart—that seemed
breaking up in little bits. Curious things bubbled up and startled her
as she gazed at them.... No one had loved her for twenty years!—
Why should any one love—an old woman like her?... Why should she
want to be loved? Her thought was full of gentle scorn for all old
women that wanted to be loved—and for Aunt Jane!... She would
have to get a new day-book, or tear out the page! What would Mrs.
Samuel Hotchkiss, chairman of the Woman's Board of Directors, say
to that page if she happened to come on it!... It was a disgraceful
page! Aunt Jane was a disgrace! And something in her heart ached
so with the happiness and the misery of it, that Aunt Jane's lips fell
to quivering.... Any woman that had as much as she had to be
thankful for, ought to be ashamed!... And what was Herman
Medfield? Just a man! But it wasn't Herman Medfield—it was all the
repressed heartache of years.... "Women are not fit to live alone!"
She had said it many times. But she had not thought of Aunt Jane
when she said it. She was superior to such things—with her hospital
and her patients and Dr. Carmon— Her thought stopped suddenly—
and flashed on.... She had always thought she depended on the
Lord—and here was this great lonely ache in her heart.
It didn't seem to make any difference how ashamed she was!
Her handkerchief brushed fiercely at her eyes.
There was a sound in the outer office. Aunt Jane sat up— Some one
looking for her! The hand felt again for its handkerchief and she
turned her head to listen.... The steps crossed the office and a bright
line of light ran along under the door. Aunt Jane's eye rested on it.
She brushed the traces of crying from her face and reached up to
her cap. Then she leaned forward to the door—she could reach it
from her chair in the little room without getting up; and she turned
the handle softly, opening it a crack.
There was no sound in the office.
From her crack, Aunt Jane could see the table and the shaded light
on it and a man standing by the table looking down.
 XXXVI
His back was toward the door, but Aunt Jane had no doubt about the
shabby, wrinkled coat and the shrugging shoulders.
She waited, holding her breath. She was not quite sure of her cap—
she put up her hands to it cautiously, adjusting and smoothing it....
The figure by the table moved across to the bell and rang it sharply.
His face was toward her now. She saw that he was smiling a little.
Aunt Jane nodded shrewdly. Number 16 was better!... From her
place in the dark, she watched the man move about the room. He
was humming softly—a half-meaningless little tune, with a tumty-
tumty refrain, and his face was absent.
A nurse appeared in the door and looked at him inquiringly.
He glanced at her. "I want Mrs. Holbrook—yes."
"Aunt Jane? I don't know where she is. I thought she came into her
office."
"Well—she isn't here. You can see she isn't here, can't you? Find her
—please."
Aunt Jane behind her crack, shivered a little as the girl turned. But
the nurse had eyes and ears only for the surgeon and his
impatience. She hurried away.
Aunt Jane drew a free breath.
The surgeon crossed to her desk and halted there. His eye rested
absently on the great bunch of roses. Presently his face lighted up;
he was seeing the roses! He looked at them with an air of
appreciation. The little smile was still on his lips, and the tumty-
tumty tune.... Slowly he leaned forward, on tiptoe, and—smelled of
them and nodded approval.
Aunt Jane's hands made swift, darting touches at her cap and her
apron and her hair and she got up quickly.... Perhaps he would go
away! But Dr. Carmon's eye had fallen on the little card under the
vase and he took it up—and read the name with near-sighted
curious gaze, and turned it over——
Aunt Jane stepped out from her place. "How is Number 16?" she
asked placidly.
He wheeled—the card in his hand.
"Oh! You're here! I just sent for you." He waved the card.
"I know. I was busy."
"Funny, I didn't hear you come in!" He looked at her thoughtfully.
"You were thinking of something else, maybe," said Aunt Jane
tranquilly. She came up to the desk.
He looked curiously at her face.
"What is the matter?" he asked.
"Nothing," responded Aunt Jane. "Do I look as if anything was the
matter?" The face under its ink stains was serene.
Dr. Carmon regarded it critically. "Soap and water—" he suggested.
He pointed a helpful finger at the smudge of ink on her cheek.
She lifted a quick hand.
He nodded grimly. "And there's a little over there by your left ear,"
he said wickedly.
She rubbed at the place blindly. "I must have got ink on me—when I
was making up my book—" Her glance flitted toward it.
Dr. Carmon's eye fell on the open page and on the smudge of Room
36. He bent forward, tapping the place with the card in his hand,
and laughed out.
"I never saw your book look like that!" He gazed at it and then at
Aunt Jane's face—a little suspiciously.
She leaned forward to inspect it.
"Somebody must have spilled water—or something on it!" she said
casually. "Folks are so careless here!" She laid a blotter methodically
across the smudge and closed the book and put it away.
Dr. Carmon surveyed the roses. "Handsome bunch of flowers!" he
said carelessly. He waved the card at them.
"They look nice," admitted Aunt Jane. "They're some Mr. Medfield
sent—they came from his garden." Her tone was quiet and
businesslike—there was no nonsense about those roses. She looked
at them impersonally.
"I saw it was his card." Dr. Carmon's hand motioned with the card
and dropped it to the desk. He might almost have been said to fling
it from him—as if it were a challenge.
"Who did he send them to?" he asked.
"Why—to me!" said Aunt Jane.
She tried her best to look commonplace and unconcerned—as if she
had been receiving roses all her life—as if she had large bunches of
them every day, flaming away there on her desk.
Dr. Carmon's glance twinkled across the roses—to the placid face.
"Humph!" he said.
"How is Number 16?" asked Aunt Jane.
"Fine!" Dr. Carmon's face lighted with it. He forgot roses—"He's
going to pull through all right—I think."
"That's good! I kind of reckoned he'd come through." She had
turned a leisurely glance to the door.
The nurse stood there.
"I can't—" she began. "Oh—you're here! I looked everywhere for
you!"
"Yes, I'm here. I've been here quite a spell," said Aunt Jane.
The nurse withdrew and Dr. Carmon and Aunt Jane and the roses
were left alone.
He looked suspiciously and grudgingly at the roses and shrugged his
shoulders and turned away. He took his hat. "I want you to look in
on Number 16—sometime later."
There was no "please" about the request—or "will you kindly." But
Aunt Jane understood.
"I was planning to go in by and by—along about four o'clock," she
said kindly. "That's the time he'll need somebody most, I guess!"
Dr. Carmon looked again at the roses. "I shall want Suite A, Friday—
for a new patient," he said abruptly.
Aunt Jane's mouth opened—and closed.
"Medfield's well enough to go," said Dr. Carmon. He nodded to the
roses—as if they knew of Herman Medfield's health. "He'll be better
off at home!" he said shortly—and shot out the door.
Aunt Jane gazed after him, a minute.
She took up the card from the desk and held it off and looked at it
severely and shook it a little—as if it might have known better—and
dropped it into a small drawer behind the roses and locked the
drawer—and put the key in her pocket.
Then she turned off the lights and left the room. And the great
bunch of roses that had flamed up so bravely, lost their color in the
dark.
Perhaps they went to sleep.
All night the fragrance of the roses stole out into the room and filled
it—as if little flitting dreams of roses came and went there in the
dark.
 XXXVII
Things were moving happily in Suite A. Herman Medfield had been
awake and stirring since daybreak. He had written one or two notes
in his own hand, and had dictated a longer one to Miss Canfield. It
was addressed to Thomas Dalton, and it lay on the stand beside his
chair in the window.
The girl had grasped its import swiftly, as she took down the crisp
words.
"It is just what Julian needs," she said compactly as she folded and
sealed and stamped it.
He nodded. "You understand him surprisingly well—considering that
you love him," he added smiling.
She returned the smile. "That's why I understand, isn't it?"
"Perhaps——"
He watched her move about the room, contentedly. Julian was a
lucky dog! Luckier than he knew, to win a girl like that—sweet and
sensible and poor!
"I will mail this now," she said. She took it from the stand.
He watched her go, and looked out of the window, and fell to
thinking of the things life was bringing him.... Everything seemed
coming to him out of this great, comfortable hospital—that he had
looked forward to with dread!... A wife for Julian—He might have
searched the world over to find a girl like that! Straight, and as true
as steel, and best of all—she was poor; she would know the value of
money. She had had to work for it— He had always spoiled Julian.
He knew it, guiltily. Julian had never known what it was to want for
anything that money could get—except, perhaps, a widow or two!
The millionaire's lips smiled grimly. That danger was over—thank
Heaven! The boy would marry a poor girl—and a lady!... Herman
Medfield had perhaps old-fashioned ideas as to what makes a lady;
and the nurse who moved so noiselessly about his room suited him
to perfection.... His thought dwelt on her happily.... Then there was
this man, Dalton—Thanks to Aunt Jane!... Ah, that was the secret!
"Thanks to Aunt Jane!"
The millionaire leaned back in his chair, smiling thoughtfully. He had
known that he was coming to that—as he sat there in the window,
looking idly down into the little squares of back yards—he had
known all along—under his thankfulness for Julian—that he was
coming to the thought of Aunt Jane.... He had held it to the last.... It
was not Julian he was thinking of now—with the little smile that kept
coming to his lips.
He was smiling at Aunt Jane and her crispness and her goodness
and her little managing wilful ways that kept him straight.... He was
like a small boy in the very thought of her. A man ought to feel that
way toward his wife, he told himself—all men really feel like that!
There was a gentle tap on the door and he sat up. He smoothed the
dreams from his face.
"Come in!"
The whole room seemed to become a place of comfort, as she came
leisurely across to him.
"I hear you've been doing considerable this morning." She looked at
him uncritically.
His response was guilty. "Only a letter or two— Sit down, won't
you?" He reached out to a chair for her.
But Aunt Jane interposed—"When you're well enough to wait on
folks, you're well enough to go home," she said.
"Oh— I'm not well enough for that—I feel sure!" He sank back in his
chair. "I shall be very careful what I do!"
She surveyed him. "I liked the roses you sent— They're real
handsome!... I don't know as I ever had any handsomer roses sent
to me!"
"I am glad you liked them." He was suddenly a little formal and
polite. He had not expected quite such frank and open delight in his
offering.
"And the card—" he said softly, after a minute. "I hoped you liked
that, too?" He was almost shy about it!
Aunt Jane looked at him inquiringly and rocked a little. "Was there a
card—?" She seemed considering it. "Maybe it got lost out." She
shook her head.
The shadow crossed his face. "You're sure there wasn't a card with
them—no message?" His tone was vexed and he sat up.
"That's Munson's carelessness!" he said dryly.
"I can't seem to remember any card," said Aunt Jane.
A little smile broke up his face.
"You would remember it—if you had read it! I made sure of that!"
He chuckled gently.... "Never mind—I will send you another—with
some more roses."
"You don't need to send them right away—not for some time," said
Aunt Jane hastily. "These will last quite a spell. I cut the stems every
day, you know—same as if I was a patient!" Her eyes twinkled at
him.
And he smiled at the round trustfulness of her face. He was vexed at
Munson for carelessness. But there was plenty of time—to send
roses! And he enjoyed sitting there and teasing her a little and
watching the guileless face, turned so comfortably upon him.... She
little knew what was on that card!
He chuckled.
"You'll be ready to go home in a day or two now," she said
impersonally.
He cast a quick look at the face in its cap. "No use to borrow
trouble!" he responded lightly.... "I have some news for you!"
"For me!" A quick flush swept under the cap and subsided. "I hope
it's good news," she said tranquilly.
"Yes—It's good for you.... You'll think it's good some day! My son is
going to be married." He leaned back to watch the effect.
She nodded. "We talked about that yesterday."
"But it hadn't happened then!"
"Hadn't it?" There was no contradiction in the response. But it
brought him to a sudden pause.
"Why—of course not! I don't believe it had! Do you know anything?"
He turned on her swiftly.
"No, I don't know anything." Aunt Jane was cheerful. "Not anything I
could put my finger on," she added slowly. "But I kind of sensed,
somehow, that they'd got things settled—between 'em."
"Oh, you 'sensed'!" he scoffed gently.
"Well—she'll make him a good wife," Aunt Jane rocked. "Of course,
he don't need a rich wife——"
"No, I don't want him to marry money!" Medfield spoke with
satisfaction. His magnanimity overspread the poverty of his son's
wife—and welcomed it and exulted in it.
Aunt Jane's face was tranquil—and somewhere deep below, little
twinkles came up to the surface and stirred it.
"Well, he doesn't need to marry her money—" she said slowly. "He
can't help her having it, of course. But she'll make him just as good
a wife."
He stared. "I must have given you a wrong impression." He was
polite about it. "Julian is going to marry Miss Canfield."
"Mary Canfield has money—more money than most folks. She's
going to make a good nurse, though. She came in and took the
training as if she hadn't a cent to her name—She said she wanted to
be something besides Sheldon Canfield's——"
"Sheldon Canfield!" He took it up. "Was Sheldon Canfield her
father?"
"His name was Sheldon," said Aunt Jane. "Maybe you've heard of
him?"
Herman Medfield laughed shortly. "He did me out of a million dollars!
Sheldon Canfield!" He looked at the thought and shook it. "I fought
him for ten years. I swore I would break him before I died— But he
died first! Sheldon Canfield's daughter!" He held it before him. "So
Sheldon Canfield's daughter has been taking care of me!"
"She's taken good care of you!" said Aunt Jane. It was almost
defensive; and he gave her a quick look.
"The best of care!" he said emphatically. "Couldn't have been better
—unless you had done it yourself," he ended gallantly.
Aunt Jane's look cleared, and then became a little confused—under
something that danced in the eyes bent upon her.
"I must go do my work," she said.
"And leave me to my Juliet?"
"Julian, I suppose you mean," Aunt Jane corrected him kindly.
"He's Romeo—of the house of Montague!" he said dreamily.
She stared a little. He waved a hand.
"Go away, Aunt Jane, and do your work. You have disturbed me—
even more than usual. I want to collect my thoughts!"
She went out almost soberly, turning it in her mind, on the way to
her office. She had upset him and she was a little remorseful! She
ought not to have let him run on like that! There was no telling that
he would not have a setback.... And they needed Suite A for Dr.
Carmon's new patient Friday.... He had said Herman Medfield was
well enough to go home—that he would be better off at home.
She entered the office—and stopped.
On a chair across the room, was a long, light box.
Aunt Jane almost fancied she had been dreaming, and had never
opened that box.... She contemplated it and went over to it slowly—
and looked at her desk, where the great flaming roses gave out their
fragrance.... She went back to the box and took it up slowly, and
undid the tape.
It was filled to the brim with roses—great pink-and-white heads
glowed through the transparent waxed paper at her—and on top of
the paper lay a card—with the name uppermost——
"Dr. Frederic H. Carmon."
Aunt Jane stared at it.
She reached out a hand to it—as if fascinated and almost afraid—
and took it up and turned it over slowly.... There was no writing! She
laid it back with a little quick sigh of relief—and stared down at it....
Presently a shrewd look of amusement overspread the stupefaction
in her face and she nodded to the little card and took it up and
carried it to her desk and unlocked a drawer—moving the great
flaming roses to reach it. She dropped the card beside the other one
that lay there—and the amusement in her face grew to soft chuckles
that filled all the spaces in her roundness.
When she had arranged the pink-and-white roses and carried them
to her desk and placed them opposite the flaming ones, she stood
back and surveyed them—and shook her head—and smiled radiantly
to them.
A man, who had come quietly down the hall, stood in the open door
of the office. He watched her a minute.
He cleared his throat circumspectly.
She turned swiftly—and saw him—and moved a reproachful hand to
the flowers.
"You never ought to have done it!"
He smiled on the roses complacently and removed his gloves.
"Like 'em?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I haven't any call to like them—or not to like
them!" It was severe disapproval. "You ought to be ashamed of
yourself!"
"I'm not!" He looked at them with satisfaction. He was whistling
softly. "I didn't know you wanted flowers—or I'd have sent them
before."
He had turned—his glance was on her face.
Something in the glance sent Aunt Jane hastily across the room. She
straightened the furniture a little and came back to the desk and
looked at the bunches of roses on either side, regarding them
impartially.
"I hadn't ought to want flowers—goodness knows!" she said slowly.
"I see enough of 'em, around every day, to make any one sick of
them for life." She paused and studied the pink-and-white blossoms.
"Somehow, it's different—when they're your own! I guess maybe I
did need to have them sent to me—so I'd know how folks feel inside
—when I open their boxes for them and they look in and see the
flowers and see somebody's card on top—somebody that's thought
about them—somebody that loves 'em!" she ended it triumphantly
and happily and smiled—sharing it with him.
Dr. Carmon looked at the two great bunches of flowers—and grunted
—and went out.
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