“Go ahead, Bob,” urged Betty bravely. “I’ll be all right. Honestly I will. If you don’t get back to-night, why, Doctor Morrison will be out in the morning.”
But Bob had made up his mind. He heard clearly again the final commands of Mr. Gordon, his Uncle Dick, for whom he would do far more than this.
“Can’t go, Ed,” he said briefly and finally. “Sorry, but it isn’t to be thought of. Betty and I have a job cut out for us right here.”
The lad on the motorcycle had no time to waste in arguing. He was eager to get to the scene of excitement, and if Bob chose to throw up a chance to see a spectacular fire, why, that was his business. With a loud snort and a series of back-fires, the machine shot up the road and in less than a minute was out of sight.
“I hope, oh, I hope that Uncle Dick is all right,” worried Betty, walking back to the house. “You needn’t have stayed with me, Bob. Still, of course, I’m glad you did. I might be a little nervous at night.”
Bob thought it more than likely but all he said was that he wouldn’t think of leaving her alone with two sick women and no telephone in the house.
“As soon as my aunts are well enough to hear the sad news that I’m their long-lost nephew,” he said half in fun and half in earnest, “I intend to have a ’phone put in for them. It’s outrageous to think of two women living isolated like this.”
The afternoon passed rapidly, Bob getting his machine in running order and clipping a little square of lawn before supper time. Betty fed her patients again, and again they went to sleep. After an early supper Betty and Bob were glad to go to bed, too, and it seemed to the former that she had been asleep only a few moments when something wakened her, and she sat up, startled.
The moonlight was streaming in at her windows, silvering the stiff, haircloth furniture and bathing the red and blue roses of the Brussels carpet in a radiance that softened the glaring colors and made them even beautiful. Betty was about to lie down and try to go to sleep again when a cry came from Miss Hope.