"It isn't a question of money," she said quietly, "it's a question of life or death. There is only a slight chance that your daughter will live through the day."
Someone tapped at the door and Miss Fletcher, after a whispered consultation, turned again to the old man:
"They have decided to take the chance," she said hurriedly. "They are carrying her up now. You stay here, and I will let you know as soon as it is over."
"Whar they fetching her to?" he demanded savagely.
"To the operating-room."
"You take me thar!"
"But you can't go, Mr. Hawkins. No one but the surgeons and nurses can be with her. Besides, the nurse who was just here said she had regained consciousness, and it might excite her to see you."
She might as well have tried to stop a mountain torrent. He brushed past her and was making his way to the elevator before she had ceased speaking. At the open door of the operating-room on the fourth floor he paused. On a long white table lay the patient, a white-clad doctor on either side of her, and a nurse in the background sorting a handful of gleaming instruments. With two strides the old man reached the girl's side.
"Sal!" he said fiercely, bending over her, "air ye wuss?"
Her dazed eyes cleared slightly.