“And how are you going to live? What’s ’Phemie getting a week?”
“Nothing–after this week,” returned the younger girl, shortly. “I sha’n’t have any work, and I’ve only been earning six dollars.”
“Humph!” observed Aunt Jane for a second time.
There came a light tap on the door. They could hear it, for the confusion and shouting in the house had abated. The fire scare was over; but the floor above was gutted, and a good deal of damage by water had been done on this floor.
It was a physician, bag in hand. ’Phemie let him in. Lyddy explained how her father had come home and lain down and she had found him, when the fire scare began, unconscious on the bed–just as he lay now.
A few questions explained to the physician the condition of Mr. Bray, and his own observation revealed the condition of the tenement.
“He will be better off at the hospital. You are about wrecked here, I see. That young man who called me said he would ring up the City Hospital.”
The girls were greatly troubled; but Aunt Jane was practical.
“Of course, that’s the best place for him,” she said. “Why! this flat isn’t fit for a well person to stay in, let alone a sick man, until it is cleared up. I shall take you girls out with me to my boarding house for the night. Then–we’ll see.”
The physician brought Mr. Bray to his senses; but the poor man knew nothing about the fire, and was too weak to object when they told him he was to be removed to the hospital for a time.