"You are," promptly replied the doctor.
"Mercy gracious!"
Silence while the tiny patient was carefully examined, with so delicate a touch that he slept on.
"For how long?" then.
"Oh—weeks. Two, perhaps. Perhaps three. He is beginning to be feverish in earnest now. You got him over here just in time. May I have a glass of water?"
Miss Theodosia went away to get it on shaking legs. She almost staggered. The plot was getting thick!
"If you think his mother ought to be sent for—I'm afraid I'm in a blue funk!" She had returned and was splashing the water over the edge of the glass as she held it out. He laughed reassuringly. His face, turned sidewise up at her, was as reviving as cool water upon a faint. Miss Theodosia "came to."
"I've got over it. Go ahead—tell me precisely what you want done. Write it down somewhere. I can read writing! And I can't forget it. Of course I can rock him?"
He did not answer at once, and she misinterpreted his silence.
"I shall rock him," she said with firmness. "Written down or not written down." And again he laughed, with the same curiously explosive little effect as when she had first heard him do it as a Shadow Man.