Without a mishap, they had returned to the military hospital, and "Pervyse," thoroughly awakened by the ceremony, had been restored to his white crib. To soften his mood, his bottle of supper had been handed to him a little ahead of time. But, unwilling to lay aside the prominence which had been his, all day, he brandished the bottle as if it were a weapon instead of a soporific.
"A pretty little service," said Hilda, "but there was something pathetic to it. The little kid looked so lonely in the damp old church. And no one there that really belonged to him. And to-morrow or the next day or some day, they'll get the range of this place, and then little 'Pervyse' will join his mother and his brother and sisters. With us older ones, it doesn't so much matter. We've had our bit of walk and talk and so good-by. But with a child it's different. All that love and pain for nothing. One more false start."
"By God, no!" said Hinchcliffe. "'Pervyse' shall have his chance, the best chance a kid ever had. I've got to get back to America. There'll be a smash if I don't. I'm a month late on the job, as it is. But 'Pervyse' goes with me. Little Belgium is going to get his chance."
"You mean—" said Hilda.
"Certainly, I do," replied the banker. "I mean that we're going to bring that kid up as good as if war was a dream. We're going to make him glad he's alive. He's going back to America with me. Will you come?"
"Why," said Hilda, her eyes filling, "what do you mean?"
"I mean that I need you. Show me how to put this thing, that we've been doing here, into New York. It's a different world after the war. You have often said it. America mustn't be behind. I want to catch up with these Red Cross chauffeurs. I want our crowd in Wall Street to be in on the fun. Come on and help."
"I don't know what to say," began Hilda. "I shall miss you so. The boys in the ward will miss you, the babies will miss you." She laughed. "I can't come just now. There is so much work, and worse ahead."
"Later, you will come?" he pleaded. He turned to the child who was wielding his bottle as a hammer on the foot of the bed, and lifted him shoulder high.