“You get those down at the ‛Teapot’ for six cents, don’t you?” said the doctor, nodding intelligently. “The night-watchman has one.”
“Yes, they asked me if I wanted a lady’s or gentleman’s handkerchief, and of course I said a gentleman’s. It saves lots of trouble in the hemming, ’cause you only have to cut out the neck.”
“I wish you’d bring some of these fellows up to the hospital, and show the children. Those clothes would please them nearly to death.”
“I’ll ask,” Eunice said, taking the doctor’s hand. “You come and ask, too.”
But Mrs. Wood came out on the porch just then, and when the doctor had assured her that there were no “catching” illnesses at the hospital, she said that Eunice might go.
“I’ll take Clytie,” Eunice said, “because she’s the handsomest. And she can wear all the clothes.”
“All at once?” asked the doctor, astonished.
“Yes, it keeps her from kicking, and it’s the easiest way to carry them.”
The little crippled children spent a wonderful hour in seeing Clytie dressed in her various costumes, and there was a great deal of conversation as to which became her most.
“I like her best in the satin ball-blanket, with the make-believe roses,” said one.