"That's better," said the doctor. "Now, I'm going across the street. Marjorie, what message do you want to send your mother? Of course she'll send over some clothes and things. You can have anything you want sent, but don't have needless things, for they must all be disinfected later, and it might harm your best clothes."
"Oh, I shan't want my best clothes, since we can't have company or parties," said Midget, interested now, in spite of herself. "Tell Mother to send my night things; and my red cashmere for to-morrow morning, and my other red hair ribbons, and my pink kimono, and my worsted slippers, and that book on my bureau, the one with the leaf turned down, and some handkerchiefs, and—"
"There, there, child, I can't remember those things, and your mother will know, anyway,—except about the book with the leaf turned down,—I'll tell her that. And you can telephone her, you know."
"Oh, so I can! That will be almost like seeing her. Can't I telephone now?"
"No, I'd rather tell her about it myself. Then I'll tell her to call you up, and you can give her your list of hair ribbons and jimcracks."
"All right then. Hurry up, Doctor, so I can talk to her soon."
Doctor Mendel went away, and Marjorie and Delight sat and looked at each other. Mrs. Spencer had gone to the kitchen to arrange for the comfort of the distressed mother, and the little girls were trying to realize what had happened.
"I'm glad you're here," said Delight, "for I'd be terribly lonely without you, in all this trouble."
Midget was silent. She couldn't honestly say she was glad she was there, and yet to say she was sorry seemed unkind.
"Well, as long as I am here," she said at last, "I'm glad you're glad. It's all so strange! To be here staying in Gladys's house, and Gladys not here, and I can't get away even if I want to,—why, I can't seem to get used to it."