A moment more of hesitation, and then the child suddenly opened her mouth and accepted the thermometer. She kept her eyes closed during the process of waiting, and at last Dr. Ballard took out the little instrument and examined it.
“Let me see your tongue.”
The child stared in surprise.
“Put out your tongue, Jewel,” he repeated kindly.
“But that is impolite,” she protested.
He changed his position. The poor little thing was flighty, and no wonder, with such a temperature. He took her hand again. “I'll overlook the impoliteness. Run out your tongue now. Far as you can, dear.”
The child obeyed.
Presently she said, “I feel very uncomfortable, Dr. Ballard. I don't feel a bit like visiting, so if you wouldn't mind going away until I feel better. You interrupted me when you came in. I have lots of work to do yet. When I get well I'd just love to see you. I'd rather see you than almost anybody in Bel-Air.”
“Yes, yes, dear. I'll go away very soon. Where does your throat feel sore? Put your finger on the place.”
Jewel looked up with all the rebuke she could convey. “You ought not to ask me that,” she returned.