Jewel's startled look fell to the black case. “What's that! Medicine?” she asked softly.
“It certainly is. So you see you have a doctor handy if anything ails the baby.”
The child gazed at him with grave scrutiny. “Do you believe in materia medica?” she asked.
The young doctor threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Well, yes,” he answered at last. “I am supposed to.”
To his surprise his neighbor returned to the attitude in which he had found her, with one hand over her eyes.
He ceased laughing and looked at her in some discomfiture. Her mouth was set seriously. There was no quiver of the rosy lips.
To his relief, in a minute she dropped her hand and began to hum and arrange her doll's hat.
The conductor approached, and as the doctor presented his ticket, he said, “This little girl's fare is paid, I believe.” The conductor nodded and passed on.
“I'm to get off at Bel-Air,” said Jewel. “I hope he doesn't forget.”
“If he does, I shan't,” said the doctor, “for I'm going to get off there myself.”