“Yes! Yes!” cried Daisy; “if your friend will pack her things.”
“She has nuthin’ but what she’s got on,” put in the other woman; and while Daisy prepared to take the baby, she attended to the sick woman.
It was all arranged in an incredibly short time; within fifteen minutes the ambulance had called for Mrs. Trawle, and the girls, with their charge in Daisy’s lap, were whirling home in a taxi-cab. It was not until they were half way there that Florence expressed her opinion.
“Daisy, I honestly think you’re crazy!” she announced, surveying the baby coldly. She had never cared for children.
But Daisy was ecstatically happy, not only because she was doing something benevolent for someone else, but also because she naturally loved babies. Already she had fallen in love with the helpless little creature.
“You don’t mean to say you wouldn’t have offered, if I hadn’t!” she exclaimed, incredulously.
“Certainly not!” announced Florence, emphatically. “It’s sheer nonsense! But of course we can easily send her to an orphan asylum later on—when the woman dies.”
“Florence! You cruel, heartless girl!”
Daisy held the baby close up in her arms, as if she were afraid it might understand the cold-blooded remark, and be hurt.
“But Daisy, we can’t afford to pay somebody to take care of it—to assume its support. Neither one of our families is rich enough. And you certainly don’t expect to lug it with us back to Miss Allen’s?”