"He could play me to sleep," protested Gwendolyn.
A reply to Jane's order was shrilled up—something defiant.
"He'd only excite you, darlin'," declared Jane. She was on her knees at the window, and turned her head to speak. "I can't have that rumpus in the street with you so nervous."
Gwendolyn sighed.
"Take your medicine, dearie," went on Jane. She stayed where she was.
Promptly, Gwendolyn sat up and reached for the glass. To hold it, to shake it about and potter in the strange liquid with a spoon, would be some compensation for having to drink it.
"If that mean old creature didn't make faces!" grumbled Jane. She was leaning forward to look out.
"How did he make faces, Jane?" asked Gwendolyn. "Were they nice ones?" She lifted the glass to take a whiff of its contents. "I'd like to see him make faces."
She put the spoon into Jane's half-empty coffee-cup; then let the medicine run up the side of the glass until it was almost to her lips. She tasted it. It tasted good! She hesitated a second; then drained the glass.
The street was quiet. Jane rose to her feet and came over. "Did you do as I said?" she asked.