“I can’t do it. I’m sorry, but—”
She came a step forward, with a look of piteous entreaty on her wrinkled face.
“The one day, doctor dear!” she cried. “Ye’ll do that for an ould woman! He’s fed. He’ll need no more till I’ll come for him at six o’clock. All o’ thim tellin’ me what a grand, kind man ye were, at all—and me ould enough to be yer mother!”
“I can’t!” said Dr. Joe, very much distressed. “It’s ridiculous!”
“Sure, what trouble will it be for yer honor?” she pleaded. “An’ Frankie only the small young child he is—just wantin’ to watch ye! Lave him come with ye the one day, doctor dear! His father’ll—”
“No!” shouted Dr. Joe. “Sorry! Can’t!”
He made a rush for the dining room and closed the door behind him.
II
This was the most absurd and unreasonable request that had ever been made of him—which was saying a good deal, for his generosity was well known, and full advantage was taken of it. And yet, somehow, the incident touched and troubled him. He couldn’t forget the passionate earnestness of the old Irishwoman.
“Nonsense! Nonsense! Nonsense!” he said half aloud, and sat down at the table.