He firmly believed that he was a notable judge of human nature. He often said that he could read a character at a glance; but, as a matter of fact, what he really felt was usually a sudden and vehement prejudice, and it was a prejudice he felt now, in favor of Frankie. He had talked to him—“drawn him out,” as Katie had suggested, and he found the child not only intelligent, but an independent, clear-sighted, honest, sturdy little spirit.
“We’ll go home now,” said Dr. Joe. “We’ll step on the gas, too. It’s going to rain.”
He looked up at the sky. The brightness of the autumn day had vanished long ago, and the clouds were driving up fast before a steady, bleak wind. He tucked the rug carefully about Frankie. A very little fellow he was, after all, for all his cleverness—a queer little fellow.
“Mustn’t let him get chilled,” he thought.
With that in view, he drove at breakneck speed along the roads that lay white before him in the stormy dusk, past houses where warm little lights were beginning to gleam in the windows. It was the hour of home-coming—and it suddenly occurred to Dr. Joe that he and Frankie hadn’t much to go home to. Frankie had only a nurse waiting for him, and the doctor had only Mrs. MacAdams.
“Nonsense!” said Dr. Joe to himself.
The storm couldn’t be dismissed as nonsense, however. Before they were halfway home it came upon them, a fierce downpour, drumming on the leather top of the car, dashing against the wind shield, crushing down into the mud the last valiant green things by the wayside. The headlights shone mistily into a world all darkness and confusion.
It was no new thing to Dr. Joe. It was simply a storm, and he was accustomed to being out in all weathers; but Frankie was of an age when one is, unfortunately, only too carefully protected from the elements, and he was thrilled. He wriggled joyously under the rug.
“The grand time I’m havin’!” he said.
Dr. Joe smiled to himself at the touch of brogue—picked up from the boy’s nurse, no doubt; but he had to keep his mind on his driving.