“Granny!” cried Molly.
“Whisht now!” said the other. “I know well what I’m doin’. Didn’t I see the way it wint with me own bye? If Frankie was to be the greatest doctor that ever lived, he’d niver be the equal o’ that bye. He come here from the ould country, and not a penny in his pockets. It was in his head he’d be a doctor; so he worked in the days and studied in the nights. Thim that had money had all their time for the studyin’, and they wint ahead of him. Five years he took for that they’d do in two, him workin’ in a garage in the days. Thin what does he do but get married? A fine girl she was, too—a fine girl. ‘She’ll help me,’ says he, ‘for she’s had a grand education.’ A school-teacher she was, a fine girl. Thin Molly was born, and the two o’ thim schemin’ and plannin’ the way she’d be a doctor’s daughter, and the grand time she’d have of it. Thin the war came and he wint, like the rest o’ thim, and in the end of it he was kilt; and it wasn’t so long before the poor girl died, too.” Katie was silent for a moment. “But it’s different with Frankie,” she said. “He’ll have a grand chance!”
“He will,” said Dr. Joe. “He would, even if his parents weren’t Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer Depew of New York.”
She gave the doctor a startled, sidelong glance.
“But they are!” she insisted.
“Certainly, if you say so,” agreed Dr. Joe; “but I can’t help thinking that it’s rather a pity. A father like that boy of yours, for instance, would be some one he could be proud of.”
“And an ould grandmother that scrubs floors?”
“I couldn’t think of a much better one,” said Dr. Joe, pretending not to notice that she was hastily wiping her eyes.
“Whatever way it is,” she said, “I had me mind made up Frankie should get his chance. And now ye’ve promised me, doctor dear, and I can go off home to me brother in the ould country.”
“Granny!” cried Molly. “But what about me? You can’t—”