“Well, did you put them in hot water?”
“Then do it. Do it right away. Have the water hot, now.”
He came back and went on with his dinner. Mary admitted to herself a little curiosity as to what was to be put into hot water. In a few minutes the dinner was finished and the doctor was gone.
“I bet I know what that was,” spoke up the small boy.
“What?” asked his sister.
“Diphtheria clothes. There's a family in town that's got the diphtheria.”
Mary was relieved—not that there should be diphtheria in town, but that the answer for which her mind was vaguely groping had probably been found.
Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. When the doctor had answered the summons he told Mary he would have to go down to a little house at the edge of town about a mile away. When he came back an hour later he sat down before the fire with his wife. “I remember a night nineteen years ago when I was called to that house—a little boy was born. I used to see the little fellow occasionally as he grew up and pity him because he had no show at all. Tonight I saw him, a great strapping fellow with a good position and no bad habits. He'll make it all right now.”
The doctor paused for a moment, then went on. “They didn't pay me then. I remember that. I mentioned it tonight in the young fellow's presence.”