Blue turned to Granny, a woeful question in his eyes.
“I’m awful sorry for yer!” began Mrs. Jimmy—“Goodness gracious, Evangeline George, what are you doin’!” She gathered together her falling tresses, administering a tiny slap to the pouting culprit. “If that kid ain’t a terror! I’m wonderin’ all day long what she’ll be up to next!”
“She’s in th’ bidroom,” nodded Granny to Blue, across the now wailing Evangeline. “Don’t ye go to worryin’, me dear! ’T ain’t goin’ to be mooch, likely!”
He waited for no more, but darted to the half-shut door, pushed it wide, and went in.
His mother held out her hand. “My poor boy!” she said tremulously.
“What is it?” he managed to ask.
“I’ve got to go to the hospital and have an operation! I sent for the doctor—I grew so much worse—Granny said I must—so she asked Donovan to telephone. He said right away I’d got to go—oh, it seems’s if I couldn’t! What will you do—you and Doodles?”
“When you goin’?”
“At half-past one.”
“Not to-day?” with alarmed emphasis.