“It’s awful hot to tramp ’way over there,” argued Blue, seeing in the sparkling scarf pin a possible increase of fee, although only the day before he had walked double the distance simply to save Granny O’Donnell’s rheumatic legs and to hear her hearty, “God bless ye, me b’y!” But he remembered his recent rebuff.
“Well, call it half a dollar, then. Will you go, or not?”
“Oh, I s’pose I’ll have to, seeing you’re a neighbor!” returned the lad, his heart skipping merrily at prospect of the big silver piece.
The physician delighted Blue by bringing him back in his car; but he shut his patron’s door with such precision that it stayed latched, and the boy scowled disappointedly.
Then, the doctor’s voice coming to his ears, he bent to the keyhole.
“Please fetch me a glass of water—”
Not an instant to spare! When the door opened, Blue was safe in the dust closet opposite. It was a handy retreat, and—to admit the truth—this was not the very first time it had had an occupant.
Presently, when all was again quiet, the boy emerged, sprinkled with the sweepings of the top floor of The Flatiron. He was gleeful at finding the door ajar.
The doctor was holding a glass to the lips of his little patient, who—it looked to the peeper—clutched it so frantically with her teeth that it was removed only with force.
“We didn’t dare give her a drop,” remarked the woman, standing by.