“All right,” he responded, and touched the subject no more; yet Polly was troubled at the seriousness of his face. Finding relatives was not complete joy after all.
The good-byes, which came soon, brought no further word from him in regard to her decision; but he urged an early visit, to which Polly and her parents agreed.
The taxicab that carried Floyd and his luggage to the station was barely out of sight when Polly spied a familiar little figure on the hospital walk.
“There’s Moses Cohn!” she cried. “I wonder what he is coming for.”
“Hullo, Polly!” was the friendly call, the freckled face under the shabby hat shining with delight.
She waved him a welcome, dancing about in the cold of the morning until he came up. They went inside together, Moses eagerly unfolding his errand.
“I’ve been tellin’ a kid ’bout Dr. Dudley and you,” he began. “He’s sick, awful sick, and his father wouldn’t have no doctor, and Chris he keeps a-growin’ worser ’n worser. So I said how Dr. Dudley could cure him quicker ’n lightnin’, and I guess he’ll bring him up—he ’most promised.”
“It might be better for me to see him first,” observed the physician.
“No, sir! he said ’xpressly for you not to come!”