“Then I can send the ambulance—”
“No, he don’t want that neither! He’s goin’ to bring him right in his arms. Why, I could myself—easy! He’s the littlest kid, an’ han’some! My, he’s a beaut! Jus’ wait till you see him! He ain’t but nine years old. He goes to my school, or did before he was sick. His father’s got the money—you bet! An’ my! he thinks that kid’s it! He is, too! I guess they’ll be here pretty soon—he ’most promised.”
On the strength of Moses Cohn’s story, Dr. Dudley ordered a bed to be prepared for the probable patient; but he did not arrive until evening and Polly had given up his coming. Then the father insisted on a private room for his little son, remaining himself to see that everything was provided for his comfort.
“Good-bye, Chris! Keep up a big bluff! Daddy’ll be here in the morning sure!” That was what the attending nurse overheard of the parting. A minute after the door had shut, she discovered her little patient shedding silent tears for “daddy”; but he brightened quickly at her cheering words, and soon dropped into a quiet sleep.
Polly was anxious to see the boy of whom Moses had told her, but the slow fever from which he was suffering kept him a stranger for many days. When, at last, she was allowed to pay him a visit, even Moses’ description of his friend had not prepared her for the beautiful wisp of a lad with the sky-blue eyes and the red-gold hair. Polly thought she had never seen so lovely a face. Her smile brought a shy response from the pillow, though talk did not at once flourish.
“Father says you are better,” Polly ventured.
Only a wee nod answered her.
“I’ve been wanting to come in before,” she persevered. “Moses Cohn told me about you.”
A faint smile.