Luella argued for a while. Finally she obtained a promise that they would telephone to an emergency woman they knew. That was the best they could do until to-morrow.
She called several other agencies, but the servant industry had apparently ceased to function for the day. After giving Charles his medicine, she tiptoed softly into the nursery.
"How's baby?" she asked abstractedly.
"Ninety-nine one," whispered the nurse, holding the thermometer to the light. "I just took it."
"Is that much?" asked Luella, frowning.
"It's just three-fifths of a degree. That isn't so much for the afternoon. They often run up a little with a cold."
Luella went over to the cot and laid her hand on her son's flushed cheek, thinking, in the midst of her anxiety, how much he resembled the incredible cherub of the "Lux" advertisement in the bus.
She turned to the nurse.
"Do you know how to cook?"
"Why—I'm not a good cook."