“Been meaning to dig you up for a week or more,” he said. “Why didn’t you let some of us know you were sick?”
“Didn’t want to be a nuisance. I’m getting over it all right, now.”
“What was it?”
“Touch of the grippe, I guess. I had it last winter. I don’t mind it so much, only I’m afraid it’s cost me my job at Hassler’s.”
Larry looked around at the cheerless, unheated cubbyhole.
“Gee!” he shuddered, “this is no place to be sick in. Why didn’t you report to the hospital?”
Little Purdick’s smile was another of those half-ghastly grins.
“I don’t mind telling you, Donovan. Your three-dollar-per-semester hospital fee, that you have to pay when you register, entitles you to two days sick-a-bed in a ward. If you stay over that time it’s a dollar a day extra. I didn’t have the dollar a day.”
“Well, you’ve got to get out of this,” said Larry; and he said it gruffly because the pitifulness of Purdick’s case was getting next to him. “You’re going to room with me for the rest of the year. Dick’s gone over to the Omeg house and I’m needing a bunkie.”
Purdick wagged his head on the blanket pillow.