“She has no means of livelihood at all?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I don’t think so. As soon as she’s well enough I’ll find out. Meantime there’s this illness, the doctor—”
“Yes, yes,” Betty interrupted, “I know all that. But it needn’t bother you. I’ll attend to it.”
“Dear Betty!” I let go of Wuzzy to stretch a hand across to her.
“Now, don’t be sentimental, Evie. This is the sort of thing I like doing. If I could find some one—”
The prospects suddenly palled on Wuzzy and he threw himself violently back and lay supine between us, gazing up at the trap.
“Good heavens, why did I bring him,” groaned his mother. “I wouldn’t take care of a child like this for millions of dollars. Why do nurses have sick relations? There ought to be a special breed raised without a single human tie. Get up, Wuzzy.”
She tugged at his arm, but he continued to stare upward, inert as a flour sack.
“What does he see up there?” I said, bending my head back to try and locate the object. “Perhaps it’s something we can take down and give him.”
“You can’t unless you break the hansom to pieces. It’s the trap.”