“I guess you can cure me as quickly as a doctor,” said the man, hanging his head. “I—I had a little girl like you once.”
“Now drink some of this,” urged Dot, without noticing the man’s last remark, and offering the glass of water.
He took it in a trembling hand and raised it to his lips. The little girl reached for the Alice-doll, but watched him carefully.
“Don’t spill it,” she said, “and don’t drink it all. I think if I put some on your face you’d feel better.”
Immediately she produced a diminutive handkerchief, folded just as it had been ironed, and when she took back the glass, she dipped the bit of muslin in the water remaining in it.
Then with tender hand she wiped his hot face; and she wiped away two big tears, too, that started down his cheeks. She was still engaged in thus playing the Good Samaritan when a swiftly moving motor car coming through Willow Street was suddenly brought to a stop beside them.
There was a thin, wiry fellow at the steering wheel. The goggles he wore half disguised him. In the tonneau sat a fat, prosperous looking man smoking a big, black cigar.
“That’s him, ain’t it, Joe?” asked the fat man, nodding toward the man sitting on the curbstone.
“Yep. That’s him,” rejoined the chauffeur.
“Hey, Mr. Maynard!” exclaimed the fat man. “Get up and get in here. I want to talk to you.”