On his way up he wrung the friendly hand of Dr. Joseph Wilberforce, the best man in the city at times like these, and thanked him in a few uneven words. Then he came to the door of the blue-and-white room.
“Don’t be afraid, Tony,” said a very sweet, clear voice; “we’re ever so well—Anthony Robeson, Junior, and I.”
Anthony Robeson, Senior, walked across the room in a dim, gray fog which obscured nearly everything except the sight of a pair of eyes which were shining upon him brightly enough to penetrate any fog. At the bedside he dropped upon his knees.
“I suppose I’m an awful chump,” he murmured, “but nothing ever broke me up so in all my life.”
Juliet laughed. It was not a sentimental greeting, but she understood all it meant. “But I’m so happy, dear,” she said.
“Are you? Somehow I can’t seem to be—yet. I’m too badly scared.”
“He’s such a beautiful big boy.”
“I suppose I shall be devoted to him some time, but all I can think of now is to make sure I’ve got you.”
The pleasant-faced nurse in her white cap came softly in and glanced at Tony meaningly.
“If you’ll come in here you may see your son, Mr. Robeson,” she said, and went out again.