"I suppose so. But, Joan, don't stay long. I know how the reformed drunkard feels when he's left to his lonesome. He doubts his reformation."
"Pat!" Joan felt the tug of responsibility.
The next night Patricia came home with a bedraggled little dog in her arms.
"Where did you find that, Pat?" Joan paused in her task of getting dinner and fondled the absurd creature.
"Oh! he was browsing along like a lost soul, sniffing to find—not a scent, I wager he never had one of his own, but a possible one. Out of all the mob, Joan, he chose me! He came up, nosed around my feet, and then whined delightedly—the old fraud! I picked him up and looked in his eyes—I know the look, Joan. He might be my never-had-brother, there is a family resemblance."
"Pat, how silly."
"No joking, lamb. I couldn't ignore the appeal—besides, he'll keep me straight while you are away."
"Pat—come with me!" Joan bent over the dog, who already showed his preference for Patricia.
"I cannot, Joan. The trade is growing—I am planning an exhibition. I'm ashamed to say it, but the business is getting into my gray matter. No—go to your duty, lamb—the pup and I will get acquainted and make up for lost time."
And while Joan made preparations to go to New York, and while Doris and Nancy planned to make her visit a success, something occurred that changed all their lives. It was the epidemic of influenza. The shrouded and menacing Thing approached like the plague that it was to prove itself. It was no discerner of people; its area was limitless, it harvested whence it would and, while it was named, it was not understood.