"That would be rather hard on the count, wouldn't it?" said Mr. V.V., absently; and added at once: "What makes you do that?"
"Stitch in me side," said she, impishly. "Machineetis, I call it. Like 'pendicitis, y' know? It's gone now. I don't get tired when I dance."
Kern had a quantity of dark brown hair, covered now by a picture hat supporting a base red imitation of a willow plume; she put on the hat every night nowadays, whether she was going out or not. By two years' steady practice she was esteemed one of the best operatives in the Heth Cheroot Works; but her new passion in life was to learn from Mr. V.V. what it was to be a lady. Dearly as Kern loved beads, pins, buckles, and all that shone and glittered, her particular desire for Christmas had been a Netiquette and Complete Letter Writer, and this Mr. V.V. had duly obtained for her, though it had run to a dollar and a quarter. The little girl might have been any age or no age; she was unformed for her years, somewhat elfin of countenance, and thin in the cheek. On one of these cheeks, Dr. Vivian now laid the back of his hand, and told Kern to stick out her tongue. She did it as she did everything (except cheroot-making), like a game, sticking it out much farther than was necessary and repeatedly winking her left eye.
Vivian set down the suitcase again.
"You go to bed," said he. "I'll attend to the studs."
Kern stuck back her tongue and unwinked her eye, with something like consternation.
"I feel very well, Mr. V.V.--honest! I'll get 'em and come straight back, sir,--truly, truly!"
The young man reached for his overcoat. "I don't want you to go out to-night. It's just the same as if you did it for me, because you want to do it. That's what counts. Now go on to bed. You aren't well at all, I fear."
Kern turned, much depressed. "It was me thought of Willie Walter. I think you might lemme."
"You must do what I say, Corinne."