“The doctor says she should be taken away from here at once,” I observed.
Hephzy nodded. “There's no doubt about that,” she declared with emphasis. “I wouldn't trust a sick cat to that Briggs woman. She's a—well, she's what she is.”
“I suggested a hospital, but he didn't approve,” I went on. “He recommended some comfortable home with care and quiet and all the rest of it. Her relatives should look after her, he said. She hasn't any relatives that we know of, or any home to go to.”
Again Hephzy was silent. I waited, growing momentarily more nervous and fretful. Of all impossible situations this was the most impossible. And to make it worse, Hephzy, the usually prompt, reliable Hephzy, was of no use at all.
“Do say something,” I snapped. “What shall we do?”
“I don't know, Hosy, dear. Why!... Where are you going?”
“I'm going to the drug-store to get this prescription filled. I'll be back soon.”
The drug-store—it was a “chemist's shop” of course—was at the corner. It was the chemist's telephone that I had used when I called the doctor. I gave the clerk the prescription and, while he was busy with it, I paced up and down the floor of the shop. At length I sat down before the telephone and demanded a number.
When I returned to the lodging-house I gave Hephzy the powders which the chemist's clerk had prepared.
“Is she any better?” I asked.