“Can I see him?”
“Come in,” said Mrs. Barry.
The room was covered with a worn carpet, but looked neat and comfortable. There was a cheap sewing-machine in one corner, and some plain furniture. There was a bedroom opening out of this room, and here it was that George Barry lay upon the bed.
“Is that Paul Hoffman, mother?” was heard from the bedroom.
“Yes,” said Paul, answering for himself.
“Go in, if you like,” said Mrs. Barry. “My son wishes to see you.
“How do you feel now, George?” asked Paul.
“Not very well, Paul. I didn't give up a minute too soon. I think I am going to have a fever.”
“That is not comfortable,” said Paul. “Still, you have your mother to take care of you.”
“I don't know how I should get along without her. Can you look after my business as long as I am sick?”