“Oh, I’m about the same,” was the low-voiced answer. “Not much better. I guess I’m never going to get any better. But it doesn’t matter. I’m no good to anybody.”
“You mustn’t talk that way,” said Mr. Brown cheerfully. “You’ll be out of here soon, and then we’ll see what can be done for you.”
“Nothing much can be done for me,” went on Mr. Stern, in sad tones. “If I could find Jim Denton he might start me in the show business again. But he’s gone.”
“Perhaps I could find work for you at my fish dock,” suggested Mr. Brown. And just then Patter went silently up to the old man and touched a cold nose to Mr. Stern’s hand.
“Eh? What’s that? Is that you, Tanza?” Mr. Stern cried, and he seemed to have aroused to new life. For the first time he looked up at Mr. Brown, and then he looked down at Patter.
“Oh, is that your dog?” he asked.
“It’s my son’s and my little girl’s,” was the answer. “Why?”
“Oh, nothing. But for a moment I thought—but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now.”
Bunny and Sue, young as they were, felt that something was wrong with the old man—something strange and mysterious, it seemed. And Mr. Brown wondered what he meant by speaking that strange name “Tanza.”
“I brought my children and their dog to cheer you up a little,” went on Mr. Brown.