"You shouldn't sprinkle me," she murmured reproachfully, "I'm wet enough as it is and I've no rubbers;—" the faint blue shadows under her eyes accused them all. Her thin hand tried to pat her rumpled hair, "I do believe you've lost another hairpin for me—I'd only three—" she was petulant, "And if you do pull it I can't pay you—" she was defiant. "Not unless you need some poetry written.
"Or a play. I can write a play. But I can't sell knit underwear or I can't do general housework—I'm only—a toothache—Bobby Burns wrote me—maybe you've read me—"
Of course Felicia took her home with her,—that was foreordained from the moment she saw her,—but she had a beautiful row getting her! The Poetry Girl had a "stub, stub, stubborn way" too. She was suspicious, she was wary. She said she didn't care a damn where she went but she didn't want any one to take her there. The dentist agreed with her. He took Felicia aside and told her it was his private opinion that the girl was either drunk or on the verge of a nervous breakdown and he thought the best thing to do would be to notify a police matron. In short he was cool and practical. If there was anything Felicia Day couldn't endure it was a Van Dyke beard on a cool and practical man. She told the Sculptor Girl afterward that it took strength of mind not to pull his silly beard off.
She tucked her thimble in her pocket, folded her apron and asked,
"Will you promise not to let her go till I get my hat?"
"You can't manage her," said the dentist, "I tell you she's irresponsible."
"So am I," confided Felicia serenely, "but I'll come back to-morrow for the sewing. As soon as I get her in bed and Janet brings her some soup she'll be perfectly all right—"
But all the same it wasn't easy getting her home. It was a long walk. Felicia hadn't two carfares and she had forgotten to ask the dentist for money. To make bad matters worse a heavy down pour of rain overtook them a good half mile from the house. Its cool splatter seemed to bring the Poetry Girl to her senses. She laughed a bit.
"What an idiot!" she exclaimed, "you must think me—my name is Blythe Modder, and usually I'm sane. You see just before I went into that dentist's I did such a fool thing. I bought some patent liniment and put on my tooth and I didn't notice until afterward that it said 'external use only'—I was such an idiot—I think it went to my head— I'm very much better now."
"Well, come along and get some dry clothes and tea anyhow, then you'll be vairee all right."