"Morning, Miss Brown," he said. "How's the baby?"
"Doing splendidly, thank you," replied the woman, "and she is very anxious to see you. Won't you step in?"
"Sure thing," answered Jack. "That's just what I came up for. I want to chat with her myself."
He stepped lightly into the apartment. It was plainly furnished, with a keen appreciation of what was needed in a sick room, and what should be left out of it. Jack sank into a steamer chair beside the white bed.
"How are things, Wren?" he asked, stroking the delicate hand that was put out to greet him. "Are you almost strong enough to—play football?"
The child smiled, and turned her head away. She had never known any one in all her life like Jack Kimball, so big and strong, and yet so kind. He almost made her feel timid and shy.
"I'm better every minute," she managed to say. "But, of course, I ought to be."
She glanced at her nurse, Miss Brown, who was bringing the morning's beef tea.
"She is really doing splendidly," put in the nurse. "But she is a model patient—never wants what is not good for her."
"Is Clip coming to-day?" asked Wren, hesitating as she said "Clip."