“She is a very remarkable child, Mr. Bryce, and she needs very special treatment.”
“I suppose that is it. I will give you a month’s extra salary, Miss Wilder, so you may take a rest. I know you need it.”
The next morning he bustled into Mrs. Bryce’s room, where she was taking her breakfast in bed.
“Mercy, Wally, are you sick?” she inquired; “it’s barely nine o’clock.”
“I’ve got to go to town.”
“Town, this hot day?”
“Yes. I fired old Wilder and I’ve got to get a new victim for our offspring. Where do you get ’em?”
“Poor Wally,” laughed his wife. “I advertise, or go to teachers’ agencies, or any old way. Telephone in, and they’ll send you something.”
“No; I’m going to get a young one.”
“And pretty, I suppose.”