“The probationer's name is Wardwell,” she said. “Perhaps you'd better help her with the breakfasts. If there's any way to make a mistake, she makes it.”
It was after eight when Sidney found Johnny Rosenfeld.
“You here in the ward, Johnny!” she said.
Suffering had refined the boy's features. His dark, heavily fringed eyes looked at her from a pale face. But he smiled up at her cheerfully.
“I was in a private room; but it cost thirty plunks a week, so I moved. Why pay rent?”
Sidney had not seen him since his accident. She had wished to go, but K. had urged against it. She was not strong, and she had already suffered much. And now the work of the ward pressed hard. She had only a moment. She stood beside him and stroked his hand.
“I'm sorry, Johnny.”
He pretended to think that her sympathy was for his fall from the estate of a private patient to the free ward.
“Oh, I'm all right, Miss Sidney,” he said. “Mr. Howe is paying six dollars a week for me. The difference between me and the other fellows around here is that I get a napkin on my tray and they don't.”
Before his determined cheerfulness Sidney choked.