The afternoon dragged away. Dr. Ed was out “on a case” and might not be in until evening. Sidney sat in the darkened room and waved a fan over her mother's rigid form.
At half after five, Johnny Rosenfeld from the alley, who worked for a florist after school, brought a box of roses to Sidney, and departed grinning impishly. He knew Joe, had seen him in the store. Soon the alley knew that Sidney had received a dozen Killarney roses at three dollars and a half, and was probably engaged to Joe Drummond.
“Dr. Ed,” said Sidney, as he followed her down the stairs, “can you spare the time to talk to me a little while?”
Perhaps the elder Wilson had a quick vision of the crowded office waiting across the Street; but his reply was prompt:
“Any amount of time.”
Sidney led the way into the small parlor, where Joe's roses, refused by the petulant invalid upstairs, bloomed alone.
“First of all,” said Sidney, “did you mean what you said upstairs?”
Dr. Ed thought quickly.
“Of course; but what?”
“You said I was a born nurse.”