“The Americans,” said Pepy, with admiring eyes fixed on their visitor, “are very peculiar about injuries. They speak always of small animals that crawl about in wounds and bring poison.”
“Germs!” Bobby explained. “But they know about germs here, too. I, played with a boy one, afternoon at the Scenic Railway—my father is the manager, you know. If you like, I can give you some tickets. And the boy said a fig lady he had was covered with germs. We ate it anyhow.”
Nikky looked down smilingly. So this was the American lad! Of course. He could understand Otto’s warm feeling now. They were not unlike, the two children. This boy was more sturdy, not so fine, perhaps, but eminently likable. He was courageous, too. The iodine had not been pleasant, but he had only whistled.
“And nothing happened to the other boy, because of the germs?”
“I don’t know. He never came back. He was a funny boy. He had a hat like father’s. Gee!”
Nikky took his departure, followed by Pepy’s eyes. As long as he was in sight she watched him from the window. “He is some great person,” she said to Bobby. “Of the aristocracy. I know the manner.”
“A prince, maybe?”
“Perhaps. You in America, you have no such men, I think, such fine soldiers, aristocrats, and yet gentle. The uniform is considered the handsomest in Europe.”
“Humph!” said Bobby aggressively. “You ought to see my uncle dressed for a Knight Templar parade. You’d see something.”
Nikky went down the stairs, with Toto at his heels, a valiant and triumphant Toto, as becomes a dog who has recently vanquished a wooden leg.