"I ain't a Missis," she murmured. "My name is Miss Blooma Duckman."
"Blooma," Rudnik muttered. "I once used to got a sister by the name Blooma, and it ain't a bad name, neither." He was not entirely softened by his mishap, however. "But, anyhow, that ain't here or there," he said. "Women is just the same—always kicking. What is the matter with this Home, Miss Duckman? It's an elegant place already."
"This ain't the Home," Miss Duckman explained. "This is a hospital, which when you was hit by the engine they put you on the train and took you up here."
"Aber what are you doing here?" he asked after a pause.
"I come along," Miss Duckman said; "and now you shouldn't talk no more."
"What d'ye mean, you come along?" he cried. "Didn't you go back to the Home?"
Miss Duckman shook her head, and Rudnik turned on his pillow and looked inquiringly at her.
"How long am I up here, anyhow?" he demanded.
"Four days," Miss Duckman said, and Rudnik closed his eyes again. For ten minutes longer he lay still and then his lips moved.
"What did you say?" Miss Duckman asked.