"It couldn't, ma," said Pearl, "it's only a sliver—it's not a telephone pole—a dash of cold water in the face will bring him back."
Danny suddenly returned to the earth, that his young soul seemed about to spurn, and the look he gave his sister was at once an appeal and a reproach.
"Haven't you anything in your rainy-day box that's good for slivers?" he asked.
"Sure there is," said Pearl, "I think in a case of this kind, an accident that calls for medical treatment entitles its owner to a very substantial donation from the emergency chest. Mary, will you please make a selection, while I go and phone, and remember, your youngest brother is grievously wounded; do your best for him."
Pearl went to the phone, with a curiously lightened heart. At least she would hear him speak—she would see him. Not once had she seen him since the day she had been in his office. Not once—and that was three months ago. Three months, which seemed like three years!
"Give me twenty-one, please Central," she said steadily.
She knew the way he took off the receiver.
"Dr. Clay, this is Pearl speaking," she hurried on, without giving him time for reply. "Danny has a sliver in his foot, and we want you to come out. Can you come?"
"Right away," he answered. "I'll be there in twenty minutes. Is it very bad, Pearl?"
"No, not very—I nearly got it out myself."