"Just another question, sir," she said hesitatingly. "About how long would it be, in case he should recover, before he will likely be on the street?"
"Cases as serious, and of that nature, rarely leave the hospital under two months, possibly three, and sometimes it is even four; but, if he should recover, it would not be possible under two months."
"Very well, I thank you," and, bowing, she left the desk.
Mildred walked down the wide street upon which the hospital faced. She had not consulted any one else, and in truth, had no idea that the disease would last so long.
"What can I do, what can I do?" she asked herself several times, as she passed down the street. "He has just started up, and to think that such a misfortune should overtake him at the outset."
She walked on down the street, until she arrived at the corner, where she paused for a moment. She turned, and only a block away rose the Perier building. She could see his office. It was toward the rear, and, as she stood looking up at it meditatively, she caught an outline of the desk at which he had sat, when she came into the office, with no thought that she was near him.
"I am going up there, to the custodian of that building, and—well, I'm going," and she went.
"Are you the custodian of the building, sir?" she inquired a few minutes later, of an elderly man with a pointed beard and cleverly trimmed mustache.
"I am, Madam," he replied. "And at your service."
"A gentleman, who has recently taken an office here, was yesterday stricken with typhoid-pneumonia, and was taken to the charity hospital."