The following day, she arrived at the office at eight o'clock sharp, and went to work at once. When the mail came, she was cheered to receive twenty dollars in the same, and also, to note three orders from agents, who were selling the book in other cities. She attended to all this, the packing and shipping of the books, wrote replies to all letters, including some of encouragement to those who were succeeding.
She had lunch at a nearby cafe, and returned to work immediately. She then made up a list of carbon copies, which she mailed before going home, to several newspapers all over the country, inclosing a money order in each to cover the cost of insertion.
"And now," she sighed, "I am happy. I feel better than I have felt for some time...." She closed her eyes meditatively, and thought of him. Would he survive? Typhoid-pneumonia was a dreadful disease, and she was considerably worried. When she retired that night, she prayed a long prayer, and went to sleep with a smile upon her lips, at peace with the world, and with hopes for the best.
CHAPTER NINE
"I Hope You—Won't—Won't be Angry"
"We cannot give out information as to the condition of the patient, Madam," said the informant at the hospital, when Mildred had called to inquire regarding the condition of her lover. She turned wearily away, and went back to the office.
She was anxious to know the worst, if it came to that, and was worried daily, until she could not restrain the desire to visit the hospital each morning, before she went about the duties she had preempted.
"He is not dead," she whispered to herself, "and if I go each day, I can work with my mind at peace; whereas, I would surely go crazy, if I were compelled to go along, and not know whether he is living or dead."
Two weeks passed and he still lived, and at the end of that time, she was advised at the hospital, that recovery was expected, but that he would be, in all likelihood, unable to leave the hospital under two months from that date.