“Even Mamie?” inquired Kirk.
It had been his intention to be mildly jocular, but Mrs. Porter’s reply showed him that in jest he had spoken the truth.
“Certainly. Have you any idea, Kirk, of the number of germs there are on the surface of the human body? It runs into billions. You”—she fixed him with her steely eye—“you are at the present moment one mass of microbes.”
“I sneaked through quarantine all right.”
“To the adult there is not so much danger in these microbes, provided he or she maintains a reasonable degree of personal cleanliness. That is why adults may be permitted to mix with other adults without preliminary sterilization. But in the case of a growing child it is entirely different. No precaution is excessive. So——”
From below at this point there came the sound of the front-door bell. Ruth went to the landing and looked over the banisters.
“That ought to be Bill and Mamie back from their drive,” she said.
The sound of a child’s voice came to Kirk as he stood listening; and as he heard it all the old feeling of paternal pride and excitement, which had left him during his wanderings, swept over him like a wave. He reproached himself that, while the memory of Ruth had been with him during every waking moment of the past year, there had been occasions when that of William Bannister had become a little faded.
He ran down the stairs.
“Hello, Mamie!” he said. “How are you? You’re looking well.”