“Aren’t you grateful to Dr. Armstrong for all he’s done for you?”
“Bet youse life,” assented Swot; “but Ise oin’t goin’ to be no doctor, nah! Ise goin’ to git on de force, dat’s de racket Ise outer. Say, will youse read me anudder of dem stories?”
“Gladly, if I can find the right kind this time.”
The boy raised his head to look about the ward. “Hey, doc,” called his cracked treble.
“Hush, don’t!” protested the girl.
“W’y not?”
Before she could frame a reason, the doctor was at the bedside. “What is it?” he asked.
“Say, wese got tru wid dis story, an’ Miss Constance says she’ll read me anudder, but dey’ll set de goime up on her, sure, she bein’ a goil; so will youse buy de real t’ing?”
“That I will.”
“Dat’s hunky.” Then he appealed to Constance. “Say, will youse pay for it?” he requested.