“Why, Swot,” cried Constance, going to his side. “Nobody is going to kill you.”
The hands were removed from the eyes, and still full of tears, they blinkingly stared a moment at the girl.
“Hully gee! Is dat youse?” he ejaculated. “Ise tought youse wuz de angel come for me.”
“You may go many years in society, Miss Durant, without winning another compliment so genuine,” remarked Dr. Armstrong, smiling. “Nor is it surprising that he was misled,” he added.
Constance smiled in return as she answered, “And it only proves how the value of a compliment is not in its truthfulness, but in its being truth to the one who speaks it.”
“Say, youse won’t let dem do nuttin’ bad to me, will youse?” implored the boy.
“They are only going to help you, Swot,” the girl assured him, as she took his hand.
“Den w’y do dey want to put me to sleep for?”
“To spare you suffering,”
“Dis oin’t no knock-out drops, or dat sorter goime? Honest?”