"The man is half-dead for the want of sleep, worn out with all his worries," thought Andy. "Mr. Blow," he said aloud, sitting up, "I can't sleep a wink. This is all so new to me. I'll just disturb you rustling about here. Please let me attend to the little fellow, won't you, and you take a good sound snooze? Come, it will do you lots of good."
"No, no," began the clown weakly.
"Please," persisted Andy. "Honest, I can't close my eyes. Now don't you have a care. I'll give Midget his medicine to the second."
Andy felt a glow of real pleasure and satisfaction as the clown lay down. He was asleep in two minutes. Andy went over to the stool.
"I'm going to be your nurse," he told Midget. "Suppose you sleep, too."
"I can't," answered the little fellow. "I've been asleep all day. Wish I had another book, I've looked this one through a hundred times."
"I could tell you some stories," Andy suggested. "Good ones."
"Will you, say, will you?" pleaded the clown's boy eagerly.
"You bet—and famous ones."
Andy kept his promise. He ransacked his mind for the brightest stories he had ever read. Never was there a more interested listener. Andy talked in a low voice so as not to disturb the clown.