Bobby held out his hand as he spoke, and you may be sure our huge policeman was not slow to grasp it, and congratulate the stray on his improved circumstances.
We have not time or space to devote to the conversation which ensued. It was brief, but rapid and to the point, and in the course of it Bob learned that Molly was as well, and as bright and cheery as ever—also somewhat stouter; that Monty was in a fair way to become a real policeman, having just received encouragement to expect admission to the force when old enough, and that he was in a fair way to become as sedate, wise, zealous, and big as his father; also, that little Jo aimed at the same honourable and responsible position, and was no longer little.
Being anxious, however, to see his father, Bob cut the conversation short, and, having promised to visit his old enemy, hastened away.
The ward of the hospital in which Bob soon found himself was a sad place. Clean and fresh, no doubt, but very still, save when a weary sigh or a groan told of suffering. Among the beds, which stood in a row, each with its head against the wall, one was pointed out on which a living skeleton lay. The face was very very pale, and it seemed as if the angel of death were already brooding over it. Yet, though so changed, there was no mistaking the aspect and the once powerful frame of Ned Frog.
“I’d rather not see any one,” whispered Ned, as the nurse went forward and spoke to him in a low voice, “I’ll soon be home—I think.”
“Father, dear father,” said Bob, in a trembling, almost choking voice, as he knelt by the bedside and took one of his father’s hands.
The prostrate man sprang up as if he had received an electric shock, and gazed eagerly into the face of his son. Then, turning his gaze on the nurse, he said—
“I’m not dreaming, am I? It’s true, is it? Is this Bobby?”
“Whether he’s Bobby or not I can’t say,” replied the nurse, in the tone with which people sometimes address children, “but you’re not dreaming—it is a gentleman.”
“Ah! then I am dreaming,” replied the sick man, with inexpressible sadness, “for Bobby is no gentleman.”