"I?" The scandalised amazement in his expression tempted Pat to mirth, but she restrained herself. "Help her out! In what way, may I ask?"
"You needn't may-I-ask in that hateful tone. You know perfectly well. Doctors do those things, don't they?"
"Oh, certainly! By all means. It's the backbone and mainstay of the profession."
"Now you're being sarcastic. And it's terribly serious."
"You go back to Dee and tell her not to be a damned fool. She ought to be ashamed of herself for sending you on such an errand. I don't understand it in Dee."
"Liar yourself, Bobs. She didn't send me. I came. And"—a little breathlessly—"if you don't do it for her somebody else will."
"Somebody else? Who?"
"I don't know yet. One of these people in here." She produced the newspaper page which she had extracted from Dee.
Osterhout swore vividly and voluminously. "Just what I said! Leaving such filth about where girls can pick it up." He rose, shuffled over to Pat, took her chin between finger and thumb and peered down into her limpid, troubled eyes. "What's behind all this foolishness?" came the stern question.
"Oh, Bobs! Be good and help us. She can't have the baby. Truly she can't. I mustn't tell you why, but you'd say so, too, if you knew."