“Go on. Don’t mind me,” I murmured.
“The Little Red Doctor has found the place. It’s in New Mexico. And in the fall she’s going on to the Coast. He’s almost willing to guarantee that a year of it will make her as strong as ever. And the hundred dollars a month you allow her besides her traveling expenses will be plenty. You are a good old thing, Dominie!”
“What you mean is that I’m an old good-thing. How shall I look,” I demanded bitterly, “when Mayme comes to thank me?”
“No foolisher than you do now, trying to raise unreasonable objections to our perfectly good plans,” retorted the Bonnie Lassie. “Besides, she won’t. She knows that your way is to do good by stealth and blush to find it fame, and she’s under pledge to pretend to know nothing about it.”
“Where did the Little Red Doctor raise it?” I queried.
“There are times, Dominie, when your mind has real penetrative power. Think it over.”
“The Weeping Scion of Wealth and Position!” I cried. “Did our medical friend blackmail him?”
“Not necessarily. He only dropped a hint that Mayme’s chance here was rather poorer than a soldier’s going to war, unless something could be done and the Weeping Scion fairly begged to be allowed to do it. ‘Do you think she’d take it from you?’ said the Little Red Doctor, ‘after what your mother called her?’ ‘Don’t let her know,’ says our ornamental young weeper. ‘Tell her somebody else is doing it. Tell her it’s from that white-whiskered old—from the elderly and handsome gentleman with the benevolent expres—‘”
“Yes: I know,” I broke in. “Very good. I’m the goat. Lying, hypocrisy, false pretense, fake charity; it’s all one to a sin-seared old reprobate like me. After it’s over I’ll go around the corner and steal what pennies I can find in Blind Simon’s cup, just to make me feel comparatively respectable and decent again.”
It was no easier than I expected it to be, especially when little Mayme, having come to say good-bye, put her lips close to my ear and tried to whisper something, and cried and kissed me instead.