Then after a brief silence, during which her father kissed the tears off her cheek: “And, pa,” she added, “I have seen Flywheel Bob, and do you know I think they have been doing something to him; for he acts so very strangely. Poor, poor Bob!”
While she was speaking the object of her commiseration was carried up the steps. Happily, he was tired out by his crazy capers and was now quite calm, nor uttered a word as they laid him on the sidewalk.
“Dear Bob, what is the matter? What have they done to you?” said Daisy, bending tenderly over him. Bob did not answer, but his eyes rolled about and gleamed brighter than her lost diamonds.
“Don’t disturb him, darling. He is going to the hospital, where he will soon be well again,” said Mr. Goodman.
“Well, pa, he sha’n’t go back to that horrid factory,” answered Daisy; “and, what’s more, now that he is ill, he sha’n’t go anywhere except to my house.”
“Darling, don’t be silly,” said Mr. Goodman, dropping his voice. “How could a little lady like you wish to have him in your house?”
“Why, pa, Bob is ill; look at the foam on his lips. Yes, I’m sure he is ill, and I wish to nurse him.”
“Well, my child, you cannot have him; therefore speak no more about it,” replied Mr. Goodman, who felt not a little annoyed at the turn things were taking.
“Then, pa, I’ll go to the hospital too, and nurse him there; upon my word I will.”
“No, you sha’n’t.”