“Sister Margaret thinks of getting you away to a convalescent home,” said Myddleton West.
“You seem to have had a rare old chat with her,” said the boy, pointedly. “Give her them flowers, instead of leaving them here. They’ll please her.”
“Excuse me,” interrupted Trixie, “don’t you think you ought to call the nurse for this little chap in the next bed? I’ve just touched his hand, and somehow—”
Nurse Crowther and another nurse come quickly to the bed of Nineteen. Nurse Crowther flies for the screen; when this is fixed around the bed, a doctor is sent for. The doctor hurries in, goes away directly, but the screen remains. Nineteen’s mother arriving tardily with oranges for her boy, is admitted behind the screen, and there comes presently the sound of weeping.
“Ain’t he woke up, Nurse?” asks Bobbie, anxiously.
“Nearly time for visitors to go,” says Nurse Crowther. “You’ll soon have to say good-bye. Nice bright day outside, they tell me.”
“Ain’t he woke up yet, Nurse?”
“Who, your Highness?”
“Why, Nineteen.”
For once Nurse Crowther’s wink declines to respond to her summons. Her lips move, and she puts her hand up to control them.