"Yes. There is a sick boy at 62 Sloven Street. Tenement house. Jimmy Haggerty. I promised to see him. There is a can of wine-jelly and a book. They must have brought them here when they picked me up. Will you take them to him and tell him that I am laid up? It is not exactly in your line, Rattleton," he added, with a smile, "but it won't give you much trouble."
"Not a bit," declared Jack, cheerfully. "Great play for Phil. XI., you know. I can make a special report on the Sloven Street district, and it ought to pull me through the course."
"You mustn't talk to him too long, sir," said the nurse.
"All right, I'll go right off. 62 Sloven St.—Haggerty. You make yourself easy, old man, I'll look after all your indigent kids for you, and I'll tell the other fellows you are here. I'll be back soon."
In answer to Rattleton's inquiries, the nurse told him how Varnum had been knocked down and run over by a runaway team in a narrow street. He had been brought to the hospital, and the doctors had at first thought his injuries fatal. Subsequent examination, however, had proved that his condition was not so serious. At his request the telegram had been sent to Rattleton. Jack left directions to have Varnum put in a private room when he could be moved, and every comfort given him. "And, by the way," he added, "don't let him know that there is any expense about it. If he objects, tell him the public wards are chuck-full; tell him there is small-pox in 'em; tell him any good lie that occurs to you. Send the bill to me."
The jelly and the book had not been brought in the ambulance, and no one knew anything about them. So Rattleton, stopping at the hospital office for Blathers, who had been there deposited, went first to a hotel, for all the shops were closed. From the restaurant he replaced the wine-jelly, and added some cake and a bottle of champagne. "I don't know much about what a sick boy ought to have," he thought, "but fizz is always good."
At the newspaper-stand he bought all the picture papers, and found a colored edition of nursery rhymes, which he concluded would be just the thing. "Now we are all right," he said, "come along, Blathers."
Jack had been very ready and cheerful about his mission when talking to Varnum, but he had misgivings about it as he took his way to Sloven Street, in the heart of the poorest tenement-house district. "I suppose it is easy enough just to leave this stuff and come away," he thought; "but I am sure to make some fool break." He knew there were lots of men in college who "went in for that sort of thing"; but he had had no experience of that kind himself, and Varnum was the only man he knew well, who had. He had a vague idea that Varnum held prayer-meetings among the poor, and preached as well as ministered, and he feared he might be called upon to do something of the kind himself.
It was quite dark, so he heard only one or two requests to shoot the dude, as he was passing lamp-lights, and to his infinite relief nothing was thrown at Blathers. He had expected certainly to have a row on the dog's account. In front of 62 Sloven Street he found a small boy smoking a cigarette, and inquired from him whether Jimmy Haggerty lived within.
"Sure!" assented the youngster, removing the cigarette from his lips and holding the lighted end for Blathers to smell. "Is you one o' de Ha'vards?" "Ye-es," acknowledged Jack, doubtfully, feeling that he was deceiving the little man; for he suspected that he was not exactly the kind of "a Ha'vard" that was expected in those quarters.