detective successfully put out of existence, or safelyincarcerated each one of the numerous scoundrels who had hithertotriumphed over the law, and Constance closed the book.
"Hully gee!" sighed Swot, contentedly. "Say, dat Old Sleut, he's up to delimit, oin't he? It don't matter wot dey does, he works it so's de hullpush comes his way, don't he?"
"He certainly was very far-seeing," Constance conceded; "but what a pityit is that he--that he wasn't in some finer calling."
"Finer wot?"
"How much nobler it would have been if, instead of taking life, he hadbeen saving it--like Dr. Armstrong, for instance," she added, to bring heridea within the comprehension of the boy.
"Ah, dat's de talk for religious mugs an' goils," contemptuously exclaimedthe waif, "but it guv's me de sore ear. It don't go wid me, not one littlebit."
"Aren't you grateful to Dr. Armstrong for all he's done for you?"
"Bet youse life," assented Swot; "but Ise oin't goin' to be no doctor,nah! Ise goin' to git on de force, dat's de racket Ise outer. Say, willyouse read me anudder of dem stories?'
"Gladly, if I can find the right kind this time."
The boy raised his head to look about the ward. "Hey, doc," called hiscracked treble.
"Hush, don't!" protested the girl.
"W'y not?"
Before she could frame a reason, the doctor was at the bedside. "What isit?" he asked.
"Say, wese got tru wid dis story, an' Miss Constance says she'll read meanudder, but dey'll set de goime up on her, sure, she bein' a goil; sowill youse buy de real t'ing?"
"That I will."
"Dat's hunky." Then he appealed to Constance. "Say, will youse pay forit?" he requested.
"And why should she?" inquired Dr. Armstrong.
"'Cause she's got de dough, an Ise heard de nurse loidies talkin' 'boutyouse, an' dey said dat youse wuz poor."
It was the doctor's turn to colour, and flush he did.
"Swot and I will both be very grateful, Dr. Armstrong, if you will get usanother of the Old Sleuth books," spoke up Miss Durant, hastily.
"Won't youse guv 'im de price?" reiterated the urchin.
"Then we'll expect it to-morrow morning," went on the girl; and for thefirst time in days she held out her hand to Dr. Armstrong, "And thank youin advance for your kindness. Good-morning."
"Rats!" she heard, as she walked away. "I didn't tink she'd do de grandsneak like dat, doc, jus' 'cause I tried to touch her for de cash."
Constance slowed one step, then resumed her former pace. "He surely--Ofcourse he'll understand why I hurried away," she murmured.
Blind as he might be, Dr. Armstrong was not blind to the geniality of MissDurant's greeting the next morning, or the warmth of her thanks for thecheap-looking dime novel. She chatted pleasantly with him some momentsbefore beginning on the new tale; and even when she at last opened thebook, there was a subtle difference in the way she did it that made itinclude instead of exclude him from a share in the reading. And this wasequally true of the succeeding days.
The new doings of Old Sleuth did not achieve the success that the previousones had. The invalid suddenly developed both restlessness andinattention, with such a tendency to frequent interruptions as to makereading well-nigh impossible.
"Really, Swot," Constance was driven to threaten one morning, when he hadbroken in on the narrative for the seventh time with questions whichproved that he was giving no heed to the book, "unless you lie quieter,and don't interrupt so often, I shall not go on reading."
"Dat goes," acceded the little fellow; yet before she had so much asfinished a page he asked, "Say, did youse ever play craps?"
"No," she answered, with a touch of severity.
"It's a jim dandy goime, Ise tells youse. Like me to learn youse?"
"No," replied the girl, as she closed the book.
"Goils never oin't no good," remarked Swot, discontentedly.
Really irritated, Miss Durant rose and adjusted her boa. "Swot," she said,"you are the most ungrateful boy I ever knew, and I'm not merely not goingto read any more to-day, but I have a good mind not to come to-morrow,just to punish you."
"Ah, chase youseself!" was the response. "Youse can't pass dat gold brickon me, well, I guess!"
"What are you talking about?" indignantly asked Constance.
"Tink Ise oin't onter youse curves? Tink Ise don't hear wot de nurseloidies says? Gee! Ise know w'y youse so fond of comin' here."
"Why do I come here?" asked Constance, in a voice full of warning.
The tone was wasted on the boy.
"'Cause youse dead gone on de doc."
"I am sorry you don't know better than to talk like that, Swot," said thegirl, quietly, "because I wanted to be good to you, and now you have putan end to my being able to be. You will have to get some one else to readto you after this. Good-bye." She passed her hand kindly over hisforehead, and turned to find that Dr. Armstrong was standing close behindher, and must have overheard more or less of what had been said. Without aword, and looking straight before her, Constance walked away.
Once out of the hospital, her conscience was not altogether easy; andthough she kept away the next day, she sent her footman with the usualgift of fruits and other edibles; and this she did again on the morningfollowing.
"Of course he didn't mean to be so atrociously impertinent," she sighed,in truth missing what had come to be such an amusing and novel way ofusing up some of each twenty-four hours. "But I can't, in self-respect, goto him any more."
These explanations were confided to her double in the mirror, as she eyedthe effect of a new gown, donned for a dinner; and while she still studiedthe eminently satisfactory total, she was interrupted by a knock at thedoor, and her maid brought her a card the footman handed in.
Constance took it, looked astonished, then frowned slightly, and finallyglanced again in the mirror. Without a word, she took her gloves and fanfrom the maid, and descended to the drawing-room.
"Good-evening, Dr. Armstrong," she said, coolly.
"I have come here--I have intruded on you, Miss Durant," awkwardly andhurriedly began the doctor, "because nothing else would satisfy SwotMcGarrigle. I trust you will understand that I--He--he is to undergo anoperation, and--well, I told him it was impossible, but he still begged meso to ask you, that I hadn't the heart to refuse him."
"An operation!" cried Constance.
"Don't be alarmed. It's really nothing serious. He--Perhaps you may havenoticed how restless and miserable he has been lately. It is due, we havedecided, to one of the nerves of the leg having been lacerated, and so Iam going to remove it, to end the suffering, which is now pretty keen."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," exclaimed the girl, regretfully. "I didn't dream ofit, and so was hard on him, and said I wouldn't come any more."
"He has missed your visits very much, Miss Durant, and we found it veryhard to comfort him each morning, when only your servant came."
"Has he really? I thought they were nothing to him."
"If you knew that class better, you would appreciate that they are reallygrateful and warm-hearted, but they fear to show their feelings, and,besides, could not express them, even if they had the words, which theydon't. But if you could hear the little chap sing your praises to thenurses and to me, you would not think him heartless. 'My loidy' is hisfavourite description of you."
"'I have come here--I have intruded on you, Miss Durant,'hurriedly began the doctor"]
"He wants to see me?" questioned the girl, eagerly.
"Yes. Like most of the poorer class, Miss Durant," explained the doctor,"he has a great dread of the knife. To make him less frantic, I promisedthat I would come to you with his wish; and though I would not for amoment have you present at the actual operation, if you could yield so faras to come to him for a few minutes, and assure him that we are going todo it for his own good, I think it will make him more submissive."
"When do you want me?" asked Miss Durant.
"It is--I am to operate as soon as
I can get back to the hospital, MissDurant. It has been regrettably postponed as it is."
The girl stood hesitating for a moment. "But what am I to do about mydinner?"
Dr. Armstrong's eyes travelled over her from head to foot, taking in thecharming gown of satin and lace, the strings of pearls about her exquisitethroat and