"
"We haven't any money," said the girl. "And I don't know when we
shall have. I don't want to deceive you."
"I understand perfectly," said the young man, looking at her
with interested but respectful eyes. "I'm poor, myself, and have
just started."
"Will they treat him well, when he's got no money?"
"As well as if he paid."
"And you will go and see that everything's all right?"
"It'll be a pleasure."
Under a gas lamp he took out a card and gave it to her. She
thanked him and put it in the bosom of her blouse where lay all
the money they had--the eleven dollars and eighty cents. They
walked to the hotel, as cars were few at that hour. He did all
the talking--assurances that her "father" could not fail to get
well, that typhoid wasn't anything like the serious disease it
used to be, and that he probably had a light form of it. The
girl listened, but her heart could not grow less heavy. As he
was leaving her at the hotel door, he hesitated, then asked if
she wouldn't let him call and take her to the hospital the next
morning, or, rather, later that same morning. She accepted, she
hoped that, if he were with her, she gratefully; would be
admitted to see Burlingham and could assure herself that he was
well taken care of.
The night porter tried to detain her for a little chat. "Well,"
said he, "it's a good hospital--for you folks with money. Of
course, for us poor people it's different.
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