"No, sir," said Bubbles, "I wasn't dead, only sick. She brought me
here, and had her own father and a nurse to take care of me. And now I'm
Buttons." And he went on glibly: "Come right in; Miss Ferris is
expecting you. I guess she wants you to sit on the platform over in
the window."

Blizzard, having unslung his hand-organ and slid it with a show of
petulance into a corner, crossed the room, swinging strongly and easily
between his crutches, like a fine piece of machinery, climbed upon the
model's platform, and seated himself in the plain deal chair which
already occupied it. From this point of vantage he turned and looked
down at the boy.

"So," he said, "her father _is_ Dr. Ferris."

"He's _the_ Dr. Ferris," Bubbles returned loyally.

"So--so--so," said the legless one slowly, and he closed his eyes for a
moment as if he was tired. Then, opening them, and in abrupt tones: "Pay
you well?"

"Yes, sir."

"Many people come here?"

Bubbles, who had gone to school--not in the schools, but in the city of
New York itself--could lie without the least tremor or change of
feature, and with remarkable suddenness. "Lots and lots of 'em," he
said. "_She's_ well known."