in a manner displeasing to her. When she entered the ward the next
morning, the doctor was again there, and this time at the waif's bedside,
making avoidance of him out of the question. So with a
"this-is-my-busy-day" manner, she gave him the briefest of greetings,
and then turned to the boy.

"I've brought you some more goodies, Swot, and I found the story," she
announced triumphantly.

"Say, youse a winner, dat's wot youse is; oin't she, doc? Wot's de noime?"

Constance held up to him the red and yellow covered tale. "_The
Cracksman's Spoil, or Young Sleuth's Double Artifice"_ she read out
proudly.

"Ah, g'way! Dat oin't no good. Say, dey didn't do a t'ing to youse, did
dey?"

"What do you mean?"

"Dey sold youse fresh, dat's wot dey did. De Young Sleut books oin't no
good. Dey's nuttin' but a fake extry."

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Constance, crestfallenly. "It took me the whole
afternoon to find it, but I did think it was what you wanted."

"I was sceptical of your being able to get even an approach to newsboy
literature, Miss Durant," said Dr. Armstrong, "and so squandered the large
sum of a dime myself. I think this is the genuine article, isn't it?" he
asked, as he handed to the boy a pamphlet labelled _Old Sleuth on the