Honest to goodness, I _got_ to stay. Mrs. Snawdor don't believe it's
smallpox. She'll slip the children in when you ain't looking and go out
herself and see the neighbors. Don't you see that somebody's got to be
here that understands?"

"The girl's right, Lavinski," said Dr. Adair. "She knows the ropes here,
and can be of great service to us. The nurse downstairs can't begin to
do it all. Now let us have a look at the patient."

Little Mr. Snawdor was hardly worth looking at. He lay rigid, like a
dried twig, with his eyes shut tight, and his mouth shut tight, and his
hands clenched tighter still. It really seemed as if this time Mr.
Snawdor was going to make good his old-time threat to quit.

Dr. Adair gave the necessary instructions; then he turned to go. He had
been watching Nance, as she moved about the room carrying out his orders,
and at the door he laid a hand on her shoulder.

"How old are you, my girl?" he asked.

"Twenty."

"We need girls like you up at the hospital. Have you ever thought of
taking the training?"

"Me? I haven't got enough spondulicks to take a street-car ride."

"That part can be arranged if you really want to go into the work.
Think it over."