“I can’t to-night, Mr. Blaney.  I gotta go somewheres.”

“Aw!”

“I gotta.”

“To-morrow?  To-morrow’s Sunday, little missy.  There’s a swell lot of country I bet you ’ain’t never seen, and Old Doc Strauss is going to tell you to get acquainted with it pretty soon.”

“Country?”

“Yes.  That’s what you need—­outdoors; that’s what you need.  You got a color like all indoors—­pretty, but putty.”

“You—­you don’t think there’s nothing much the matter with me, do you, Mr. Blaney?”

“Sure I don’t.  Why, I got a bunch of Don’ts for you up my sleeve that’ll color you up like drug-store daub.”

Tears and laughter trembled in her voice.  “You mean that the outdoor stuff will do it, Mr. Blaney?”

“That’s the talk!”

“But you—­you ain’t the doctor.”

“I ain’t, but I ’ain’t been deaf and dumb and blind round here for three years.  I can pick ’em every time.  You’re taking your stitch in time.  You ’ain’t even got a wheeze in you.  Why, I bet you ’ain’t never seen red!”

“No!” she cried, with quick comprehension.

“Sure you ’ain’t!”

More tears and laughter in her voice.  “I’m going to-night, then—­at six, Mr. Blaney.”

“Good!  And to-morrow?  There’s a lot of swell country and breathing-space round here I’d like to introduce you to.  I bet you don’t know whether Ingleside Woods is kindling or a breakfast food.  Now do you?”

“No.”

“Ever had a chigger on you?”

“Huh?”

“Ever sleep outdoors in a bag?”

“Say, whatta you think I am?”

“Ever seen the sun rise, or took the time to look up and see several dozen or a couple of thousand or so stars glittering all at once?”

“Aw, come off!  We ain’t doing team-work in vaudeville.”

“Gee! wouldn’t I like to take you out and be the first one to make you acquainted with a few of the things that are happening beyond Sixth Avenue—­if I ain’t too nervy, little missy?”

“I gotta go somewhere at two o’clock to-morrow afternoon, Mr.—­Mr. Blaney; but I can go in the morning—­if it ain’t going to look like I’m a freshie.”

“In the morning!  Swell!  But where—­who—­” She scribbled on a slip of paper and fluttered it into his hand.  “Sara Juke!  Some little name.  Gee!  I know right where you live.  I know a lot of cases that come from round there.  I used to live near there myself, round on Third Avenue.  I’ll call round at nine, little missy.  I’m going to introduce you to the country, eh?”

“They won’t hurt at the clinic, will they, Mr. Blaney?  I’m losing my nerve again.”

“Shame on a pretty little thing like you losing her nerve!  Gee!  I’ve seen ’em come in here all pale round the gills and with nothing but the whooping-cough.  There was a little girl in here last week who thought she was ready for Arizona on a canvas bed; and it wasn’t nothing but her rubber skirtband had stretched.  Shame on you, little missy!  Don’t you get scared!  Wait till you see what I’m going to show you out in the country to-morrow—­leaves turning red and all.  We’re going to have a heart-to-heart talk out there—­eh?  A regular lung-to-lung talk!”