“Isn’t he perfectly incorrigible?” sighed Constance.

“Ise oin’t,” denied the boy, indignantly.  “Deyse only had me up onct.”

With the question the girl had turned to Dr. Armstrong; then, finding his eyes still intently studying her, she once more gave her attention to the waif.

“Really, I did forget them,” she asserted.  “You shall have a new suit long before you need it.”

“Cert’in dat oin’t no fake extry youse shoutin’?”

“Truly.  How old are you?”

“Wotcher want to know for?” suspiciously asked the boy.

“So I can buy a suit for that age.”

“Dat goes.  Ise ate.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Swot.”

“What?” exclaimed the girl.

“Nah.  Swot,” he corrected.

“How do you spell it?”

“Dun’no’.  Dat’s wot de newsies calls me, ’cause of wot Ise says to de preacher man.”

“And what was that?”

“It wuz one of dem religious mugs wot comes Sunday to de Mulberry Park, see, an’ dat day he wuz gassin’ to us kids ‘bout lettin’ a guy as had hit youse onct doin’ it ag’in; an’ w’en he’d pumped hisself empty, he says to me, says he, ’If a bad boy fetched youse a lick on youse cheek, wot would youse do to ‘im?’ An’ Ise says, ’I’d swot ’im in de gob, or punch ’im in de slats,’ says I; an’ so de swipes calls me by dat noime.  Honest, now, oin’t dat kinder talk jus’ sickenin’?”

“But you must have another name,” suggested Miss Durant, declining to commit herself on that question.

“Sure.”

“And what is that?”

“McGarrigle.”

“And have you no father or mother?”

“Nah.”

“Or brothers or sisters?”

“Nah.  Ise oin’t got nuttin’.”

“Where do you live?”

“Ah, rubber!” disgustedly remarked Swot.  “Say, dis oin’t no police court, see?”

During all these questions, and to a certain extent their cause, Constance had been quite conscious that the doctor was still watching her, and now she once more turned to him, to say, with an inflection of disapproval,—­

“When I spoke to you just now, Dr. Armstrong, I did not mean to interrupt you in your duties, and you must not let me detain you from them.”

“I had made my morning rounds long before you came, Miss Durant,” equably answered the doctor, “and had merely come back for a moment to take a look at one of the patients.”

“I feared you were neglecting—­were allowing my arrival to interfere with more important matters,” replied Miss Durant, frigidly.  “I never knew a denser man,” she added to herself, again seeking to ignore his presence by giving her attention to Swot.  “I should have brought a book with me to-day, to read aloud to you, but I had no idea what kind of a story would interest you.  If you know of one, I’ll get it and come to-morrow.”

“Gee, Ise in it dis time wid bote feet, oin’t Ise?  Say, will youse git one of de Old Sleuts?  Deys de peachiest books dat wuz ever wroten.”