“Yes.”

“Did I consult Dr. Ballard this afternoon?”

“Not that I noticed,” returned Mr. Evringham; and Jewel suspected from his expression that she had said something amusing.

“Well, it was a word that sounded like consult that Mrs. Forbes said I did.”

“Insult, perhaps,” suggested Mr. Evringham.

“Oh yes.  How do you spell it, grandpa?”

Mr. Evringham told her, and added dryly, “That was rather too strong language for Mrs. Forbes to apply to the fact.”

“Yes,” replied the child.  “I knew it was a hating word.”  Then without further parley she squared her elbows on the table and bent over her sheet of paper.

“I wonder what version of it she’ll give her mother,” thought the broker, rummaging vaguely in the pigeon holes of his desk.  His labors finally sifted down to the unearthing of a late novel from a drawer at his right hand, and lowering a convenient, green-shaded electric light, he lit his cigar, and was soon lost in the pages of the story.

At last he became conscious that the pencil at the table had ceased to move, and lowering his book he looked up.  His granddaughter had been watching for this happy event, and she no sooner met his eyes than, with a smile of satisfaction, she jumped from her morocco perch and brought him a sheet of paper well and laboriously covered.

“I suppose it isn’t all spelled right,” she said.  “I didn’t want to disturb you to ask; but will you please direct this to Dr. Ballard?”

“To Dr. Ballard!” repeated Mr. Evringham.  His curiosity impelled him.  “Shall I see if it is spelled right?”

Jewel assenting, he read the following in a large and waving hand.

DEAR DOCTOR BALUD—­Mrs. Forbs felt bad because I did not take your Medsin.  She said it was an insult.  I want to tell you I did not meen an Insult.  We can’t help loving God beter than any body, but I love you and if I took any medsin I would rather take yours than any boddy’s.  Mrs. Forbs says you will send a big Bill to Grandpa and that it was error to waist it.  Please send the Bill to me because I have Plenty of munny, and I shall love to pay you.  You were very kind and did not put any thing on my Tung.

Your loving JEWEL.

Mr. Evringham continued to look at the signature for a minute before he spoke.  Jewel was leaning against his arm and reading with him.  The last lines slanted deeply, there being barely room in the lower corner for the writer’s name.

“I can’t write very straight without lines,” she said.

“You do very well indeed,” he returned.  “About that bill, Jewel,” he added after a moment.  “Perhaps you would better let me pay it.  I believe you said you had three dollars, but even that won’t last forever, you know.  You’ve spent some of it, too.  How much, now?”

“I’ve spent fifty cents.”  Jewel cast a furtive look around at the chicken, “And, oh yes, fifty cents more for the telegram.  How much do you think Dr. Ballard’s bill will be?”