with a little port in it, and - no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and
then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you
cook."
And hour later she said:
"Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."
The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go
into the hallway as he left.
"Even chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand
in his. "With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another
case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an
artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the
attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the
hospital to-day to be made more comfortable."
The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You
won. Nutrition and care now - that's all."
And that afternoon Sue came to
the bed where Johnsy lay,
contentedly knitting a very blue
and very useless woollen shoulder
scarf, and put one arm around her,
pillows and all.
"I have something to tell you,
white mouse," she said. "Mr.
Behrman died of pneumonia today in the hospital. He was ill only
two days. The janitor found him the morning of the first day in
his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing
were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he
had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern,
still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place,
and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow
colors mixed on it, and - look out the window, dear, at the last ivy
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