ng without her at the theatre," groaned the
husband.

"I'd suggest waiting a day or two. Believe me, my dear sir, the child
will pull through. I will do all that can be done, sir. Rest easy."
His manner was quite different, now that he knew the importance of his
patient. He readjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "I hope to
have the pleasure of seeing Mrs.--er--your wife, sir."

"She has a regular physician in town," said Harvey, politely.

For two weeks he nursed Phoebe, day and night, announcing to the
doctor in the beginning that his early training made him quite
capable. There were moments when he thought she was dying, but they
passed so quickly that his faith in the physician's assurances rose
above his fears. Acting on the purely unselfish motive that Nellie
would be upset by the news, he kept the truth from her, and she went
on singing and dancing without so much as a word to distress her. Two
Sundays passed; her own lamentable illness kept her away from the
little house in Tarrytown.

"If we tell her about Phoebe," said Harvey to Bridget and Annie,
"she'll go all to pieces. Her heart may stop, like as not. Besides,
she'd insist on coming out and taking care of her, and that would be
fatal to the show. She's never had diphtheria. She'd be sure to catch
it. It goes very hard with grown people."

"Have you ever had it, sir?" asked Annie, anxiously.

"Three times," said Harvey, who hadn't thought of it up to that
moment.

When the child was able to sit up he put in his time reading "David
Copperfield" to her.

Later on he played "jacks" with her and cut pictures out of the comic
supplements. By the end of the month he was thinner and more "peaked,"
if anything, than she. Unshaven, unshorn, unpressed was he, but he was
too full of joy to give heed to his own personal comforts or
requirements.

His mind was beginning to be sorely troubled over one thing. Now that
Phoebe was well and getting strong he realised that Nellie would be
furious when she found out how ill the child had been and how she had
been deceived. He considered the advisability of keeping it from her
altogether, swearing every one to secrecy, but there was the doctor's
bill to be paid. When it came to paying that Nellie would demand an
explanation. It was utterly impossible for him to pay it himself.
Thinking over his unhappy position, he declared, with a great amount
of zeal, but no vigour, that he was going to get a job and be
in