He's broken the fever. Here's some medicine. Every hour a spoonful until
gone, and doctor says he'll be fit as ever in a day or two."

"That's good," said the clown, a lone tear trickling down his cheek. "I
wish I could afford the hotel for the lad, instead of this
rough-and-tumble shack life, but my wife's hospital bills drain me
pretty well."

"Never mind. Better times coming, Billy. Don't you get disheartened,"
cheered the little woman. "Remember now, don't miss that medicine."

Miss Nellis went away. Andy heard poor Billy sigh as he adjusted the
larger mattress.

"There's your bunk," he said to Andy. "Marco will see you early in the
morning."

Andy took off his coat and shoes and lay down on the rude bed. He
watched Midget tracing the outlines of a picture with his white finger
in a book Miss Nellis had brought him.

Andy saw the clown go over to a stool and place a homely, old-fashioned
watch and a spoon and medicine bottle Miss Nellis had given him upon it.

Then Blow came back to the big mattress and sat down on it. He bent his
face in his hands in a tired way. Every minute he would sway with
sleepiness, start up, and try to keep awake.

"The man is half-dead for the want of sleep, worn out with all his
worries," thought Andy. "Mr. Blow," he said aloud, sitting up, "I can't
sleep a wink. This is all so new to me. I'll just disturb you rustling
about here. Please let me attend to the little fellow, won't you, and
you take a good sound snooze? Come, it will do you lots of good."

"No, no," began the clown weakly.

"Please," persisted Andy. "Honest, I can't close my eyes. Now don't you
have a care. I'll give Midget his medicine to the second."

Andy felt a glow of real pleasure and satisfaction as the clown lay
down. He was asleep in two minutes. Andy went over to the stool.

"I'm going to be your nurse," he told Midget. "Suppose you sleep, too."

"I can't," answered the little fellow. "I've been asleep all day. Wish I
had another book, I've looked this one through a hundred times."

"I could tell you some stories," Andy suggested. "Good ones."

"Will you, say, will you?" pleaded the clown's boy eagerly.

"You bet--and famous ones."

Andy kept his promise. He ransacked his mind for the brightest stories
he had ever read. Never was there a more interested listener. Andy
talked in a low voice so as not to disturb the clown.

Midget seemed most to like the real stories of his own village life that