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Updated: May 23, 2025
"He holds the record here for the last six months eleven pounds three ounces in his skin, when he arrived. The little devil!" She put the blanket tenderly back over the little devil's sleeping form. The mandolin-player cast about desperately for the right thing to say. "Does does he look like his father?" she asked timidly. But apparently Liz did not hear. She had moved down the ward.
"Have I!" said Liz, and, wheeling, led the way to her bed. She turned the blanket down with a practised hand, revealing a tiny red atom, so like the others that only mother love could have distinguished it. "This is mine," she said airily. "Funny little mutt, isn't he?" The mandolin-player gazed diffidently at the child. "He he's very little," she said. "Little!" said Liz.
She held her fingers in her ears last Sunday while the Bible-reader was here. She's young. Says she hopes she and the kid'll both die." The mandolin-player was not unversed in the psychology of the ward. "Then she isn't married?" she asked, and because she was young, she flushed painfully. Liz stared at her, and a faint light of amusement dawned in her eyes.
The lame mandolin-player stopped at the foot of the empty bed. "Shall I put one here?" she asked, fingering a tract. Liz meditated majestically. "Well, I guess I would," she said. "Not that it'll do any good." "Why?" Liz jerked her head toward the corridor. "She's not getting on very well," she said; "and, even if she gets through, she won't read the tract.
The mandolin-player heard only a snicker from Annie Petowski's bed, and, vaguely uncomfortable, she moved toward the door. Liz was turning down the cover of the empty bed, and the Nurse, with tired but shining eyes, was wheeling in the operating table. The mandolin-player stepped aside to let the table pass.
"Well, no," she admitted; "I guess that's what's worrying her. She's a fool, she is. She can put the kid in a home. That's what I do. Suppose she married the fellow that got her into trouble? Wouldn't he be always throwing it up to her?" The mandolin-player looked at Liz, puzzled at this new philosophy of life. "Have have you a baby here?" she asked timidly.
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