“Kit’s going to stay with you while Daddy gets some sleep.” She turned to her father and added, “You must go home and sleep some, Dad.” His hollow eyes betrayed the fact that he had been up all night.
“I’ve had breakfast, but bed will be very welcome. If Billy’s very good today maybe we’ll take him home tomorrow. That new bike will be waiting if he takes his medicine well and gets strong in a hurry.”
“I’ll be a good boy, Dad,” Billy promised.
Kitty spent the day at the hospital, and didn’t go home until Hazel came in on night duty. Her father had gone to his office in the early afternoon, but he, also, was ready to go home as Kitty left. She was very tired, but so relieved that Billy was getting well that nothing else mattered.
As they walked home in the twilight she could still feel her father’s depression. When they had gone a block in silence she slipped her hand through his arm and asked, “What’s wrong, Dad? Billy’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”
“Oh yes. Yes indeed! His throat has cleared up remarkably fast.”
“But you’re still worried about something.”
“I’m afraid I am, Kitten. It’s not a new worry by any means. Things are rather messed up at the hospital in connection with my work.”
“What do you mean, Dad? I’ve felt for a long time that something was wrong.”
“I haven’t wanted to worry you, but if you must know there’s a shortage somewhere—a leak that I can’t locate.”
“The inspector’s coming next week.” Her father’s tone was bitter. “I wouldn’t want to follow Dawson to Santiago, or somewhere else equally as remote.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kitty waited until her father had eaten dinner before bringing up the subject that had weighed on her mind since the previous evening. She knew she would have no peace until she had made a clean breast of the whole thing. When her father was in his big chair in the living room she sank on the couch near by.
“Dad, how long does it take a germ—like a strep germ—to develop after a person gets infected?” she asked.
“Two or three days, sometimes sooner. We still have a lot to learn about such things.”
“Then it’s all my fault that Billy’s ill.”
“Your fault?” Mr. Carter dropped the paper he had just picked up.