Old Mr. Wiley | Page 5

impatiently.
"Oh! Eh! Well! Mrs. Wiley, you have undoubtedly discerned, is one of
those self-centered egotists who simply cannot permit people to live
any way but her way. She won't have another dog in the house because
it might interfere with the comfort of that silly damn--excuse me--Pom
of hers. If Frank were a bit older and could feign a penchant for the
Pom and his mother got the idea that the animal's affection might be
alienated from her, she would at once get the child another dog, just to
keep him away from Kiki."
"All of which sounds subtle but isn't very helpful," decided Miss
Beaver with unflattering directness. "I've told Mr. Wiley that I thought
a dog might interest his son and Mr. Wiley replies that his wife won't
let him get one. There is something more behind this and it's obvious
you don't want to tell me."
"Oh, hang it, nurse! You always manage to get your own way with me,
don't you? I'll probably have to marry you one of these days, so I can
keep the upper hand," he grinned. "Well, then, Wiley is a weak sister
and oughtn't to be. He's completely under his chorus-girl wife's thumb.
He lost a good bit in Wall Street and what's left is in her name, so he's
got to watch his step until he's recouped his losses.
"If he were like his father or his grandfather ... but he isn't," snapped
the doctor vexedly. "Now, this boy here, he's a throw-back, young
Frank is. He's the spittin' image of the founder of the family and I'm
willing to wager he's got the grit and determination that once endowed
old Frank Wiley I."
"I've observed," murmured Miss Beaver, "that you and his father call
the boy Frank, while his mother refers to him as Francis."
"That's her hifalutin way of putting on the dog, nurse," Doctor Parris

grinned wickedly. "His name on the birth certificate is Frank but she'd
make a girlish Francis of him if she had her own way. For some reason
she isn't getting it. Her husband sticks to the old family name of Frank
and the boy won't answer to Francis.
"She has a healthy respect for the first old Frank Wiley. If you were to
see the family album, nurse, you'd be quick to catch the look in the old
boy's eyes. Nobody ever put anything over on that lad, believe me."
"I've no doubt of that," thought Miss Beaver to herself, the indomitable
countenance of her midnight visitor clear before her mind's eye. It was
astonishing, that strong family resemblance. Aloud she snapped:
"Family album, indeed! What I'm after is to get permission for this
child to have a pet. I'm positive it would make all the difference in the
world to him."
"You won't get permission, nurse. Mrs. Frank won't have any other pets
around to bother precious Kiki," he said grimly.
"Not if it's a matter of life or death?" she persisted.
"She would laugh at your putting it just that way," growled the doctor,
an absent expression stealing over his kindly face.
"Well, we'll see what we'll see," observed Miss Beaver cryptically, her
mouth an ominous tight red line.
* * * * *
The doctor suddenly spoke close to her ear, an odd note in his voice.
"I'm going to prescribe something very unusual, nurse. Tomorrow night
a covered basket will be delivered here for you. Take it into the boy's
room and open it if he wakens during the night. Understand?"
"I can't say I do, Dr. Parris."
"You will," he promised. "I'll take that basket and its contents when I
come around for my morning call. Unless," he told her grimly, "I can

see my way to make the prescription stick."
It was with the utmost anxiety that Miss Beaver awaited the coming
that night of old Mr. Wiley. The day nurse had told her that Frank had
eaten a good lunch and what for him was a hearty supper. He had
agreed to sleep if he were awakened the moment Spot arrived, and Miss
Beaver had accepted his whispered offer. To her relief, he fell asleep
immediately, natural color on his thin cheeks.
Mr. Wiley's light tap came on the door panel. She met his grave smile
with a soft exclamation of welcome. The small dog was tucked under
one arm and he paused to warn her with that admonitory touch of one
finger to his lips that the secret of his visits must be preserved. She
nodded comprehension, leaned over the sleeping boy and whispered
softly in his ear.
He stirred, opened drowsy eyes. Then he pulled himself up on his
pillow, reaching thin hands out to the spotted dog which nipped
playfully at him.
"Isn't