Old Mr. Wiley | Page 7

seeking the fox-terrier that still hesitated in the
middle of the room. Miss Beaver understood. She gently wakened the
small patient, who sat up rubbing sleepy eyes expectantly. The dog,
sensing a play-mate, bounded upon the bed and began lapping at
Frank's eager fingers with small whimperings.
"He loves me. Don't you, Spot? Look, nurse. He has black spots over
his eyes, bigger than I remembered them. And he seems littler tonight,

doesn't he? But he knows me. Gee, I wish I could keep him all the
time."
Old Mr. Wiley sat silently in a comfortable chair at the shadowy back
of the room as he had done on his previous visits but his severe old
features softened as he watched the happy child and the antics of the
little dog. When at last Frank's eyes grew humid and heavy with sleep,
and he began to slip down on his pillow, he clung to his canine
playmate, refusing to relinquish the puppy which had cuddled cosily
against him.
Old Mr. Wiley's heavy brows lifted into a straight line over his high
nose. A grimly ironical smile drew up the corners of his mouth. He
made a gesture of resignation. His humorously twinkling eyes met the
consternation in Miss Beaver's but he appeared pleased and unmoved at
the prospect of the dog's remaining with the boy. He rose from his
comfortable chair, drew a deep breath, again touched the admonitory
finger to his lips and withdrew, still smiling. The door closed quietly
behind his stately blue-clad figure.
Miss Beaver told herself agitatedly that he had no business to throw the
onus of the whole situation onto her shoulders; but even while she
resented this high-handed behavior she was inwardly aware with one of
her strong intuitions that old Mr. Wiley knew indubitably what he was
about, and that at the psychological moment he would justify her in
permitting the dog to remain with young Frank.
She was in no hurry the following morning to turn over her patient to
the day nurse and lingered on in the hope that Doctor Parris would
appear early enough to get the dog away, as he had half hinted. That he
would do his best to make the prescription stick she saw immediately
after he took a single look at young Frank who sat up nimbly, his color
normal for the first time in weeks. The suppressed excitement in the
atmosphere Doctor Parris could hardly be expected to understand until
the boy drew back the covers to show the inquisitive black nose and
beady eyes hidden beneath.
"Gee, Doctor Parris, isn't he just the cutest dog you ever saw?"

chuckled young Frank. "Oh, gosh, here she comes!"
The cover was whipped over the dog, whose whimpers subsided with
uncommonly good sense. Perhaps young Mrs. Wiley might not have
felt the puppy's presence but Kiki's sharp nose was not so easily put
upon. Kiki, with a shrill bark, scrambled from her arms and leaped
upon the bed where he began scratching furiously at the cover which
Frank was holding desperately but vainly against this unexpected
onslaught.
"What on earth ..." began his mother, her eyes going from Kiki to Miss
Beaver's harried expression. "Oh! A nasty little dog right in Francis's
bed! Francis, push it out! It's probably full of fleas. How did that nasty
little mongrel get in here?"
"This pup isn't a mongrel, Mrs. Wiley," snapped the doctor. "Anyone
can see with half an eye it's a pedigreed animal."
She disregarded him. "Frank! Come here! Nurse, you should have
known better than to allow that horrid little mutt...."
Frank Wiley III almost ran into the room, obviously distressed over
something quite different from his wife's trouble.
"Somebody has meddled with one of our family portraits," he cried
with obvious agitation. "It's been damaged...."
"Oh, bother the family portraits!" shrilled his wife, highly exasperated.
"Look at the nasty common dog this nurse has let Francis have right in
his bed! I never heard of such nerve! Call Mason! Have him put this
dog out immediately!"
"I'll take the dog, if it's to be put out," growled Doctor Parris. "I know a
good dog when I see one," he muttered resentfully.
"Let me see that dog!" exclaimed Frank Wiley III in a strangely grave
voice. He pushed the frantically excited Kiki from the bed to the floor.
He drew back the cover from the little dog huddled apprehensively

against young Frank's thin body. "Oh, good Lord! It's incredible! It just
isn't possible!"
"Isn't it?" snapped his wife, looking with distastefully wrinkled nose at
her husband's chalky face, wide staring eyes. "Well, here it is and out it
goes. Ring for Mason, Frank, at once. I want this dirty little mongrel
out!"
* * * * *
Without paying the