Annabel

“You will, eh? Well, sir, what’s going to become of those poor grandchildren of mine?” growled the doctor.

“If they are ever in need, sir, I’ll agree to support them.”

“In that event, we’ll dissolve partnership,” said the old fellow, less gruffly. Then he added:

“Put out your tongue!”

“What for?” asked Will

“You’ve got symptoms.”

“Oh what?”

“A disease that’s mighty common,” declared the other, with an amused laugh at his own pleasantry; “but one that seldom proves fatal.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said the boy, with downcast eyes.

Dr. Meigs turned suddenly to Annabel, chucking her playfully underneath her chin before she could draw back.

“Aren’t you in this young lady’s company pretty often these days?”

Will straightened perceptibly, plainly showing his confusion. He glanced shyly at Annabel who stood with downcast eyes, her face suffused with blushes, then he blurted out:

“Of course I am. Annabel’s an old chum.”

THE END