Sim the clerk looked up sharply. Hamilton reddened, glowered at him. "I understand," said Sim, leering at her. And in a tone that reeked insinuation which quite escaped her, he went on, "We'll put your name down. What is it?" "Lorna Sackville." "You don't look English--not at all the English style of beauty, eh--Doctor?" "That's all, Miss Sackville," said Hamilton, with a scowl at the clerk. Susan and he went out into Twelfth Street. Hamilton from time to time stole a glance of sympathy and inquiry into the sad young face, as he and she walked eastward together. "He's a strong man and sure to pull through," said the doctor. "Are you alone at the hotel?" "I've nobody but him in the world," replied she. "I was about to venture to advise that you go to a boarding house," pursued the young man. "Thank you. I'll see." "There's one opposite the hospital--a reasonable place." "I've got to go to work," said the girl, to herself rather than to him. "Oh, you have a position." Susan did not reply, and he assumed that she had. "If you don't mind, I'd like to call and see--Mr. Burlingham. The physicians at the hospital are perfectly competent, as good as there are in the city. But I'm not very busy, and I'd be glad to go." "We haven't any money," said the girl. "And I don't know when we shall have. I don't want to deceive you." "I understand perfectly," said the young man, looking at her with interested but respectful eyes. "I'm poor, myself, and have just started." "Will they treat him well, when he's got no money?" "As well as if he paid." "And you will go and see that everything's all right?" "It'll be a pleasure." Under a gas lamp he took out a card and gave it to her. She thanked him and put it in the bosom of her blouse where lay all the money they had--the eleven dollars and eighty cents. They walked to the hotel, as cars were few at that hour. He did all the talking--assurances that her "father" could not fail to get well, that typhoid wasn't anything like the serious disease it used to be, and that he probably had a light form of it. The girl listened, but her heart could not grow less heavy. As he was leaving her at the hotel door, he hesitated, then asked if she wouldn't let him call and take her to the hospital the next morning, or, rather, later that same morning. She accepted, she hoped that, if he were with her, she gratefully; would be admitted to see Burlingham and could assure herself that he was well taken care of. The night porter tried to detain her for a little chat. "Well," said he, "it's a good hospital--for you folks with money. Of course, for us poor people it's different. You couldn't hire _me_ to go there." Susan turned upon him. "Why not?" she asked. "Oh, if a man's poor, or can't pay for nice quarters, they treat him any old way. Yes, they're good doctors and all that. But they're like everybody else. They don't give a darn for poor people. But your uncle'll be all right there."