“Why, for the love of Mike,” said Steve, “don’t you know me, kid? I’m not a porch-climber. Don’t you remember Steve who used to raise Hades with you at the studio? Darn it, I’m your godfather! I’m Steve!”
William Bannister sat up, partially reassured.
“What’s Steve?” he inquired.
“I’m Steve.”
“Why?”
“How do you mean—why?”
The large eyes inspected him gravely.
“I remember,” he said finally.
“Well, don’t go forgetting, kid. I couldn’t stand a second session like that. I got a weak heart.”
“You’re Steve.”
“That’s right. Stick to that and we’ll get along fine.”
“I thought you were a germ.”
“A what?”
“They get at you and hurt you.”
“Who said so?”
“Mamie.”
“Are you scared of germs?”
The White Hope nodded gravely.
“I have to be sterilized because of them. Are you sterilized?”
“Nobody ever told me so. But, say, kid, you don’t want to be frightened of germs or microbes or bacilli or any of the rest of the circus. You don’t want to be frightened of nothing. You’re the White Hope, the bearcat that ain’t scared of anything on earth. What’s this germ thing like, anyway?”
“It’s a⸺I’ve never seen one, but Mamie says they get at you and hurt you. I think it’s a kind of big sort of ugly man that creeps in when you’re asleep.”
“So that’s why you thought I was one?”
The White Hope nodded.
“Forget it!” said Steve. “Mamie is a queen, all right, believe me, but she’s got the wrong dope on this microbe proposition. You don’t need to be scared of them any more. Why, some of me best pals are germs.”
“What’s pals?”
“Why, friends. You and me are pals. Me and your pop are pals.”
“Where’s pop?”
“He’s gone away.”
“I remember.”
“He thought he needed a change of air. Don’t you ever need a change of air?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you do. Take it from me. This is about the punkest joint I ever was in. You don’t want to stay in a dairy-kitchen like this.”
“What’s dairy-kitchen?”
“This is. All these white tiles and fixings. It makes me feel like a pint of milk to look at ’em.”
“It’s because of the germs.”
“Ain’t I telling you the germs don’t want to hurt you?”
“Aunt Lora told Mamie they do.”
“Say, cull, you tell your Aunt Lora to make a noise like an ice-cream in the sun and melt away. She’s a prune, and what she says don’t go. Do you want to know what a germ or a microbe—it’s the same thing—really is? It’s a fellow that has the best time you can think of. They’ve been fooling you, kid. They saw you were easy, so they handed it to you on a plate. I’m the guy that can put you wise about microbes.”
“Tell me.”
“Sure. Well, a microbe is a kid that just runs wild out in the country. He don’t have to hang around in a white-tiled nursery and eat sterilized junk and go to bed when they tell him to. He has a swell time out in the woods, fishing and playing around in the dirt and going after birds’ eggs and picking berries, and—oh, shucks, anything else you can think of. Wouldn’t you like to do that?”
William Bannister nodded.
“Well, say, as it happens, there’s a fine chance for you to be a germ right away. I know a little place down in the Connecticut woods which would just hit you right. You could put on overalls—”
“What’s overalls?”
“Sort of clothes. Not like the fussed-up scenery you have to wear now, but the real sort of clothes which you can muss up and nobody cares a darn. You can put ’em on and go out and tear up Jack like a regular kid all you want. Say, don’t you remember the fool stunts you and me used to pull off in the studio?”
“What studio?”
“Gee! you’re a bit shy on your English, ain’t you? It makes it sort of hard for a guy to keep up what you might call a flow of talk. Still, you should worry. Why, don’t you remember where you used to live before you came to this joint? Big, dusty sort of place, where you and me used to play around on the floor?”
The White Hope nodded.
“Well, wouldn’t you like to do that again?”
“Yes.”
“And be a regular microbe?”
“Yes.”
Steve looked at his watch.
“Well, that’s lucky,” he said. “It happens to be exactly the right time for starting out to be one. That’s curious, ain’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve got a pal—friend, you know—”
“Is he a germ?”
“Sure. He’s waiting for me now in an automobile in the park—”
“Why?”
“Because I asked him to. He owns a garage. Place where automobiles live, you know. I asked him to bring out a car and wait around near by, because I might be taking a pal of mine—that’s you—for a ride into the country tonight. Of course, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. Only it’s mighty nice out there. You can spend all tomorrow rolling about in the grass and listening to the birds. I shouldn’t wonder if we couldn’t borrow a farmer’s kid for you to play with. There’s lots of them around. He should show you the best time you’ve had in months.”
William Bannister’s eyes gleamed. The finer points of the scheme were beginning to stand out before him with a growing clarity.
“Would I have to take my bib?” he asked excitedly.
Steve uttered a scornful laugh.
“No, sir! We don’t wear bibs out there.”
As far as William Bannister was concerned, this appeared to settle it. Of all the trials of his young life he hated most his bib.
“Let’s go!”
Steve breathed a sigh of relief.
“Right, squire; we will,” he said. “But I guess we had best leave a letter for Mamie, so’s she won’t be wondering where you’ve got to.”
“Will Mamie be cross?”
“Not on your life. She’ll be tickled to death.”
He scribbled a few lines on a piece of paper and left them on the cot, from which William Bannister had now scrambled.
“Can you dress yourself?” asked Steve.
“Oh, yes.” It was an accomplishment of which the White
