“Where is your home?” writing what I had said down in a large book.
“In Cuba.”
“Oh!” he ejaculated, with sudden understanding—then, addressing the nurse:
“Did you see anything in the papers about her?”
“Yes,” she replied, I saw a long account of this girl in the Sun on Sunday.” Then the doctor said:
“Keep her here until I go to the office and see the notice again.”
He left us, and I was relieved of my hat and shawl. On his return, he said he had been unable to find the paper, but he related the story of my debut, as he had read it, to the nurse.
“What’s the color of her eyes?”
Miss Grupe looked, and answered “gray,” although everybody had always said my eyes were brown or hazel.
“What’s your age?” he asked; and as I answered, “Nineteen last May,” he turned to the nurse, and said, “When do you get your next pass?” This I ascertained was a leave of absence, or “a day off.”
“Next Saturday,” she said, with a laugh.
“You will go to town?” and they both laughed as she answered in the affirmative, and he said:
“Measure her.” I was stood under a measure, and it was brought down tightly on my head.
“What is it?” asked the doctor.
“Now you know I can’t tell, she said.
“Yes, you can; go ahead. What height?”
“I don’t know; there are some figures there, but I can’t tell.”
“Yes, you can. Now look and tell me.”
“I can’t; do it yourself,” and they laughed again as the doctor left his place at the desk and came forward to see for himself.
