noon
He looked at him a minute keenly -- `` Why not come in yourself , now and then , '' he said , `` as he gets better ? Later when you take him away , he will know you -- better for him . '' So the ward became familiar with the red face and Prince Albert coat and striped trousers and patent leather shoes , crunching softly down the still , white room . It was a new Philip Harris , sauntering in at noon with a roll of pictures -- a box of sweets , enough candy to ruin the ward -- a phonograph under one arm and a new bull pup under the other . The pup sprawled on the floor and waked happy laughs up and down the ward and was borne out , struggling , by a hygienic nurse , and locked in the bathroom . The phonograph stayed and played little tunes for them -- jolly tunes , of the music hall , and all outdoors . And Philip Harris enjoyed it as if he were playing with the stock exchange of a world .