“Well, here’s some poison it can get in its little work on,” Step Hen insisted.
“But it will hurt like sixty.”
“Let her hurt. The more the better; because then I know it’ll be doing its work. Come, let’s have it, Thad.”
Knowing how persistent Step Hen could be when he wanted to, the scoutmaster felt that he must comply with his request. It could do no harm, and at least would make the boy feel easier in his mind.
“Gee! don’t it darken things up some,” Step Hen declared, a little later, when the application had been made.
“It stains a whole lot,” admitted Thad.
“Huh! I’ve got one thing to be thankful for anyhow,” Step Hen remarked.
“Lots of ’em, my boy,” laughed Thad. “But what do you mean in particular?”
“I’m glad he pinched me on the leg,” the other went on, whimsically. “Think if he’d jumped up and dented my nose, and you had to paint it like that! My stars! mebbe I wouldn’t be a sight though.”
“You’d sure never a been able to go back to Cranford,” declared Giraffe, who had been an interested observer of all that went on. “Because they’d all say you’d taken to drink.”