"Oh, you look all right. Your nose looks like a big potato and your ears like two little ones. I can't tell you how your eyes are, for they don't show, but your whole skin looks as if it had been stuffed full of apples and put on in a hurry."
"Bo," said Horatio meekly, "did you bring the fiddle?"
HE FOUND HORATIO SITTING IN THE ROAD, ROCKING AND GROANING.
"Well, yes; I thought it might happen that we'd need it again."
Horatio put out his paw for it. The boy gave it to him and he ran the bow gently over the strings.
"Sing, Bo," he pleaded. "Sing that song about jasmine and cypress and climbing roses. It will soothe me. Sing about girls, too, if you want to, but leave out the oranges, Bo, and put in something else besides honey in the last line."
"Ratio," said Bo, "you've got a touch of the swamp fever. Let me see your tongue!"