His condition was growing worse, every day.
XVIII
THE BIG, FAT LUMMOX
In the morning sunshine, Mrs. Baxter stood at the top of the steps of the front porch, addressing her son, who listened impatiently and edged himself a little nearer the gate every time he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“Willie,” she said, “you must really pay some attention to the laws of health, or you'll never live to be an old man.”
“I don't want to live to be an old man,” said William, earnestly. “I'd rather do what I please now and die a little sooner.”
“You talk very foolishly,” his mother returned. “Either come back and put on some heavier THINGS or take your overcoat.”
“My overcoat!” William groaned. “They'd think I was a lunatic, carrying an overcoat in August!”
“Not to a picnic,” she said.