“Entertaining, hey? I suppose that means you’ll chatter like a confounded magpie till I’m nearly crazy. I don’t see why women have to be eternally talking!”
“There, there, Uncle Abel, your foot is bad to-day, isn’t it? Aunt Hetty said you were as cross as a teething baby—”
“Oh, she said that, did she?”
“Yes, and she said she hoped to goodness I could chirk you up some, for she’d just about reached the end of her patience!”
“Pooh! She never had any patience! Now, if she were in my plight—full of chronic hereditary gout, and just getting over the grippe—”
“Well, you ought to be thankful it isn’t chronic hereditary grippe! But men can’t stand a bit of discomfort!”
“Confound your impertinence, Miss! What are you talking about? I don’t know what your aunt meant by getting you over here this afternoon! You’ve no more feeling or sympathy than a Dutch doll!”
“Oh, yes I have, Uncle, dear! Here, I’ll rest your foot in an easier position—”
“Ooo! E—E! Ouch!! Gosh, Lilly! I wish I had something to throw at you! Get away, girl!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry for your poor, dear, suffering old wrapped-up bundle of foot! Here, let me put another sofa cushion under it. Say, Uncle, I saw the loveliest burnt leather sofa-pillow in Van Style’s window as I came along! It would suit my room beautifully. There, there, dear, let me rub your forehead with this cologne; isn’t that soothing?”