Richardson was often placed between the two horns of a dilemma, as Mrs. Clemens invariably appealed to him when Dan proved refractory.
One morning his mother insisted that he had taken cold, and Dan as stoutly maintained the negative.
"Daniel, you must wear your great coat to school; your face is flushed, and I think you are feverish."
"It's always flushed, mother. I haven't one mite of cold, and I can't stand it to wear a coat this pleasant morning."
"Yes, you must, dear; your tongue is coated. I'll ask Mr. Richardson."
But Rich, who had overheard the conversation, made a bolt for the door, and escaped that time. In the course of an hour, Betty Gookins, the help, came in, bringing in her hand a garment.
"Only look here, ma'am. I went to pump a pail of water, and I couldn't, cause Dan's coat was in the pump-nose."
"O, dear, how that boy does try me! Well, I shall soon be in my grave."
But as the good lady had said the same for the last thirty years, there was evidently hope in the case. Dan, however, was not to escape so easily the watchful care of his mother. That night, when he came in to supper, he was regaled with the odor of salts and senna simmering in the corner.