It was midnight. The doctor was snoring so loudly that he had awakened Mary. Just in time. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling-ling. By hard work she got him awake. He floundered out and along toward the little tyrant. He reached it.
“Hello. What is it?”
“O! I got the wrong number.”
“Damnation!”
Slumber again. After some time Mary was awakened by her husband's voice asking, “What is it?”
“It's time for George to take his medicine. We've been having a dispute about it. I said it was the powder he was to take at two o'clock and he said it was the medicine in the bottle. Now he's mad and won't take either.”
“It was the powder. Tell him I say for him to take it now.”
The answering voice sank to a whisper, but the words came very distinctly, “I'm afraid he won't do it—he's so stubborn. I wish it was the bottle medicine because I believe he would take that.”
The doctor chuckled. “Give him that,” he said. “It won't make a great deal of difference in this case, and thinking he was in the right will do him more good than the powder. Good night and report in the morning.”