'Soap and water!' I echoed, 'yes, that sounds the worst—the best, I mean. Get it at once, Elizabeth.'
'Enough to make a good lather, should you think, 'm?'
'Oh, must I?' wailed the Kid, still questioning inexorable Fate.
We all united in preparing the soap and water to avoid delay. Elizabeth boiled the water. Henry cut the soap into small flakes, and I beat it up into a lather. Then, now in a condition of feverish anxiety, I handed The Kid the foaming mixture.
'Drink,' I panted.
'Oh, mus——' she began.
'Don't say that again!' I exclaimed, overwrought by the intensity of my emotions. 'Can't you see how serious it is, child? You might die any minute.'
She drank off the contents of the glass without further question.
'Well, that ought to do it,' commented Henry, looking at a few iridescent bubbles at the bottom of the glass. 'I made it strong.'
There was a strained silence when I almost seemed to hear my own heart beats. 'How—how—do you feel, now, darling?' I asked at last.