“Ah!” said the doctor, laying down his pen and rubbing his hands. “That’s better;” and he took off his spectacles, made his grey hair stand up all over his head like tongues of silver fire, and looked Dexter over from top to toe.
Thanks to Helen’s supervision, the boy looked very creditable. His hair was of course “cut almost to the bone,” and his face had still the Union look—pale and saddened, but he was dressed in a neat suit which fitted him, and his turn-down collar and black tie seemed to give his well-cut features quite a different air.
“What did I say, Helen!” said the doctor, with a chuckle. “You see what we have done already. Well, sir, how do you feel now!”
“Not very jolly,” said the boy, with a writhe.
“Hem!” coughed the doctor; “not very comfortable you mean!”
“Yes, that’s it,” said Dexter. “Boots hurts my feet, and when the trousers ain’t rubbin’ the skin o’ my legs, this here collar feels as if it would saw my head off.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the doctor stiffly. “You had better put on the old things again.”
“Eh? No, thankye,” cried Dexter eagerly. “I like these here ever so much. Please may I keep ’em!”
“Of course,” said the doctor; “and take care of them, like a good boy.”
“Yes. I’m going to be a very good boy now, sir. She says I am to.”