"Well, what about the cellar?"
"It's full of water, sir."
"Is that all? Humph, I don't see that you've any kick coming, Mr. Sorter. You surely didn't expect a cellar full of champagne for ten dollars a month."
The matter was of course satisfactorily adjusted, after Bob had enjoyed his little joke, and we went on our way to the hospital.
Now, a hospital isn't the most cheerful place in the world, and yet now and then there is some gleam of humor breaks out there.
Human nature is a queer combination, and I've known men who would joke even under the surgeon's knife.
When we entered the room where poor Huggins lay, we found that two physicians were beside his cot holding a consultation over him, and that it was suspected he had a severe case of appendicitis concealed about his person.
"I believe," said one of the surgeons, "that we should wait and let him get stronger before cutting into him."