This point definitely settled, he picked up his pencil, which was his way of saying, "And now, for heaven's sake—good-night!" But Fifi, her heart much softened toward him, stood her ground, the pile of school-books tucked under her arm.
"Mr. Queed—I—wonder if you won't let me get something to put on your forehead? That bruise is so dreadful—"
"Oh, no! No! It's of no consequence whatever."
"But I don't think you can have noticed how bad it is. Please let me, Mr. Queed. Just a little dab of arnica or witch-hazel—"
"My forehead does very well as it is, I assure you."
Fifi turned reluctantly. "Indeed something on it would make it get well so much faster. I wish you would—"
Ah! There was a thought. As long as he had this bruise people would be bothering him about it. It was a world where a man couldn't even get a black eye without a thousand busybodies commenting on it.
"If you are certain that its healing will be hastened—"
"Positive!" cried Fifi happily, and vanished without more speech.
One Hour a Day to be given to Bodily Exercise.... How long, O Lord, how long!