“There's nothing very new in that idea,” answered Jack Beecham. “History, just at this time of the year, has the pleasantest way in the world of repeating itself.”
“You'll be accused of having brains, Jack,” said Henning, “if you keep on that way. If it is not too great a waste of gray matter, or too violent a cerebration for you, just try to listen to me for a moment.”
Jack Beecham fell against the wall, and fanned himself with his handkerchief.
“Poor fellow! Isn't it too bad! and so near the holidays, too,” he said. “Does any one know when the first symptoms appeared?”Jack turned to Shealey and Bracebridge. “Hadn't we better call an ambulance at once?”
“You'll need one if you don't stop your nonsense and listen to me,” said Roy, and he doubled up his great fist. His friends knew Roy's blows, although given only in jest, and having no desire for sore bones for Christmas, they were immediately all attention. Henning laughingly relaxed his muscles and allowed his hands to fall to his sides.
“I thought I could bring you fellows to reason," he remarked.
“We are all attention. Say on, say on,” they shouted.
“My idea is this, then. When we get our Christmas boxes, we shall each have much more than we need. Now you know the Little Sisters of the Poor maintain a large number of men and women in their institution. Without any settled income, don't you think it must often be a difficult matter for them to secure enough for the old people to eat and drink?”
“Never thought anything about it. Guess it's true, though; but how does that affect us?”