“It's no use,” he complained. “I can't read.”
“What's the matter?” she teased. “Eyes weak?”
“Nope. They're sore, and there's only one thing to do 'em any good, an' that's lookin' at you.”
“All right, then, baby Billy; I'll be through in a jiffy.”
When she had washed the dish towel and scalded out the sink, she took off her kitchen apron, came to him, and kissed first one eye and then the other.
“How are they now. Cured?”
“They feel some better already.”
She repeated the treatment.
“And now?”
“Still better.”