"So am I—we all are—by the minute. Every night we're a day's march nearer home! So now jest set right there an' go on dyin', my b'y!"
"Say, now, cut it out," said Spike, wriggling. "That ain't no kind o' way t' cheer an invalid."
"It's th' truth."
"Well, it don't cheer me more, so let's have a lie for a change."
Mrs. Trapes snorted and fell to adding and subtracting busily.
"Say, Ann," said he after awhile, "if you got any more o' that punkin pie I could do some right now. I'm hungry."
"It ain't eatin' time yet."
"But—Gee! ain't I a invalid?"
"Sure! Consequently you must be fed slow an' cautious."
"Oh, fudge! What's th' good of a guy bein' a invalid if a guy can't feed when he wants to?"