"Papa had to do it! Papa had to do it! You will forgive him, pet?" So the woman whispers.
There is no answer.
The man sprays the air. "You won't blame papa, will you, Davy?"
The answer is eager. "No, please! Please, papa!"
It is a reign of terror erected on the government of love. It is chaos and asthma together.
"It is a horrible deed!" David Lockwin comments inwardly.
"Mother will be so glad," says Esther. She pities the man. She would not have been so cruel. She would have used gentler means, as she had been doing for twenty-eight hours! And Davy would have taken no medicine.
The room is at eighty degrees. The spray goes incessantly. The medicine is taken every half hour.
At three o'clock the emetic acts, giving immediate relief.
"I have heard my mother say," says Esther, "that a child is eased by a change of flannels. He is better now. I think I will put on a clean undershirt."