“Don't TALK.... There, drink that.”
Galusha obediently drank the rum. Martha tenderly untied the scarf.
“Tell me if it hurts,” she said. Her patient looked at her in surprise.
“Why, no, it—ah—it is very nice,” he said. “I—ah—quite like the taste, really.”
“Heavens and earth, I don't mean the rum. I hope that won't HURT anybody, to say the least. I mean—Why, there isn't anything the matter with it!”
“Matter with it? I don't quite—”
“Matter with your head.”
Galusha raised a hand in bewildered fashion and felt of his cranium.
“Why—ah—no, there is nothing the matter with my head, so far as I am aware,” he replied. “Does it look as if it were—ah—softening or something?”
Miss Martha ignored the pleasantry. “What have you got it tied up for?” she demanded.