“Yes, Sherm, but if you get thorns in your hand, it’s better to try to pull them out than to go on pushing them in deeper, isn’t it? I know when I was 299a kid, it always helped a lot to have Mother kiss it better.”
“How’d you get so wise, Chicken Little?” The lad smiled his wry smile.
“Don’t make fun of me, please, Sherm.”
“Make fun of you? Lady Jane, I’ve been taking off my hat to you for a week. How in the dickens you girls find out exactly what’s going on inside a chap beats my time. It’s mighty good of you to put up with my glooming and try to cheer me along. Maybe I don’t look grateful, but I am.” Sherm was eager to make this acknowledgment, but found it more trying than he had anticipated. He revenged himself by starting in to tease.
“Say, I wish you’d try your hand at this splinter–I can’t budge the critter.”
Jane flew for a needle, unsuspecting. The splinter didn’t look serious, but she painstakingly dug it out.
“Is that all right?” she demanded, looking up to encounter a wicked glint in Sherm’s gray eyes.
“Hm-n, aren’t you going to put any medicine on it?”
“Medicine?”
“Well, you know you said it helped.” Sherm was grinning impishly.