“MRS. BENSON,” said Joel, regarding her fixedly, “they used to say of me in the old days, that I was perfectly dreadful when I was sick, to make them stand round, you know, and all that. Now, I know you won’t say that, will you?” he asked wheedlingly.
“I don’t know,” said the little old lady, shaking her head at her minister. “You do get your own way somehow or other, sir.”
Joel burst into a loud laugh, then he pulled himself up.
“Jim,” he said, “I’m dreadfully abused by them all, am I not, my fine fellow?” to a man in the corner.
“Hey, sir?” said Jim, coming forward.
“I say I’m most dreadfully abused,” cried Joel. “Now, I’m going to get up out of this bed,” giving a smart kick to the clothes.
“And I say you mustn’t,” cried the little old lady in alarm, and running, both hands full of dishes which she cast on a table on her way. “Hold down the clothes, Jim, that side; oh! what would the doctor say?”
“A fig for the doctor!” cried Joel with another lunge, that brought all the clothes clear away from both sides. “Now, Jim, hand me my toggery, and help me into it.”
“Oh, oh!” cried little Mrs. Benson, finding the clothes twitched out of her hands, beginning now to wring them together. “What shall we do? Son Henry has gone to his store, or I’d call him.”
“And ‘son Henry’ couldn’t do a bit of good if he were here,” observed Joel calmly; and, sitting on the side of the bed, he issued orders for his raiment, to right and to left, to Jim. “No, Mother Benson, I’m not going to be caught by all my family, after they cabled they were to start—why, they may be here to-morrow, and I tucked into bed like a sick baby. No, indeed, ma’am! Why, I’m as well as a fish.”