P.S. Rose says it is n't fair for people to order without knowing the quality, so we 've done up a little of Mrs. Blossom's in some Homeepatic (I don't know where that "h" ought to come in) pellet bottles, and will send you a half-dozen "for samples," March says, to send to any one to taste you think would like to order. H.C.
"The cure is working famously," said Doctor Heath, rubbing his hands in glee.
"Well," said Mr. Clyde, laughing, "I may as well make the best of it; but I can't help wondering whether the wholesale grocers in town have been asked to place orders with Mount Hunger, or the Washington Market dealers for prospective chickens! There 's your office-bell; I won't keep you longer, but if this 'special case' of yours should develop any new symptoms, just let me know."
"I 'll keep you informed," rejoined the Doctor. "Better run up there pretty soon, Johnny," he called after him.
"I think it's high time, Dick. Good-bye."
At that very moment, a symptom of another sort was developing in Z---- Hall, Number 9, at Harvard.
Jack Sherrill and his chum were discussing the last evening's Club theatricals. "I saw that pretty Maude Seaton in the third or fourth row, Jack; did she come on for that,--which, of course, means you?"
"Wish I might think so," said Jack, half in earnest, half in jest, pulling slowly at his corn-cob pipe.
"By Omar Khayyam, Jack! you don't mean to say you 're hit, at last!"
"Hit,--yes; but it's only a flesh-wound at present,--nothing dangerous about it."