In a twinkling, Roger's despair was changed to something entirely different. "Oh," he cried, "I do hope Fido will die. Do you think there is any chance?" he asked, eagerly, of Allan.
"I should think, from what you tell me," remarked Allan, judicially, "that Fido was nearly through with his earthly troubles. A dose of that size might easily keep any of us from worrying any longer about the price of meat and next month's rent."
"Mother won't like it," said Roger, soberly. "She may not be willing for me to go."
"She should be," returned Allan, "as you've saved her life at the expense of Fido's. When I go up to see Barbara this afternoon, I'll stop in and tell her."
Unexpected Call
Miss Mattie was awake, but yawning, when he knocked at her door. "There wasn't no call for you to come," she said, inhospitably; "the medicine ain't used up yet."
"Let me see the box, please."
She shuffled off to the kitchen cupboard and brought it to him. There were half a dozen flour-filled capsules in it. Allan observed that the druggist, in writing the directions on the cover, had failed to add the last two words.
"Idiot," he said, under his breath. "I wrote, 'Take two every four hours until relieved.'"
"I was relieved," explained Miss Mattie, "and I've had fine sleep ever since. It's wore off considerable in the last three days, though."