“Yes, but why don’t you take something?”
“What’ll I take?” groaned Martin.
“Soda-mint tablets are good, I think. Hot water, too. Want me to get you some hot water?”
Martin nodded weakly but gratefully, and Willard went off to the lavatory and presently returned with a tooth-mug filled with scalding-hot water. As it was then time for a nine o’clock recitation, he had to leave Martin sipping and shuddering. When he next saw him, shortly before dinner, he was much better physically but in poor mental condition. His disposition was utterly vile. He put his tongue out and wagged it accusingly at Willard.
“I burned my tongue,” he said. “That water was too blamed hot!”
“Too bad,” replied Willard soothingly. “It made you feel better, though, didn’t it?”
“What if it did? What’s the good of feeling better if your tongue is all scalded?” Martin demanded huffily. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” asked Willard indignantly. “Not to burn your tongue, you simp?”
“Tell me it was so hot! How’d I know?”