“Insidious, that’s the word for it,” replied Kid sympathetically. “Insidious. They say a cough’s the worst sort of a symptom. It leads to other things, you see, things like quinsy and diphtheria and bronchitis, Small. If I was you I’d take good care of myself for a while. Don’t ever get your feet wet, Small.”
“I guess they’re wet now,” muttered Small, feeling of his shoes. “They are! I guess I’ll get ’em off.” He coughed again, a truly alarming, hollow cough that produced a sad shake of the head from Kid.
“Haven’t anything you can take, have you?” he asked solicitously. Small, unhappy, shook his head.
“What—what’s good for it?” he asked huskily.
Kid reflected. “Well, if it was me, I’d most certainly take some Tinkham’s Throat-Ease. They’re the very best things I know of, Small, and they’re only a quarter a box.”
“Have you got any, Kid?”
“No, I always mean to have some on hand, but I’m all out of them just now. Maybe you might get some in the village, but I don’t know. They don’t have many up-to-date things there, and Tinkham’s Throat-Ease is a—a new remedy, a modern discovery.”
“I suppose something else would do,” reflected Small. “Sam Perkins has some licorice pastilles that are dandy——”
“Keep away from them!” advised Kid, with a shake of his head. “They’re good to taste, Small, but they have no—no healing virtues. I tell you. I’ve sent for some Tinkham’s and they ought to be here in a day or so, and then I’ll let you have some.”
“Thanks,” said Small gratefully.