“Twenty-five cents a box is all they are,” continued Kid.
“Oh!” Small swallowed. Then he coughed. “Much obliged,” he murmured.
“That’s all right. I’d do it for you any day, Small. And they are large boxes, too. A quarter’s worth will last you a long time and cure the most stubborn cough. Meanwhile, though, you want to be awfully careful of yourself. If I was you I wouldn’t go out much, and I’d eat as little as I could—especially sweets.”
“I guess it ain’t that bad yet,” murmured Small.
“You can’t tell,” said Kid darkly. “Lots and lots of folks have neglected a cough or a cold and been terribly ill. And over-eating is one of the worst things you can do. If I was you—”
“If you were me,” interrupted Small querulously, “I suppose you’d eat nothing but milk toast and give your puddings and preserves and things to the other fellows! Well, you don’t get ’em!”
Kid looked virtuously indignant. “I don’t want your pudding, Small; and if you think I do, why you go right on and eat it and see how sick you’ll be. Then don’t say I didn’t warn you; that’s all; don’t say I didn’t warn you, Small!”
“What’s the use of making so much fuss? I haven’t coughed but once since I came in here.”
“Three times, Small!”
“Well, all right; but I’m not coughing now, am I?”