“Isn’t soup a beautiful thing?” asked Kingsford.
Phillip smiled in spite of himself.
“You’re mighty cute, aren’t you?” he asked scathingly.
“So-so; at least, I know the symptoms.”
“What symptoms?”
“Tut, tut, my boy; don’t blush!”
“Oh, go to thunder. How’s Miss Kingsford?”
“Brave and honest youth! I have the pleasure of informing you that my sister’s health is much the same as when you last saw her some forty-eight hours ago.”
“Oh!”