"Tom!" The very gravity of the speaker's voice was portentous, alarming. Mr. Slater hesitated, his gaze wavered, he scratched his chest unconsciously.
Eliza shook her head pityingly; she uttered an inarticulate murmur of concern.
"You couldn't get my shirt off with a steam-winch. I tell you I'm feeling grand."
"Why WILL you chew the horrid stuff?" Miss Appleton inquired sadly.
"I'm just a little broke out, that's all."
"Ah! You're broken out. I feared so," said the doctor.
The grave concern in those two faces was too much for Slater's sensitive nature; his stubbornness gave way, his self-control vanished, and he confessed wretchedly:
"I spent an awful night, Doc. I'll bust into flame if this keeps up. What is it, anyhow?"
"Is there an eruption of the arms and chest?"
"They're all erupted to hell."