But Toby would have none of it.
“Set you down, Zip,” he cried. “I got this doorway. Guess the table’ll fit Sandy. He’s kind o’ high in his notions. I jest see Bill comin’ along up from the river. Looked like he was comin’ this way. How’s the kids?”
“Why, bully,” said Scipio amiably. “Y’see, I got ’em fixed right all right since Sunny wrote out those regulations for me. Those regulations are jest dandy, and I’m desperate obliged to him. A feller would need to be a bum sort of fool, anyhow, who couldn’t fix kids right with it all set out so careful. There sure are things set down there I’d never have thought of––an’ I’m their father, too.” He paused and glanced nervously round at the friendly faces. Then, with evident anxiety, he hurried on. “I was just thinkin’,” he exclaimed, “maybe some hot coffee wouldn’t come amiss. Y’see, I ain’t no rye. Guess I’ll make that coffee right away. I got water cooking on the stove. I was goin’ to use it for bathin’ the kids, but––”
His visitors exchanged swift glances, and Sunny broke in. “Don’t do it, Zip,” he said with an amiable grin. “These boys don’t figger to unpickle their vitals with no sech truck as coffee. Say”––his eyes wandered to where his carefully written regulations were posted, “talkin’ o’ baths, have you physicked the kids right?”
Scipio, feeling somewhat relieved, returned to his chair and lodged himself upon its edge. He could not settle himself at his ease. Somehow he felt that these men were entirely his superior in all those things which count for manhood; and the kindness of such a visit rather overwhelmed him. Then, too, he was sincerely regretting his inadequate hospitality. Now he became nervously enthusiastic.
“I sure did,” he cried eagerly. “Those physics were real elegant. If you’ll tell me what they cost you, Sunny, I’ll square up now. How––”
He pulled out some money, but the loafer waved it aside with ridiculous dignity.
“Thievin’ doctors needs pay. I ain’t no bum doc. What you give ’em––the kids?”
Scipio bundled his money back into his pocket, flushing at the thought that he had unintentionally insulted his benefactor.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “I didn’t give ’em no corn cure. Y’see,” he added apologetically, “I couldn’t find no corns on ’em to speak of. But,” he went on more hopefully, “I give ’em the cough cure. They ain’t got no coughs, neither of ’em, but, seein’ they was to take a bath, I guessed it ’ud be a kind of precaution. Then there were them powders. How were they called? Why––Lick––Lick––well, they were called Lick––something. Anyways, I give ’em one each. They didn’t take ’em easy, an’ was nigh sick, but they got ’em down after awhile. Then, seein’ they got bruises on their legs, playin’, I rubbed ’em good with hoss lin’ment. After that I give ’em some o’ that tonic––quinine an’ something. An’ then, seein’ they couldn’t eat food this mornin’, an’ had got sick headaches, I give ’em one o’ them fizzy Seidlitz fellers between ’em. Jamie bein’ the smallest I give him the thin white packet, an’ the other, the blue one, I give to Vada. That seemed to fix them good, an I guess they’re most ready fer their baths by now.”