“I guessed you’d treat ’em right,” approved Sunny seriously. “Ther’ ain’t nothin’ like physic. You’re sure a wise guy, Zip.”
Sandy Joyce agreed, too.
“You was dead right,” he said impressively. “It don’t never do takin’ chances with kids o’ that age. Chances is bum things, anyway. Y’see, kids ken ketch such a heap o’ things. Ther’s bile, an’ measles, an’ dropsy, an’ cancer, an’ hydryfoby, an’ all kinds o’ things. They’s li’ble to ketch ’em as easy as gettin’ flies wi’ molasses. An’ some o’ them is ter’ble bad. Ever had hydryfoby? No? Wal, I ain’t neither, but I see a feller with it oncet, an’ he jest went around barkin’ like a camp dog chasin’ after swill bar’ls, an’ was scared to death o’ water––”
“Some folks don’t need hydryfoby fer that,” put in Toby, with a grin.
“Ther’ ain’t no call fer you buttin’ in,” flashed Sandy angrily. “Guess I’m talkin’ o’ things you ain’t heerd tell of. You ain’t out o’ your cradle yet.”
He turned back to his host and prepared to continue his list of horrors, but Sunny forestalled him.
“Talkin’ o’ water,” he said, “you ain’t bathed the kids yet?”
Scipio shook his head.
“The water’s cookin’.”
“Cookin’?” Toby whistled.