“Pretty bad; was I, Andy?”
“Yes.”
“Whew! What a headache! Any ice water left?”
“I’ll get some.”
“Never mind. What’s there’ll do.”
It was morning—there always is a “morning after.” Perhaps it is a good thing, for it is nature’s protest against violations of her code of health.
Dunk drank deep of the water Andy handed him.
“That’s better,” he said, with a sigh. “Guess I won’t get up just yet.”
“Going to cut out chapel?”
“I should say yes! My head is splitting now and to go there and hear that old organ booming out hymns would snap it off my neck. No chapel for me!”