“What is it, Charley boy?” asked his mother.
“I’m tired of staying in bed,” announced the young man.
“How do you feel?”
The patient sat up, the better to consider the matter. “I feel,” he stated in positive accents, “like a bucket of oyster stew, a steak as big as my head, with onions all over it, a whole apple pie, a platter of ice-cream, and a game of baseball.”
Mrs. Clyde laughed happily. “I’ll tell the Health Master,” she said. She did, and Dr. Strong came up and looked the patient over carefully.
“You lie back there, young fellow,” he ordered, “and play sick, no matter how well you feel, until I tell you different.”
“How about that beefsteak and pie, Doctor?” inquired the boy wistfully.
“Mere prospects,” retorted the hard-hearted physician. “But you can have some ice-cream.” Conclave of the elders that evening to consider the situation was opened by Dr. Strong.
“We’ve now reached the critical point,” he began.
“Critical?” gasped Mrs. Clyde, whose nerves had been considerably stretched in the ten days of sick-room work. “Isn’t he getting well?”