“That’s enough! See here, Clyde. Betty goes to that kindergarten only over my dead job.”
“Oh, well,” said Mr. Clyde, amazed at the quite unwonted excitement which the other exhibited, “if you’re dealing in ultimatums, I’ll drop out and leave the stricken field to Mrs. Clyde. This kindergarten scheme is hers. Wait. I’ll bring her. I think she just came in.”
“What am I to fight with you about, Dr. Strong?” asked Mrs. Clyde, appearing at the door, a vision of trim prettiness in her furs and veil. “Tom didn’t tell me the casus belli.”
“Nobody in this house,” said Dr. Strong appealing to her, “seems to deem the human eye entitled to the slightest consideration. You’ve never worn glasses; therefore you must have respected your own eyesight enough to—”
He stopped abruptly and scowled into Mrs. Clyde’s smiling face.
“Well! what’s the matter?” she demanded. “You look as if you were going to bite.”
“What are you looking cross-eyed for?” the Health Master shot at her.
“I’m not! Oh, it’s this veil, I suppose.” She lifted the heavy polka-dotted screen and tucked it over her hat. “There, that’s more comfortable!”
“Is it!” said the physician with an emphasis of sardonicism. “You surprise me by admitting that much. How long have you been wearing that instrument of torture?”
“Oh, two hours. Perhaps three. But, Dr. Strong, it doesn’t hurt my eyes at all.”