“Oh, yes, he has,” continued his sister, “the doctor said so.”
“But don’t you know that doctors don’t know everything?” put in Franklin. “Doctors just imagine things, the same as other people. Why, look at him—he’s nice and healthy.”
“No, he ain’t either,” replied this protector argumentatively. “If he don’t get better he’ll haff to go to the 'ospital. Our doctor says so. My mother ain’t got the money or he’d go now.”
“Dear! Dear!” I exclaimed, looking at the youth sympathetically. “But there, he looks so well. You feel all right, don’t you?” I asked of the contemplative victim, who was staring at me with big eyes.
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re never sick in bed?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, now here’s a nickel. And don’t you get sick. You’ll be well so long as you think so.”
“Ooh, let’s see it,” commanded the advertising sister, drawing near and trying to take the hand with the coin.
“No.”