The medicinal portion of the little pill
struck the wall with a faint tap, then dropped noiselessly to the
floor, and, after a time, Penrod slept.
Some hours later he began to dream; he dreamed that his feet and
legs were becoming uncomfortable as a result of Sam Williams's
activities with a red-hot poker.
"You QUIT that!" he said aloud, and awoke indignantly. Again a
dark, wrappered figure hovered over the bed.
"It's only a hot-water bag, dear," Mrs. Schofield said, still
labouring under the covers with an extended arm. "You mustn't
hunch yourself up that way, Penrod. Put your feet down on it."
And, as he continued to hunch himself, she moved the bag in the
direction of his withdrawal.
"Ow, murder!" he exclaimed convulsively. "What you tryin' to do?
Scald me to death?"
"Penrod--"
"My goodness, Mamma," he wailed; "can't you let me sleep a
MINUTE?"
"It's very bad for you to let your feet get cold, dear."
"They WEREN'T cold. I don't want any ole hot-wat--"
"Penrod," she said firmly, "you must put your feet against the
bag. It isn't too hot."
"Oh, isn't it?" he retorted.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154