"It's not unpleasant at all," she answered, poking the spoon at
his mouth. "Mrs. Wottaw said Clark used to be very fond of it. It
doesn't taste like ordinary medicine at all,' she said."
"How often I got to take it?" Penrod mumbled, as the persistent
spoon sought to enter his mouth. "Just this once?"
"No, dear; three times a day."
"I won't do it!"
"Penrod!" She spoke sharply. "You swallow this down and stop
making such a fuss. I can't be all day. Hurry."
She inserted the spoon between his lips, so that its rim touched
his clenched teeth; he was still reluctant. Moreover, is
reluctance was natural and characteristic, for a boy's sense of
taste is as simple and as peculiar as a dog's, though, of course,
altogether different from a dog's. A boy, passing through the
experimental age, may eat and drink astonishing things; but they
must be of his own choosing. His palate is tender, and, in one
sense, might be called fastidious; nothing is more sensitive or
more easily shocked. A boy tastes things much more than grown
people taste them: what is merely unpleasant to a man is sheer
broth of hell to a boy.
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