"
But for all boarders, their comfort and convenience, Fifi had the great
respect which all of us feel for the source of our livelihood; and,
stammering grateful thanks, she again assured him that she could not
make such a nuisance of herself. However, of course Mr. Queed had his
way, as he always did.
This point definitely settled, he picked up his pencil, which was his
way of saying, "And now, for heaven's sake--good-night!" But Fifi, her
heart much softened toward him, stood her ground, the pile of
school-books tucked under her arm.
"Mr. Queed--I--wonder if you won't let me get something to put on your
forehead? That bruise is so dreadful--"
"Oh, no! No! It's of no consequence whatever."
"But I don't think you can have noticed how bad it is. Please let me,
Mr. Queed. Just a little dab of arnica or witch-hazel--"
"My forehead does very well as it is, I assure you."
Fifi turned reluctantly. "Indeed something on it would make it get well
so _much_ faster. I wish you would--"
Ah! There was a thought. As long as he had this bruise people would be
bothering him about it.
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