It was a world where a man couldn't even get a
black eye without a thousand busybodies commenting on it.
"If you are certain that its healing will be hastened--"
"Positive!" cried Fifi happily, and vanished without more speech.
One Hour a Day to be given to Bodily Exercise.... How long, O Lord, how
long!
Fifi returned directly with white cloths, scissors, and two large
bottles.
"I won't take hardly a minute--you see! Listen, Mr. Queed. One of these
bottles heals fairly well and doesn't hurt at all worth mentioning.
That's witch-hazel. The other heals very well and fast, but
stings--well, a lot; and that's turpentine. Which will you take?"
"The turpentine," said Mr. Queed in a martyr's voice.
Fifi's hands were very deft. In less than no time, she made a little
lint pad, soaked it in the pungent turpentine, applied it to the
unsightly swelling, and bound it firmly to the young man's head with a
snowy band. In all of Mr. Queed's life, this was the first time that a
woman had ministered to him. To himself, he involuntarily confessed that
the touch of the girl's hands upon his forehead was not so annoying as
you might have expected.
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