At midnight Angelo was sleeping peacefully.
His immersion had not harmed him, it had merely made
him wholesomely drowsy, and he had been dead asleep
many hours now. It had made Luigi drowsy, too,
but he had got only brief naps, on account of his
having to take the medicine every three-quarters of
an hour-and Aunt Betsy Hale was there to see that he
did it. When he complained and resisted, she
was quietly firm with him, and said in a low voice:
“No-no, that won’t do; you mustn’t
talk, and you mustn’t retch and gag that way,
either—you’ll wake up your poor brother.”
“Well, what of it, Aunt Betsy, he—”
“’Sh-h! Don’t make a noise,
dear. You mustn’t: forget that your
poor brother is sick and—”
“Sick, is he? Well, I wish I—”
“’Sh-h-h! Will you be quiet, Luigi!
Here, now, take the rest of it —don’t
keep me holding the dipper all night. I declare
if you haven’t left a good fourth of it in the
bottom! Come-that’s a good—
“Aunt Betsy, don’t make me! I feel
like I’ve swallowed a cemetery; I do, indeed.
Do let me rest a little—just a little;
I can’t take any more of the devilish stuff
now.”
“Luigi! Using such language here, and
him just baptized! Do you want the roof to fall
on you?”
“I wish to goodness it would!”
“Why, you dreadful thing! I’ve a
good notion to—let that blanket alone;
do you want your, brother to catch his death?”
“Aunt Betsy, I’ve got to have it off,
I’m being roasted alive; nobody could stand
it—you couldn’t yourself.”
“Now, then, you’re sneezing again—I
just expected it.”
“Because I’ve caught a cold in my head.
I always do, when I go in the water with my clothes
on. And it takes me weeks to get over it, too.
I think it was a shame to serve me so.”
“Luigi, you are unreasonable; you know very
well they couldn’t baptize him dry. I
should think you would be willing to undergo a little
inconvenience for your brother’s sake.”
“Inconvenience! Now how you talk, Aunt
Betsy. I came as near as anything to getting
drowned you saw that yourself; and do you call this
inconvenience?—the room shut up as tight
as a drum, and so hot the mosquitoes are trying to
get out; and a cold in the head, and dying for sleep
and no chance to get any—on account of this
infamous medicine that that assassin prescri—”
“There, you’re sneezing again. I’m
going down and mix some more of this truck for you,
dear.”
THE DRINKLESS DRUNK
