"That better, Jas?" Silence. "Better? That's good! Now for the boy's
supper. Beautiful white egg laid by beautiful white hen and all beat up
fluffy with sugar to make boy well, eh?"
Emaciated to boniness, the great frame jutting and straining rather
terribly to break through the restraint of too tight flesh, Mr. Jastrow
rose to his elbow, jaw-lines sullen.
"Cut out that baby talk and get me a swig, Teenie. Get me a drink before
I get ugly."
"Oh, Jastrow honey, don't begin that. Please, Jastrow, don't begin
that. You been so good all day, honey--"
"Get me a swig," he repeated through set teeth. "You and a boob country
quack of a doctor ain't going to own my soul. I'll bust up the place
again. I ain't all dead yet. Get me a swig--quick, too."
"Jas, there ain't none."
"There is!"
"That's just for to whip up five drops at a time with your medicine.
That's medicine, Jas; it ain't to be took like drink. You know what the
doc said last time. He ain't responsible if you disobey. I
ain't--neither. Please, Jas!"
"I know a thing or two about the deal I'm getting around here. No quack
boob is going to own my soul."
"Ain't it enough the way you nearly died last time, Jas? Honest, didn't
that teach you a lesson? Be good, Jas.
Pages:
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317