*Mirabelle*
I peek my head in the door of the infirmary sometime later, and I see Chip sitting up in his bed. He beams at me with a big gap-toothed smile and shouts, “Hey, miss!”
There’s a groan from the bed next to him.
“Mr. Hammerhock, how are you feeling?” I ask.
“His fever broke,” Chip reports. “His face is still all mucky, though, and his tongue isn’t too good. The doctor came along and tried to get him to say yes a bunch of times ’cause he likes how he says it.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“He says weth, don’t you, Mr. Hammerhock?” Chip says. “And that makes the doctor laugh. Me too.”
Mr. Hammerhock grunts in response.
“Anyway, he’s going to live, that’s what the doctor said.” Chip tells me.
“I’m glad to hear it,” I say. “See, Chip, not everybody is…”
“Can you take me out now?
