By him I was put through those riddles which puzzle all childish
brains in turn: "If a herring and a half cost threehalfpence," etc.
And if I successfully accomplished this calculation, I was tripped up
by the unfair problem, "If your grate is of such and such dimensions,
what will the coals come to?" I can hear his voice now (hoarse from a
combination of asthma and snuff-taking) as he poked me jocosely but
unmercifully "under the fifth rib," as he called it, crying--
"_Ashes_! my little man. D'ye see? _Ashes_! _Ashes_!"
After which he took more snuff, and nearly choked himself with
laughing at my chagrin.
Greatly was Nurse Bundle puzzled that night, when I stood, ready for
bed, fumbling with both hands under my nightshirt, and an expression
of face becoming a surgeon conducting a capital operation.
"Bless the dear boy!" she cried. "What are you doing to yourself, my
dear?"
"How does he _know_ which is the fifth rib?" I almost howled in my
vexation. "I don't believe it _was_ the fifth rib! I wish I _hadn't_ a
fifth rib! I wish I might hurt _his_ fifth rib!"
I think the old gentleman would have choked with laughter if he could
have seen and heard me.
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