Olivia obediently raised it to her lips, and drew back. "What's in it?" she asked faintly.
"Everything I could find that's hot—quinine and whisky and Jamaica ginger and cough syrup and a dash of red pepper, and—one or two other things.
It's my own idea.
You can't take cold after that."
"I—I don't believe I want any."
"Drink it—every drop," said Patty, grimly; and Olivia shut her eyes and gulped it down.
"Now," said Patty, cheerfully bustling about, "I'll get dinner.
Have you a can-opener?
And any alcohol, by chance?
That's nice.
We'll have three courses,—canned soup, canned baked beans, and preserved ginger,—all of them hot.
It's mighty lucky Georgie Merriles was in New York or she'd never have lent them to me."
Olivia, to her own astonishment, presently found herself laughing (she had thought that she would never smile again) as she sipped mulligatawny soup from a tooth-mug and balanced a pin-trayful of steaming baked beans on her knee.
"And now," said Patty, as, the three courses disposed of, she tucked the freshman into bed, "we'll map out a campaign.
While eight hours are pretty serious, they are not of necessity deadly.
What made you flunk Latin prose?"
"I never had any before I came, and when I told Miss—"
"Certainly; she thought it her duty to flunk you.
You shouldn't have mentioned the subject.
But never mind.
It's only one hour, and it won't take you a minute to work it off.
How about German?"
"German's a little hard because it's so different from Italian and French, you know; and I'm sort of frightened when she calls on me, and—"
"Pretty stupid, on the whole?" Patty suggested.
"I'm afraid I am," she confessed.
"Well, I dare say you deserved to flunk in that.
You can tutor it up and pass it off in the spring.
How about geometry?"
"I thought I knew that, only she didn't ask what I expected and—"
"An unfortunate circumstance, but it will happen.
Could you review it up a little and take a reexamination right away?"
"Yes; I'm sure I could, only they won't give me another chance.
They'll send me home first."
"Who's your instructor?"
"Miss Prescott."
Patty frowned, and then she laughed. "I thought if it were Miss Hawley I could go to her and explain the matter and ask her to give you a reexamination.
Miss Hawley's occasionally human.
But Miss Prescott!
No wonder you flunked.
I'm afraid of her myself.
She's the only woman that ever got a degree at some German university, and she simply hasn't a thought in the world beyond mathematics.
I don't believe the woman has any soul.
If one of those mediums should come here and dematerialize her, all that would be left would be an equilateral triangle."
Patty shook her head. "I'm afraid there's not much use in arguing with a person like that.
If she once sees a truth, you know, she sees it for all time.
But never mind; I'll do the best I can.
I'll tell her you're an undiscovered mathematical genius; that it's latent, but if she'll examine you again she'll find it.
That ought to appeal to her.
Good-night.
Go to sleep and don't worry; I'll manage her."