"But he is making a snifting noise!"
"No, he's making a snuffling noise. Great difference between snuffling and snifting. Not the same thing at all. I mean to say, when they snift they snift, and when they snuffle they—as it were—snuffle. That's how you can tell. If you ask me"—he passed his hand over the dog's back. Percy uttered another cry. "I know what's the matter with him."
"A brute of a man kicked him at rehearsal. Do you think he's injured internally?"
"It's rheumatism," said Archie. "Jolly old rheumatism. That's all that's the trouble."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely!"
"But what can I do?"
"Give him a good hot bath, and mind and dry him well. He'll have a good sleep then, and won't have any pain. Then, first thing to-morrow, you want to give him salicylate of soda."
"I'll never remember that."
"I'll write it down for you. You ought to give him from ten to twenty grains three times a day in an ounce of water. And rub him with any good embrocation."
"And he won't die?"
"Die! He'll live to be as old as you are! I mean to say"
"I could kiss you!" said Miss Silverton, emotionally.
Archie backed hastily.
"No, no, absolutely not! Nothing like that required, really!"
"You're a darling!"
"Yes. I mean no. No, no, really!"
