"Oh no, oh no!" interposed Miss Acton; "she would not be our Lucy if she did.",
"No, ours won't be them kind of colds," Billy explained. "They'll be the dry-cough, consumption kind, that either cure up quick er slow. All we gotta do is dig up an Injun turnip out o' the bush an' nibble it. It'll pucker our throats up so tight we'll be hoarse enough to sing bass in the choir.",
All eyes switched from the teacher to Fatty Watland. Fatty, his face very red, rose slowly and stood before the frowning Mr. Johnston..
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