"I thought you were old Four-Eyes," the boy murmured in confusion--"Wasn't he here just now?"
"Go and fetch Mr. Coleman," said the matron, to the nurse, half-smiling through tears at her own knowledge of the teacher's nickname and wondering what endearing term she was herself known by.
"Cheer up, Benjamin," said his father, seeing his boy had become sensible of his presence. "Thou wilt be all right soon. Thou hast been much worse than this."
"What does he say?" asked Benjamin, turning his eyes towards the matron.
"He says he is sorry to see you so bad," said the matron, at a venture.
"But I shall be up soon, won't I? I can't have _Our Own_ delayed," whispered Benjamin.
"Don't worry about _Our Own_, my poor boy," murmured the matron, pressing his forehead. Moses respectfully made way for her.
"What says he?" he asked. The matron repeated the words, but Moses could not understand the English.
Old Four-Eyes arrived--a mild spectacled young man. He looked at the doctor, and the doctor's eye told him all.
"Ah, Mr. Coleman," said Benjamin, with joyous huskiness, "you'll see that _Our Own_ comes out this week as usual. Tell Jack Simmonds he must not forget to rule black lines around the page containing Bruno's epitaph. Bony-nose--I--I mean Mr. Bernstein, wrote it for us in dog-Latin. Isn't it a lark? Thick, black lines, tell him. He was a good dog and only bit one boy in his life."
"All right. I'll see to it," old Four-Eyes assured him with answering huskiness.
"What says he?" helplessly inquired Moses, addressing himself to the newcomer.
"Isn't it a sad case, Mr. Coleman?" said the matron, in a low tone. "They can't understand each other."
"You ought to keep an interpreter on the premises," said the doctor, blowing his nose. Coleman struggled with himself. He knew the jargon to perfection, for his parents spoke it still, but he had always posed as being ignorant of it.
"Tell my father to go home, and not to bother; I'm all right--only a little weak," whispered Benjamin.
Coleman was deeply perturbed. He was wondering whether he should plead guilty to a little knowledge, when a change of expression came over the wan face on the pillow. The doctor came and felt the boy's pulse.
"No, I don't want to hear that _Maaseh_," cried Benjamin. "Tell me about the Sambatyon, father, which refuses to flow on _Shabbos_."