"Come and see my distillery," he said, when breakfast was over, "I fixed it up last night." Hugh had set the bronchitis-kettle always carried about with Baby, who was subject to croup on the fire-place, and had fixed a long narrow jam-tin on to the end of the spout.
I've got to buy her a new bronchitis-kettle. Arthurs broke her old one yesterday." We slipped out to the chemist's shop in the town, and he bought a large glittering tin thing whose workings he explained. "I'm used to this sort of work. I come up here pretty often," he said. "I've the family throat too." "You're a good man," I said. "A very good man."
Miss Hilton poured out tea absent-mindedly, and seldom spoke except to rebuke someone for putting elbows on the table. As soon as the meal was over the children went into the garden again, and, once outside, their tongues began to move. "I shall nab Baby's bronchitis-kettle," Hugh announced, "and make a distiller, and we can begin to-morrow.