He's a very good nurse--for a sick-nurse.

I call him my sick-nurse because he's sick himself." "Oh, come, daddy!" the ugly young man exclaimed.
"Well, you are; I wish you weren't.

But I suppose you can't help it." "I might try: that's an idea," said the young man.
"Were you ever sick, Lord Warburton ?" his father asked.
Lord Warburton considered a moment.

"Yes, sir, once, in the Persian Gulf." "He's making light of you, daddy," said the other young man.

"That's a sort of joke." "Well, there seem to be so many sorts now," daddy replied, serenely.
"You don't look as if you had been sick, any way, Lord Warburton." "He's sick of life; he was just telling me so; going on fearfully about it," said Lord Warburton's friend.
"Is that true, sir ?" asked the old man gravely.
"If it is, your son gave me no consolation.