Flem.

Say, Flem, my boy, it is utterly impossible for me to tell the feeling of thankfulness and relief that rushed over me.

Why, Flem, its jest plain arithmetic; mathematics—thats all.

Flem got the wrong bottle; gave the poor boy some acid in the injection.

Never seen him before, whispered back Flem after a covert scrutiny of the latest arrival.

The next rounds on the house, announced Flem, obeying a wink of almost audible emphasis from Fox.