Uncle Peabody used to say that the way to get sick was to change your clothes every time you got wet.

It was growing dusk and I felt sorry for him.
"Come in," said the voice of the schoolmaster at the door.

"There's good weather under this roof." He saw my plight as I entered.
"I'm like a shaggy dog that's been in swimming," I said.
"Upon my word, boy, we're in luck," remarked the schoolmaster.
I looked up at him.
"Michael Henry's clothes!--sure, they're just the thing for you!" "Will they go on me ?" I asked, for, being large of my age, I had acquired an habitual shyness of things that were too small for me, and things, too, had seemed to have got the habit of being too small.
"As easily as Nick Tubbs goes on a spree, and far more becoming, for I do not think a spree ever looks worse than when Tubbs is on it.

Come with me." I followed him up-stairs, wondering how it had happened that Michael Henry had clothes.
He took me into his room and brought some handsome soft clothes out of a press with shirt, socks and boots to match.
"There, my laddie buck," said he, "put them on." "These will soon dry on me," I said.
"Put them on--ye laggard! Michael Henry told me to give them to you.
It's the birthday night o' little Ruth, my boy.

There's a big cake with candles and chicken pie and jellied cookies and all the like o' that.
Put them on.