"Sure to," said Beatrice.
"Yes. That makes us a little thoughtful; we don't want to over-do this thing." I went on reading the instructions. "You know, it's rather odd about my hay-fever—it's generally worse in town than in the country."
"But then you started so late, dear. You haven't really got into the swing of it yet."
"Yes, but still—you know, I have my doubts about the gentleman who invented this. We don't see eye to eye in this matter. Beatrice, you may be right—perhaps I haven't got hay-fever."
"Oh, don't give up."
"But all the same I know I've got something. It's a funny thing about my being worse in town than in the country. That looks rather as if—By Jove, I know what it is—I've got just the opposite of hay-fever."
"What is the opposite of hay?"
"Why, bricks and things."
I gave a last sneeze and began to wrap up the cure.
"Take this pollen stuff back," I said to Beatrice, "and ask the man if he's got anything homoeopathic made from paving-stones. Because, you know, that's what I really want."