"It's not advisable to start the day with so much excitement," I pointed out. "It's bad for the appetite—especially yours."
"Never felt better in my life, George!"
("That's the brandy!" I thought.)
He stood up, a little shakily perhaps, but certainly with no indication that he had stumbled so near to Death's door.
"I must take it quietly to-day," he said, realizing his weakness now that he was on his feet again.
I encouraged him in this idea, hoping that by the following morning he would have forgotten the whole affair, and when I left to catch my train there seemed to be every likelihood of this fervent desire being fulfilled. To-morrow, he would be nodding by the fireside as of old, and glands and monkeys and professors would all be part of a very hazy and negligible past.
It was a consoling thought, but, unfortunately, events shaped themselves quite differently.
When I arrived home about six o'clock the following evening there was an air of consternation in the home. Nanny and Molly both met me at the door with long, solemn faces.
"Hullo!" I exclaimed. "What's the matter with you two?"
The first to answer was the dear old soul who had taken the place of both nurse and mother to Molly for practically the whole of the child's life.