“Oh, pshaw!” said the president. “That was nothing to the time he waked me up at one o’clock in the morning to tell me that he was dying, but if I let that mug-faced young preacher who used to come to see me, officiate at his funeral he would come back and haunt me. It took a hot-water bottle, a mustard plaster, two hot toddies, and the camphor to quiet him that time.”
“Humph!” said the girl with the dimple in her chin; “I wonder why a man always thinks a cold or a boil fatal—when he has it?”
“Perhaps he doesn’t himself,” said the girl with the Roman nose; “but he always wants the women of the family to act as if they did.”
“Very true,” said the girl with the eyeglasses; “but do you know what Dolly does? As soon as her husband complains of being ill she begins to weep and tear her hair and lament that he will die, she knows he will. That frightens him, and when she insists upon putting him to bed, and giving him a bowl of hot ginger tea (which he detests), he pretends that he was only joking, and flees to the office, when she calls him up every half-hour to ask how he is. She says he seldom complains of his health nowadays.”
“You know my sister Amelia, don’t you?” said the girl with the classic profile. “Well, her husband had a heavy cold last week. He waked her up at two o’clock to tell her that he was dying, and that he knew he had not been a good husband to her, and could not go without her forgiveness. She wept, and said that he had not been very nice to her, and had never given her half enough money. Upon this, the dying man sat up, and began to argue the case. From argument they passed to something warmer. He went down to the office next day, and hasn’t said a word about dying since.”
“I wouldn’t mind Tom thinking he was dying once in awhile,” said the president, “if he’d only allow me the same privilege occasionally. He won’t, though; he comes in and says, cheerfully, ‘Oh, you’ll soon be all right. You should have seen how much worse I was once when I had it, and never missed a day at the office, either!’ The last time he did that my throat was too sore for me to reply properly, and I really thought I should die of rage.”
“And no wonder,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin. “As if a woman couldn’t always stand more than a man, anyhow! For instance, I wonder how many of them could go out in thin shoes, and without overshoes, as we do. And yet you never hear a girl say that she has caught cold in that way.”
“Never,” said the blue-eyed girl; “we have too much fortitude. My cousin Edith’s husband used to be always complaining of his health, until this last winter, I wondered what had caused his miraculous recovery, until she told me a few days ago. She was away from home, and received a telegram, saying that she must come at once if she wanted to see him alive. The message was delayed, being improperly addressed, and when she reached home, expecting to find him dead, he met her at the door. It seems that he had called in a new doctor, who was the cause of his miraculous recovery. He said he would never have another physician to prescribe for him as long as he lived.”
“Completely cured, eh?” said the president.
“Not that time. Next time he was ill, and the new doctor appeared, he turned out to be an old admirer of Edith’s. Her husband is frightfully jealous, and Edith’s potential second husband is a very real person to him. Edith, as nurse, always went out into the hall to talk with the doctor after his call. She says she is sure that she did not remain away so very long; but when she came back, after the first visit, her husband sulked; after the second, he raved; and after the third, he got up, declaring he’d live, if only to spite them both. And now, the doctor points to him as an example of his remarkable healing powers,” she added.