"I want to get a look-in on what goes on behind there," specified Mrs.
Becker through a sniff. "Fine mess!"
From where he sat with crossed knees and his nicely polished shoes far out so that passers-by were forced to a small detour, Albert looked suddenly across at his mother-in-law, rather scaredly white.
"Mother," he said, "I've got a pain in my chest."
On the instant her rosiness blanched.
"Albert, one of your colds coming on? They never start on your chest. It's influenza; the papers are full of it. They say next winter we're going to have it in a terrible epidemic. Albert, what hurts?"
He inserted two fingers into the front pleat of his shirt.
"It hurts here," he said.
"Albert," cried Mrs. Becker, instantly taken with panic, "let me feel if you have any fever!"
"Now, now, Carrie, don't create a scene here in the lobby. You've nursed him through enough colds not to be alarmed."
"But, Ben, in his chest! It's a symptom, I tell you; the papers are full of it!"