"Gee, I feel rotten," he said; "my head is splitting and I'm sick at my stomach."
"You look thin, dear," said Mrs. Nelson, examining him in detail.
"Oh, I'll be all right after a snooze," he replied, lightly, seeing that his mother felt considerable anxiety.
The 'bus was full; the Nelsons walked from the depot to their home. Evan answered the questions asked him on the way, endeavoring to appear cheerful, but took little interest in the old town. He drank a cup of his mother's tea, when they arrived home, then begged off to bed. Lou spread wet cloths on his forehead until he was asleep, and afterwards went downstairs to load his stocking.
"Mother, dear," she said, cracking a nut, "Evan looks fierce. I believe he is either worked or worried to death."
Mrs. Nelson sighed.
"This is a funny world," she observed petulantly; "it looks good from the outside, but when you come to find out it is a disappointment."
"Oh, mamma," laughed the daughter, "you sound melancholy. It isn't as bad as all that, you know. His headache will be gone in the morning. Christmas trains would put anyone out of commission."
"He looked fagged though, Louie."
"Most bankers do," observed Lou, casually.