“Well, that’s what I don’t know, but it took about five on ’em to break up mine.” He had poured one into the palm of his hand and held it out. It was a small, roughly shaped pill, with grayish surface pitted with black.
The young man eyed it doubtfully.
“It don’t look very nice,” said Uncle William, “and the man that made it never had a stitch of clothes on his back in his life; but I guess you better take it.”
The young man opened his lips. The thing slid down, leaving a sickish, sweetish taste behind it.
Uncle William brought him a glass of water. “I know how it tastes, but I reckon it’ll do the work. Now, let’s see.” he stood back, surveying the untidy room, a mellow smile on his lips. “‘T is kind o’ cluttered up,” he said. “I’ll jest make a path through.” He gathered up a handful of shoes and slippers and thrust them under the bed, drawing the spread down to hid them. The cups and glasses and scattered spoons and knives he bore away to the bath-room, and the artist heard them descending into the tub with a sound of rushing water. Uncle William returned triumphant. “I’ve put ’em a-soak,” he explained. The table-spread, with its stumps of cigars, bits of torn papers, and collars and neckties and books and paint-brushes and tubes, he gathered up by the four corners, dumping it into a half-open drawer. He closed the drawer firmly. “Might ’s well start fresh.” He replaced the spread and stood back, surveying it proudly. “What’s that door?” He pointed across the room.
“It’s your bedroom,” said the artist, a little uneasily. “But I don’t believe you can get in.”
Uncle William approached cautiously. He pushed open the door and looked in. He came back beaming. “The’ ’s quite a nice lot of room,” he said, taking hold of the end of his box and dragging it away.
The artist lay looking about the room with brightening eyes. The window-shades were still askew and there were garments here and there, but Uncle William’s path was a success. The sun was coming over the tops of the houses opposite, and Uncle William reappeared with shining face.
“You reely needed a man around,” he said. “I’m putty glad I come.”
“What made you come?” asked the artist.