"So it is. Well, I'll go."
He pulled his hat down over his ears desperately, buttoned his coat in spite of the heat, and with tense muscles but trembling lips marched up the hill to the Grant cottage.
Before he could knock the door flew open and he was in his mother's arms. The poor lady was sobbing with joy, and led her errant son into the room where his father sat propped with cushions in an easy chair.
"Here's Jim!" she said, trembling with uncertainty and a well founded fear of the interview to follow.
Mr. Everton looked at his boy and nodded.
"Sit down, Jim," he said. The tone was not harsh, but lacked cordiality.
Jim sat down.
"How are you, sir?"
"Pretty bad. I don't seem to find any relief."
Once Jim had wickedly suggested that he take his own rheumatism cure; but the remark had led to all their trouble, so he twirled his hat and answered perfunctorily: