“The last time I took those pellets,” he said, “Mr. Whitman got them for me. It was one Saturday, and I was home, and felt the cold coming on, and I lay down, just as you suggest Mr. Whitman's doing, and got asleep, and awoke with a chill. I think that if one has a cold the best thing is to keep exercising until you can get hold of a remedy. I think if Mr. Whitman walks down to the drug store himself and gets the pellets, and takes one, and keeps out in the open air afterwards, as it is a fine day, it will be the very best thing for him.”
“That is just what I think myself,” said Henry, with a grateful look at Horace.
Henry changed his coat again before leaving, on the plea that it was better for him to wear a lighter one when walking and the heavier one when he was in the house. He and Horace walked down the street together. They were out of sight of the house when Henry spoke.
“Mrs. Whitman don't know it yet,” said he, “but there's no reason why you shouldn't. I 'ain't got any cold. I'll get the pellets to satisfy her, but I 'ain't got any cold. I wanted to get out again and not tell her, if I could help it. I didn't want a fuss. I'm going to put it off as long as I can. Mrs. Whitman's none too strong, and when anything goes against her she's all used up, and I must save her as long as possible.”
Horace stared at Henry with some alarm. “What on earth is it?” he said.
“Nothing, only I have gone back to work in the shop.”
Horace looked amazed. “But I thought—”
“You thought we had enough so I hadn't any need to work, and you are right,” said Henry, with a pathetic firmness. “We have got property enough to keep us, if nothing happens, as long as we live, but I had to go back to that infernal treadmill or die.”
Horace nodded soberly. “I think I understand,” said he.
“I'm glad you do.”