“It’s the most fool business I ever heard of,” said the man in the bed, helplessly. “If I’d done anything, I wouldn’t mind, but——”
“Yes, dear, don’t excite yourself,” said his wife, in soothing tone. “Betty——” She gave her daughter a warning glance.
“I hope we’re through with all this tommy rot,” said Mr. Harlow, as Betty’s footsteps retreated.
He did not hear her voice again going on fluently to a fresh batch of visitors: “Once he rescued a man on the St. Lawrence River from a stone wall—I mean the rapids, one of the most daring deeds——”
“Min!”
“Yes, David.”
“Get my coat. Who’s that at the door now?”
It was Herbert’s voice this time. “What year was father born in?”
“Great Scott!” moaned the invalid. “Go down and tell ’em you don’t know. Shut that door! Get my coat, Min, and in the inner left-hand side pocket—don’t hold it upside down; you’ll let all my keys fall out; there, I told you so—some of that change rolled under the bed—never mind, look for it later. The left-hand pocket, I said——” Twenty-one years of matrimony had not availed to teach Mrs. Harlow the intricacy of her husband’s pockets. “Not that one; there, now you’ve hit it! Take that letter out.”
“Why, it’s the one you got from Tom this morning!”