Bert shook his head. “I hardly know how to explain it, sir,” he replied, “but I can’t seem to hold a shovel in the evening.”
“Dear, dear! Quite remarkable, Bryant. You must have a new sort of disease.” Kid was grinning delightedly. “Well, you haven’t any trouble of that sort, have you, Fairchild?”
“I’m afraid I have,” piped the boy. “The thought of a snow-shovel makes me quite ill, sir.”
“Good gracious! The disease is catching! And you, Grey? Are you experiencing the symptoms, too?”
“Yes, sir,” muttered Lanny.
“What? Why, this is—is surprising! I must ask the Doctor to look into it. Frye, you—don’t tell me you have it, too!”
Small looked at his plate and nodded silently. Mr. Crane leaned back in his chair astounded.
“Well, well! But let’s learn the worst, Crandall?”
“No, sir,” replied Crandall with a grin.