They sang “He’s a jolly good fellow which nobody can deny.” A jolly good fellow! It was the last thing in the world Hervey Deyo had ever wanted to be. This, then, was his fame.
He returned to his home city. His house was silent when he entered it. On his desk was a note.
“Dear Hervey:
“I’ve taken the children and gone to live with Mother. I love you as much as ever, but I can not live with a bee. If I should hear you buzz just once more I should go mad Don’t forget to put on your goloshes.
Mina.”
He went out of the house. Deliberately he did not wear his goloshes; it was a slushy night. At seven they took him to the hospital with a severe case of influenza.
In the morning a careless nurse left a newspaper where he could reach it. An item struck his eye.
“Hervey Deyo is dangerously ill in St. Paul’s Hospital. He is the man who can imitate a bee.”
When he read this, Hervey Deyo let the paper slip from his fingers, and sank back on his pillow. When the doctor came in, he found him lying staring at the ceiling. A glance told the doctor that Hervey Deyo had not long to live; the doctor sought to rouse him from his torpor, to fan the flickering flame of his interest; he turned on his professional bedside smile.
“Ah,” said the doctor, “thinking about bees, I’ll wager.”