“I think,” said he with conviction, “that I’ll start in going to church again, next Sunday.”
X.
THE HOUSE THAT CAUGHT COLD
“Can you cure a cold?” asked Grandma Sharpless.
A flare from the soft-coal fire flickered across the library, revealing a smile on the Health Master’s face.
“Am I a millionaire?” he countered.
“Not from your salary as Chinese physician to the Clydes,” laughed the head of that family.
“If I could cure a cold, I should be, easily, more than that. I’d be the foremost medical discoverer of the day.”
“Then you can’t cure a cold,” pursued Mrs. Sharpless.
“What is a cold?” countered the Health Master in that insinuating tone of voice which he employed to provoke the old lady into one of those frequent verbal encounters so thoroughly enjoyed by both of them.
“An ordinary common cold in the head. You know what I mean perfectly well, young man. The kind you catch by getting into drafts.”