Henry did as desired, and then asked—"What shall I get, father?"
"Tell Mr. Brady to send me a pint of good Irish whiskey."
The boy tripped lightly away, singing as he went. He was always pleased to do an errand for his father.
"This cold of mine gets worse," remarked Mr. Green to his wife, as Henry left the house. "I believe I'll try old Mr. Vandeusen's remedy—a bowl of hot whiskey-punch. He says it always cures him; it throws him into a free perspiration, and the next morning he feels as clear as a bell."
"It is not always good," remarked Mrs. Green, "to have the pores open. We are more liable to take cold."
"Very true. It is necessary to be careful how we expose ourselves afterwards."
"I think I can make you some herb-tea, that would do you as much good as the whiskey punch," said Mrs. Green.
"Perhaps you could," returned her husband, "but I don't like your bitter stuff. It never was to my fancy."
Mrs. Green smiled, and said no more.
"A few moments afterwards, the door opened, and Henry came in, looking pale and frightened.