THE WEAKER VESSEL. 
443 
sofa, watched with half-closed eyes as he 
cleared the breakfast- table. It was the first 
time he had done such a thing in his life, and 
a little honest pride in the possession of such a 
cough would not be denied. Dim possibilities 
of its vast usefulness suddenly occurred to her. 
She took the cough mixture for a week, by 
which time other symptoms, ex- 
tremely disquieting to an ease-loving 
man, had manifested themselves. 
Going upstairs deprived 
her of breath; carrying 
a loaded tea-tray pro- 
duced a long 
and alarming 
stitch in the 
side. The last 
time she ever 
filled the coal- 
scuttle she 
was d i s - 
covered sit- 
ting beside it 
on the floor 
in a state of 
collapse. 
“ You’ <1 
better go and 
see the doc- 
tor,” said Mr. 
Gribble. 
Mrs. Gribble 
went. Years 
b e f o r e the 
doctor h a d 
told her that 
she ought to 
take life 
easier, a n d 
she was now 
able to tell 
him she was 
prepared to 
take his 
advice. 
“ And, you 
see, I must 
take care of 
myself now 
for the sake 
of my hus- 
band,” she 
said, after she had explained matters, 
“ 1 understand,” said the doctor. 
“If anything happened to me 
the patient. 
“ Nothing shall happen,” said the other. 
“ Stay in bed to-morrow morning, and I’ll 
come round and overhaul you.” 
Mrs. Gribble hesitated. “ You might ex- 
amine me and think 1 was all right,” she 
objected ; “and at the same time you wouldn't 
know how I feel.” 
“ I know just how you feel,” was the replv. 
“ Good-bye.” 
He came round the following morning and, 
-* 
E LOOKED FROM THE LITT1 
BULKY }• 
began 
,K, WHITE- FACED WOMAN ON THE BED TO THE 
1GUKE OK MR. GRIBBLE.” 
following the dejected Mr. Gribble upstairs, 
made a long and thorough investigation of 
his patient. 
“ Say ‘ ninety-nine,’ ” he said, adjusting 
his stethoscope. 
Mrs. Gribble ticked off “ ninety-nines ” 
until her husband’s ears ached with them. 
