And Guy, who, so far, had been only excavating for
the cellar of his future business house, was beginning to feel that good
foundation walls were about to start.
But, even when peevish, Bessie had a way of turning up her eyes at him that
reduced him to helplessness and adoration. And she was delicate! "I know,"
he sympathized with her loyally, "it's like trying to work and be jolly
with a jumping tooth; or rather, in your case, with a constant buzzing in
your head."
The jumping tooth was his own simile. The headaches that had begun while he
was soldiering were increasing. He had intermittent periods of numbness in
the lower half of his body. It was annoying to a busy man. He could offer
no explanation, nor could the doctors. "Overwork," they suggested, and
advised the cure that is of no school--"rest." That was "impossible."
Besides, it was all nonsense. He put it aside, went on, kept it from
Bessie.
The end came, as it always does, even after the longest expectation, with a
rush. He was suffering with one of his acute headaches one night, when
Bessie fell asleep beside him. She woke suddenly, with no judgment of time,
with a start of terror, a sense of oppression, or--death?
"Guy!" she screamed.
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