unusual display of interest, coughed again.

"Is it your throat or your chest?" he inquired, gruffly.

Mrs. Gribble coughed again to see. After five coughs she said she
thought it was her chest.

"You'd better not go out o' doors to-day, then," said Mr. Gribble.
"Don't stand about in draughts; and I'll fetch you in a bottle of cough
mixture when I go out. What about a lay-down on the sofa?"

His wife thanked him, and, reaching the 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,
extremely disquieting to an ease-loving man, had manifested themselves.
Going upstairs deprived her of breath; carrying a loaded tea-tray
produced a long and alarming stitch in the side. The last time she ever
filled the coal-scuttle she was discovered sitting beside it on the
floor in a state of collapse.

"You'd better go and see the doctor," said Mr. Gribble.

Mrs. Gribble went. Years before the doctor had told her that she ought
to take life easier, and she was now able to tell him she was prepared
to take his advice.