new and legitimate ground of injury which might console him for the
loss of the old.

"We may live a good many years to enjoy it now," said Sylvia.

"I sha'n't; maybe you will," returned Henry, with malignant joy.

Sylvia regarded him with swift anxiety. "Why, Henry, don't you feel
well?" she gasped.

"No, I don't, and I haven't for some time."

"Oh, Henry, and you never told me! What is the matter? Hadn't you
better see the doctor?"

"Doctor!" retorted Henry, scornfully.

"Maybe he could give you something to help you. Whereabouts do you
feel bad, Henry?"

"All over," replied Henry, comprehensively, and he smiled like a
satirical martyr.

"All over?"

"Yes, all over--body and soul and spirit. I know just as well as any
doctor can tell me that I haven't many years to enjoy anything. When
a man has worked as long as I have in a shoe-shop, and worried as
much and as long as I have, good-luck finds him with his earthworks
about worn out and his wings hitched on."