"Oh, Henry, maybe Dr. Wallace--"

"Maybe he can unhitch the wings?" inquired Henry, with grotesque
irony. "No, Sylvia, no doctor living can give medicine strong enough
to cure a man of a lifetime of worry."

"But the worry's all over now, Henry."

"What the worry's done ain't over."

Sylvia began whimpering softly. "Oh, Henry, if you talk that way it
will take away all my comfort! What do you suppose the property would
mean to me without you?"

Then Henry felt ashamed. "Lord, don't worry," he said, roughly. "A
man can't say anything to you without upsetting you. I can't tell how
long I'll live. Sometimes a man lives through everything. All I meant
was, sometimes when good-luck comes to a man it comes so darned late
it might just as well not come at all."

"Henry, you don't mean to be wicked and ungrateful?"

"If I am I can't help it. I ain't a hypocrite, anyway. We've got some
good-fortune, and I'm glad of it, but I'd been enough sight gladder
if it had come sooner, before bad fortune had taken away my rightful
taste for it."

"You won't have to work in the shop any longer, Henry."