"Why on earth SHOULDN'T I have hay-fever?" I demanded. "Have you any
idea what hay-fever is? I suppose you think I ought to be running
about wildly, trying to eat hay--or yapping and showing an
unaccountable aversion from dried grass? I take it that there are
grades of hay-fever, as there are of everything else. I have it at
present in a mild form. Instead of being thankful that it is no
worse, you--"
"My dear boy, hay-fever is a thing people have all their lives, and
it comes on every summer. You've never even pretended to have it
before this year."
"Yes, but you must start SOME time. I'm a little backward, perhaps.
Just because there are a few infant prodigies about, don't despise
me. In a year or two I shall be as regular as the rest of them." And
I sneezed again.
Beatrice got up with an air of decision and left the room. For a
moment I thought she was angry and had gone for a policeman, but as
the minutes went by and she didn't return I began to fear that she
might have left the house for good. I was wondering how I should
break the news to her husband when, to my relief, she came in again.
"You may be right," she said, putting down a small package and
unpinning her hat. "Try this. The chemist says it's the best
hay-fever cure there is."
"It's in a lot of languages," I said as I took the wrapper off. "I
suppose German hay is the same as any other sort of hay? Oh, here it
is in English. I say, this is a what-d'-you-call-it cure."
"So the man said."
"Homeopathic. It's made from the pollen that causes hay-fever. Yes.
Ah, yes." I coughed slightly and looked at Beatrice out of the
corner of my eye. "I suppose," I said carelessly, "if anybody took
this who HADN'T got hay-fever, the results might be rather--I mean
that he might then find that he-in fact, er--HAD got it."
"Sure to," said Beatrice.
"Yes. That makes us a little thoughtful; we don't want to over-do
this thing." I went on reading the instructions. "You know, it's
rather odd about my hay-fever--it's generally worse in town than in
the country."
"But then you started so late, dear. You haven't really got into the
swing of it yet."
"Yes, but still--you know, I have my doubts about the gentleman who
invented this. We don't see eye to eye in this matter. Beatrice, you
may be right--perhaps I haven't got hay-fever."
"Oh, don't give up."
"But all the same I know I've got something. It's a funny thing
about my being worse in town than in the country. That looks rather
as if--By Jove, I know what it is--I've got just the opposite of
hay-fever."
"What is the opposite of hay?"
"Why, bricks and things."