“Do you want the truth?” he asked.
“Just that,” I said.
“Well,” he reported. “You are as overstrung as she is and the same way.
There is absolutely no picture on either side of this. One side is
solid green and the other solid pink.”
“How about the coincidence of the names on the box?” I interjected.
“One suited what I saw, one what she said she saw.”
“Let’s look at the box,” he suggested.
He looked at it on all sides.
“There’s not a letter on it,” he announced. “Except ‘picture puzzle’ on
top and ‘50 cents’ on the end.”
“I don’t feel insane,” I declared.
“You aren’t,” he reassured me. “Nor in any danger of being insane. Let
me look you over.”
He felt my pulse, looked at my tongue, examined both eyes with his
ophthalmoscope, and took a drop of my blood.
“I’ll report further,” he said, “in confirmation to-morrow. You’re all
right, or nearly so, and you’ll soon be really all right. All you need
is a little rest. Don’t worry about this idea of your wife’s, humor
her. There won’t be any terrible consequences. After Christmas go to
Florida or somewhere for a week or so. And don’t exert yourself from
now till after that change.”
When I reached home, I went down into the cellar, threw that puzzle and
its box into the furnace and stood and watched it burn to ashes.