He missed Rose
and her care for him; he missed Cass's friendship; he missed his visits
to the Bartletts; and above all he missed his work. His interest still
clung to Bartlett & Bangs, and the only times of forgetfulness that he
had were when he and Dirks were discussing the business of the firm.
What made matters worse was the humid heat of the summer. A low
barometer, always an affliction to him, in his present nervous state was
torture. Night after night he lay gasping for breath, and in the morning
he rose gaunt and pale, with hollow rings under his eyes. Having little
desire for food, he often made one meal a day suffice, substituting
coffee for more solid food.
This method of living could have but one result. By the middle of July he
was confined to his bed with a heavy bronchial cold and a temperature
that boded ill. Once down and defenseless, he became a prey to all the
feminine solicitude of the rooming-house. The old lady next door pottered
in and out, putting mustard plasters on his chest and forgetting to take
them off, and feeding him nauseous concoctions that she brewed over a
coal-oil stove. A woman from upstairs insisted on keeping his window and
door wide open, and trying cold compresses on his throat.
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