It was peevish. Coming from Pop, it amounted to an outburst, a riot, a mutiny. Such a tendency was dangerous. He must be sharply repressed at once--as a new servant must be taught her place. _Mere_ administered the necessary rebuke, aided and abetted by the daughters. The sons did not rally to their father's defense. He was soon reduced to submission, but his apology was further irritation: "I'm kind of rattled like. I ain't feeling as chipper as usual." "Chipper" was bad enough, but "ain't" was unendurable! They rebuked him for that and he put in another irrelevant plea: "I had a kind of sick spell at the store. I had to lay down." "Lie down!" Beatrice corrected. "Lie down," he accepted. "But as soon as I laid down--" "Lay down!" "Lay down--I had chills and shootin' pains; and I--" "It's the weather," _Mere_ interrupted, impatiently. "I've had a headache all day--such a headache as never was known! It seemed as if hammers were beating upon my very brain. It was--" "I'm not feeling at all well myself," said Consuelo. There was almost a tournament of rivalry in describing sufferings. Pop felt as if he had wakened a sleeping hospital. He sank back ashamed of his own outburst. He rarely spoke of the few ailments he could afford. When he did it was like one of his new clerks pulling a bolt of goods from the shelf and bringing down a silken avalanche. The clinic was interrupted by the crisp voice of Nora: "Dinner is served!" Everybody rose and moved to the door with quiet determination. Pop alone failed to rise. _Mere_ glowered at him. He pleaded: "I don't feel very good. I guess I'd better leave my stummick rest." The children protested politely, but he refused to be moved and _Mere_ decided to humor him. "Let him alone, children. It won't hurt him to skip a meal." They said: "Too bad, Pop!"--"You'll be all right soon," and went out and forgot him. Pop heard them chattering briskly. It was polite talk. If slang were used it was the very newest. He gleaned that Pen and Gerald were opposing Julie's mission to San Francisco on the ground of the expense. He smiled bitterly to hear that word from them. He heard Julie's retort: "I suppose you boys want the money yourselves! Well, I've got first havers at Pop. I saw him first!" At about this point the conversation lost its coherence in Pop's ears. It was mingled with a curious buzzing and a dizziness that made him grip his chair lest it pitch him to the floor. Chills, in which his bones were a mere rattlebox, alternated with little rushes of prairie fire across his skin. Throes of pain wrung him.