Mr. Clyde had come home with the news that a drug-store was to be opened shortly on the adjacent corner. Shifting his position to dodge a foliage-piercing shaft of sunlight—they were all sitting out on the shady lawn, in the cool of a September afternoon—Dr. Strong shook his head. “Too convenient, altogether,” he observed. “How’s that?” queried Mr. Clyde. “A drugstore is like a gun in Texas: you may not need it often, but when you do need it, you need it like blazes.” “True enough. But most people over-patronize the drug-store.” “Not this family; at least, since our house-doctor came to keep us well on the Chinese plan,” said Mrs. Clyde gracefully. But Dr. Strong only looked rueful. “Your Chinese doctor has to plead guilty to negligence of what has been going on under his very nose.” “Oh, not more trouble!” pleaded Mrs. Clyde. She had come through the dreaded ordeal of little Betty’s operation for adenoids—which had proved to be, after all, so slight and comparatively painless—with a greatly augmented respect for and trust in Dr. Strong; but her nerves still quivered. “Nothing to trouble you,” the doctor assured her, “but enough to make me feel guilty—and stupid. Have you noticed any change in Manny, lately?” “Manny” was fourteen-year-old Maynard Clyde, the oldest of the children; a high school lad, tall, lathy, athletic, and good-tempered. “The boy is as nervous as a witch,” put in Grandma Sharpless. “I’ve noticed it since early summer.” “Then I wish you had taught me my trade,” said Dr. Strong. “Manny is so husky and active that I’ve hardly given him a thought.” “Well, what’s wrong with him?” asked the father anxiously. “Too much drug-store,” was the prompt reply. “Not drugs!” cried Mrs. Clyde, horrified. “That child!” “Well, no; not in the sense you mean it. Wait; there he is now. Manny!” he called, raising his voice. “Come over here a minute, will you?” The boy ambled over, and dropped down on the grass. He was brown, thin, and hard-trained; but there was a nervous pucker between his eyes, which his father noted for the first time. “What’s this? A meeting of the Board? Anything for the Committee on Milk Supply to do?” he asked. “Not at present,” answered Dr. Strong, “except to answer a question or two. You don’t drink coffee, do you?” “Of course not. I’m trying for shortstop on the junior nine, you know.” “How are you making out?” “Rotten!” said the boy despondently. “I don’t seem to have any grip on myself this year. Sort o’ get the rattles.” “Hm-m-m. Feel pretty thirsty after the practice, and usually stop in at the soda-fountain for some of those patent soft drinks advertised to be harmless but stimulating, don’t you?” “Yes,” said the boy, surprised. “Ah,” said the doctor carelessly; “three or four glasses a day, I suppose?” Manny thought a moment. “All of that,” he said.