"Postponed till next Sunday." With this curt announcement, and without further comment he sat down at his desk.
But after a few moments he rose quickly, saying, "Let us do some real work, dad." He took up his violin.

His father, who was used to his moods, without question or remark proceeded to tune up.

An hour's hard practice followed, without word from either except as regarded the work in hand.
"I feel better now, dad," said the young man when they had finished.
"And now for a round with you." "But what about your wind, boy?
I don't like that asthma of yours this afternoon." "I am quite all right.

It's quite gone.

I feel sure it was the pollen from the beaver meadow." They cleared back the table and chairs from the centre of the room, stripped to their shirts, put on the gloves and went at each other with vim.