It doesn't. He brings back one three days old. Says shopman gave it him! Send him again, and shop closed for night. Nerves actually _worse than ever_.
_Second Day._--Had disturbed night, owing to lack of my usual exercise yesterday. Still must stick to HOWIE'S prescription. Terrific row in house. Wife comes up after breakfast (in tears) to say children, deprived of sea-side trip, are ungovernable; pretend to be buffaloes and Cowboys _in drawing-room_! Already two valuable vases wrecked. Hang the children! Hang Colonel CODY too! Still even paying for new vases cheaper than Ramsgate lodgings. Read morning paper. Just dropping off to sleep over somebody's important speech on Ireland, when----
_Three_ hurdy-gurdies outside! Rush to window, open it, and bid men avaunt. They won't avaunt. Say "they've been ordered to come every morning for a month by the young gent." This must be HENRY'S "Plan of Campaign." Send for him, and find he has prudently gone out. Nothing for it but to stuff cotton-wool into ears till men go. Cotton-wool in ears for a whole hour _shatters_ nerves.
_Third Day._--Much worse. Though I've given strict orders that no letters or bills are to be sent up to my bed-room, find Tax-Collector's little "Demand-Note" wrapped in fold of morning paper! Annoyed. Perhaps, after all, HOWIE wrong. Hullo! what's that? Somebody on my window-sill! Burglars? No, can't be. How bad all this is for my nerves. Spring up in time to see HENRY disappearing down rope-ladder, which he and his brothers have let down from roof. How horribly dangerous! Ring violently. Hear heavy thud in garden. Talk of "Nerve Rest-Cure"--rest of my nerves gone long ago, none left to be cured.
Wife (in tears again--awfully bad for nerves this) says the thud was not HENRY falling; boys have pulled down part of chimney, which has smashed the front steps--that's all. She suggests that perhaps, after all, this holiday plan in bed is not so good as----
_Five hurdy-gurdies_ to-day! Maddening! Hired by HENRY, wife says. Send _him_ to bed for whole day; we'll see how he likes "Rest-Cure" for _his_ nerves. Get up gloomily, dress, and go downstairs. Pitch _Nineteenth Century_ into waste-paper basket. Feel nerves better after it. Decide on Ramsgate, as usual, and so ends my holiday in bed--my "Sleepy Hollow" day!