How foolish people are when they own valuable things, Horace
thought. A magazine article had described this house, giving a plan of
all the rooms and a picture of this room. The writer had even mentioned
that the painting hid a safe! But Horace found that the flowers were
hindering him in his work. He buried his face in his handkerchief. Then
he heard a voice say from the doorway, “What is it? A cold or hay
fever?” Before he could think, Horace said, “Hay fever,” and found
himself sneezing again. The voice went on, “You can cure it with a
special treatment, you know, if you find out just what plant gives you
the disease. I think you’d better see a doctor, if you’re serious about
your work. I heard you from the top of the house just now.”