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Charlie had accepted the diagnosis without comment.

The doctor could call it anything from flu to beriberi ; ;

but Charlie knew what was wrong with him and knew, too, that there was no pill to cure it.

He had loved and lost Vivian Wayne to somebody else, had watched her marry the somebody else, and had caught a bear of a cold by kissing the bride good-by forever, which was really piling it on.

He had caught, too, like an ailment, a confirmed distrust of women.

Once burned -- scalded, really, because Vivian had given him every encouragement -- forever shy.

From now on, his was going to be a man's world: the North Woods, duck blinds at dawning, beer and poker and male secretaries.