National Avenue by Booth Tarkington — Read

Dan reassured his mother as well as he could. "Only a fit of nerves; -- too much music, I guess," he said; and, returning to his son's door, found it locked and Henry as unresponsive as the door. The father knocked repeatedly but not loudly, demanding admittance and obtaining the response of a profound silence. Then, as he heard Mrs. Oliphant slowly ascending the stairs to her belated bed, he decided to keep out of her way until he had better composed himself, and, retiring to his own room, discovered that his teeth were chattering.

He removed his cold and sodden garments; but his bed seemed as cold as his clothes; so he got up, put a dressing-gown over his pajamas, and again tried to sleep. The bed still seemed cold -- so cold that his teeth still showed the disposition to chatter. However, he told himself that he had "more to worry about than a little chill"; and, between the chill and his more important worries, slept but fitfully. He was warm when the drizzly morning came -- too warm -- and, again communing with himself on the subject of his physical annoyances, philosophically dismissed the fever as unworthy of his attention. "A little temperature's perfectly natural after a chill," he thought. "It'll pass off, and I've got other things to think about this day!"