nfusion at the Hotel Tyrol when it came
to establishing the Medcrofts. For a while it looked as though Brock
would have to share a room with Tootles, relegating Burton to an alcove
and a couch; but Constance, in a strictly family conclave, was seized by
an inspiration which saved the day--or the night, more properly
speaking.

"I have it, Roxbury," she cried, her eyes dancing. "You can sleep on the
balcony. A great many invalids do, you know."

"But, good heaven, I'm not an invalid," he remonstrated feebly.

"Of course, you're not, but can't you _say_ you are? It's quite simple.
You sleep in the open air because it does your lungs so much good. Oh, I
know! It isn't necessary to expand your chest like that. They're
perfectly sound, I daresay. I should think you'd rather enjoy the fresh
air. Besides, there isn't a room to be had in the hotel."

"But suppose it should rain!" he protested, knowing full well he was
doomed.

"You poor boy, haven't you an umbrella?" she cried with such a perfectly
entrancing laugh that he would have slept out in a hailstorm to provide
recompense. And so it was settled that he was to sleep in the small
balcony just off the baby's luxurious room, the hotel people agreeing to
place a cot there at night in order to oblige the unfortunate guest with
the affected lung.

"You are so dear and so agreeable, Roxbury," purred Mrs. Medcroft, very
much relieved. "If ever I hear of a girl looking for a nice husband,
I'll recommend you."

"It's all very nice," said he with a wry grin, "but I'm hanged if I
ought to be expected to remember all of my accomplishments." They were
sitting in her room, attended by the faithful duenna, Constance.
"First, the eyeglass; then the English language, with which I find I'm
most unfamiliar; then a deafness in one of my ears--I can't remember
which until it's too late; and now I'm to be a tubercular. You've no
idea how hard it is for me to speak English against Odell-Carney. I'm an
out-and-out amateur beside him. And it's horribly annoying to have
Ulstervelt shouting in my ear loud enough for everybody in the
dining-room to hear. It's rich, I tell you, and if I didn't love you so
devotedly, Edith, I'd be on my way at this very instant. There! I feel
better. 'On my way' is the first American line I've had in the farce
since we left Stuttgart. By the way, Edith, I'm afraid I'll have to
punch Odell-Carney's confounded head before long. He's getting to be so
friendly to