ot a bit put out. "Let me help you." He took the pail
across the path and poured a little into the snow at the base of a
half-dozen fence posts. "There!" he said, coming back triumphant.
"The roses are done. Now let's have a go at the pansies and the
lady's-slippers and the--the begonias. I say"--he stopped suddenly
on his way in--"sulphur water on a begonia--what would it make? Skunk
cabbage?"

Inside, however, he put down the pail, and pulling me in, closed the
door.

"Now forget it!" he commanded. "Just because a lot of damn fools see a
dog in a fit and have one, too, is that any reason for your being scared
wall-eyed and knock-kneed?"

"I'm not!" I snapped.

"Well, you're wall-eyed with fright," he insisted. "Of course, you're
the best judge of your own knees, but after last night--Had any lunch?"

I shook my head.

"Exactly," he said. "You make me think of the little boy who dug
post-holes in the daytime and took in washings at night to support the
family. Sit down."

I sat.

"Inhale and exhale slowly four times, and then swallow the lump in your
throat.... Gone?"

"Yes."

"Good." He was fumbling in his pocket and he brought out a napkin. When
he opened it there was a sandwich, a piece of cheese and a banana.

"What do you think of that?" he asked, watching me anxiously. "Looks
pretty good?"

"Fine," I said, hating to disappoint him, although I never eat sardines,
and bananas give me indigestion, "I'm hungry enough to eat a raw
Italian."

"Then fall to," he directed, and with a flourish he drew a bottle of
ginger ale from his pocket.

"How's this?" he demanded, holding it up. "Cheers but doesn't inebriate;
not a headache in a barrel; ginger ale to the gingery! 'A quart of ale
is a dish for a king,'" he said, holding up a glass. "That's
Shakespeare, Miss Minnie."

I was a good bit more cheerful when I'd choked down the sandwich,
especially when he assured me the water was all right--"a little high,
as you might say, but not poisonous. Lord, I wish you could have seen
them staggering into my office!"

"I saw enough," I said with a shiver.

"That German, von Inwald," he went on, "he's the limit. He accused us of
poisoning him for reasons of state!"

"Where are they now?"

"My dear girl," he answered, putting down his glass, "what has been
pounded into me ever since I struck the place? The baths! I prescribe
'em all day and dream 'em all night. Where are the poisonees now?
They are steaming