what had happened without shocking him into uselessness. It
was not until we got him to test Tristan's eery buoyancy with his own
hands that we were able to make him understand the real nature of our
problem. And after that, his comments remained largely gibberish for
some time. However, he was even quicker than we were to see the need
for secrecy--he had vivid visions of the political capital which
opposing newspapers would make of any such occurrence at his
party--and so we arranged a plan. According to which we drove to the
back of the house, explained to the curious who rushed out that
Tristan had been injured by a stroke of lightning, and rushed the
closely wrapped form up to his room, feeling a great relief at having
something solid between us and the sky. While Jack went downstairs to
dismiss the party as courteously as possible, Alice and I tied my
brother to the bed with trunk straps. Whereupon the bed and patient
plumped lightly but decisively against the ceiling as soon as we
removed our weight. While we gazed upward open mouthed, Jack returned.
His faculties were recovering better than ours, probably because his
affections were not so involved, and he gave the answer at once.

"Ah, hell!" said he. "Pull the damn bed down and spike it to the
floor!" This we did. Then we held a short but intense consultation.
Whatever else might be the matter, obviously Tristan was suffering
severely from shock and, for all we knew, maybe from partial
electrocution. So we called up Dr. Grosnoff in the nearest town.

* * * * *

Grosnoff after our brief but disingenuous explanation, threw off the
bed covers in a business-like way, then straightened up grimly.

"And may I ask," he said with sarcastic politeness, "since when a
strait-jacket has become first-aid for a case of lightning stroke?"

"He was delirious," I stammered.

"Delirious my eye! He's as quiet as a lamb. And you've tied him down
so tightly that the straps are cutting right into him! Of all
the--the--" He stopped, evidently feeling words futile, and before we
could make an effective attempt to stop him, whipped out a knife and
cut the straps. Tristan's unfortunate body instantly crashed against
the ceiling, smashing the lathing and plaster, and remaining half
embedded in the ruins. A low cry of pain rose from Alice. Dr. Grosnoff
staggered to a chair and sat down, his eyes fixed on the ceiling with
a steady stare--the odd carica