lap, and lay there exposed.

Miss Craik's eyebrows lifted a little, but she did not cease her
knitting. Winifred's face was painfully red, and in another moment pale.
Carshaw was not often at his wits' end, but now for some seconds he
stood embarrassed.

Rachel Craik, however, saved him by saying quickly: "The gentleman has
dropped something in your lap, Winifred." Whereupon Winifred handed back
the unfortunate note.

What was he to do now? If he wrote to Winifred through the ordinary
channels of the hotel she might, indeed, soon receive the letter, but
the risks of this course were many and obvious. He ate, puzzling his
brains, spurring all his power of invention. The time for action was
growing short.

Suddenly he noticed the German boy, and had a thought. He could speak
German well, and, guessing that Rachel Craik probably did not understand
a word of it, he said in a natural voice to the boy in German:

"Fond of American dollars, boy?"

"_Ja, mein Herr_," answered the boy.

"I'm going to give you five."

"You are very good, _mein Herr_," said the boy, "beautiful thanks!"

"But you have to earn them. Will you do just what I tell you, without
asking for any reason?"

"If I can, _mein Herr_."

"Nothing very difficult. You have only to go over yonder by that chair
where I was sitting, throw yourself suddenly on the floor, and begin to
kick and wriggle as though you had a fit. Keep it up for two minutes,
and I will give you not five but ten. Will you do this?"

"From the heart willingly, _mein Herr_," answered the boy, who had a
solemn face and a complete lack of humor.

"Wait, then, three minutes, and then--suddenly--do it."

The three minutes passed in silence; no sound in the room, save the
clicking of Carshaw's knife and fork, and the ply of Rachel Craik's
knitting-needles. Then the boy lounged away to the farther end of the
room; and suddenly, with a bump, he was on the floor and in the promised
fit.

"Halloo!" cried Carshaw, while from both Winifred and Rachel came little
cries of alarm--for a fit has the same effect as a mouse on the nerves
of women.

"He's in a fit!" screamed the aunt.

"Please do something for him!" cried Winifred to Carshaw, with a face of
distress. But he would not stir from his seat. The boy still kicked and
writhed, lying on his face and uttering blood-curdling sounds. This was
easy. He had only to make bitter plaint in the German tongue.

"Oh, aunt," said Winifred,