en he attempted to turn my eyelids back to see if I had a touch of the
glanders every germ in my body rose in rebellion and together we chased
Hep out of the room.

The next calamity was Teddy Pearson, who had an apartment on the floor
above us. Teddy had spent the previous night at a Tango party and ever
since daylight he had been beating home to windward. His cargo had
shifted and the seaway was rough. Still clad in the black and white
scenery with the silk bean-cover somewhat mussed he groped across the
darkened room and solemnly shook hands with me.

Then he sat in a chair by the bedside and began to sing soft lullabies
to a hold-over.

Presently he reached out his arm and made all the gestures that go with
the act of hitting a bell to summon a waiter.

Receiving no answer to his thirsty appeal he arose and said, "This is a
heluva club--rottenest service in this club--s'limit, that's what it is,
s'limit!" Then he hiccoughed his weary way out of the room and I haven't
seen him since.

An hour later Uncle Louis Miffendale had looked me over and concluded I
had galloping asthma, compressed tonsilitis, chillblainous croup, and
incipient measles. He insisted that I take three grains of quinine, two
grains of asperine, rub the back of my neck with benzine, soak my ankles
in kerosene, then a little phenacetine, and a hot whiskey toddy every
half hour before meals.

If I found it hard to take the toddy he volunteered to run in every half
hour and help me.

Then his wife, Aunt Jessica, blew in with a decoction she called catnip
tea. She brought it all the way from the Bronx in a thermos bottle, so I
had to drink it or lose a perfectly respectable old aunt.

It tasted like a linoleum cocktail--weouw!

During the rest of the day every friend and relative I have in the
world rushed in, suggested a sure cure, and then rushed out again.

Peaches tried them all on me and I felt like the inside of a medicine
chest.

[Illustration]

To make matters worse I drank some dogberry cordial and it chased the
catnip tea all over my concourse.

Then Peaches, being a student of natural history, insisted that I take
some hoarhound, I suppose to bite the dogberry, but it didn't.

Blood will tell, so the hoarhound joined forces with the dogberry and
chased the catnip up my family tree.

Suffering antiseptics! everybody with a different remedy, from snake
poison to soothing syrup--but it cured the grip.

Now all I have to do