Part 28 (2/2)

About four o'clock Mrs. Jimmie left him for a few moments, and this was my chance.

I slipped into the room. He was lying on the couch with his feet in patent leather shoes,--even his coat and waistcoat on, and a high, tight collar which rasped his ears.

He grinned sheepishly when he saw me.

”You told me to keep out, I know, but I never do as I'm told, so I came anyhow.”

”I know that,” growled Jimmie.

”Your head's as hot as fire,” I said. ”And those shoes are drawing like a mustard plaster.”

”I don't care. I won't take 'em off,” said Jimmie, savagely, raising himself on his elbow.

I turned on him.

”You always were a fool, Jimmie,” I said. ”You don't have to take them off if you don't want to.” (He sank back with a groan of pain.) ”But I'm going to do it, and if you kick while your foot is in my lap you'll hurt me.”

Before he could wink I had pulled off those abominable things, and slipped his narrow silk-stockinged feet into cool slippers. He couldn't restrain a sigh of comfort. I went in the closet to put his shoes on their trees, and brought out a white linen coat.

”Sit up and put this on,” I commanded.

”I will not!” he answered, flatly.

I looked around and there stood Mrs. Jimmie. If she had stayed away another ten minutes, I would have got him comfortable. But in spite of our combined efforts he insisted upon lying there as he was.

I went out and telephoned for the doctor, and when he came it pleased Jimmie no end that he didn't say a word about taking off those hot clothes.

”You see,” he said to his wife, ”that doctor knows his business. He doesn't devil me the way you women do.”

Mrs. Jimmie was wise enough to make no reply.

”He said if you would go to sleep for an hour you would feel better,”

she said. ”So put on this thin coat, then I'll close the blinds and go out.”

Jimmie looked at her quizzically. Then he slowly sat up and changed his coat without a word.

When he wakened his headache was gone. But he was unable to come down to dinner, and we saw him no more that day.

As he went to bed that night he said:

”I suppose you and Faith chuckled over getting your own way with my shoes and coat. But I want you to tell Faith that I stuck it out on the collar and that I only took it off when I went to bed!”

He was all right the next day, so we were spared the grief of being obliged to bury him in that collar.

So it came to be the last day of the Lombards' stay.

We had all grown exceedingly fond of the dear English people who had come so sweetly into the midst of an American home and adapted themselves to our way of living with such easy grace. No one would have believed, to see Lady Mary in her simple garden hat and cotton gown, that she was a court beauty, over whose hand royalty had often bent in gracious admiration. But it was true.

<script>