"I'm ravenous," he exclaimed explanatorily. "I haven't had anything since
day before yesterday at breakfast. I didn't know I wanted anything till I
smelt it,--then I dressed and came down."

"How sweet you look," said Clover. "The effect of your pajama cuffs and
collar where one greedily expects curves and contour is lovely. Where did
you find that bath-robe?"

"In the bureau drawer," said Burnett. "It appeared to have been hastily
shoved in there some time. I would have thought that it was a woman's
something-or-other, only I found one of Jack's cards in the pocket."

They all began to laugh--Clover and Mitchell more heartily than the owner
of the card.

"Sit down," said Mitchell finally with great cordiality. "You may as well
sit down while they mess you up some weak tea and wet toast."

"Tea and toast?" cried the one in pink. "I'm good for dinner. _Um
Gotteswillen_, what do you suppose I came down for?"

"I wasn't sure," said his friend mildly; "you must admit yourself that
your attire is misleading. My book on social etiquette says nothing as to
when it is correct to wear a pink silk robe over blue and white striped
pajamas. However, there's no denying your presence, and what can't be
denied must be supplied, so what will you have?"

"Everything."

Mitchell dived into the edibles generally and Burnett's void was provided
with fulfillment.

"We were talking about Aunt Mary," Clover said presently. "We were saying
that neither you nor she would be up to a coach or down to a picnic for
one while."

"Oh, I don't know," said Burnett. "I feel up to pretty nearly anything now
that I can eat again. Pass over the horseradish, will you?"

"You're one thing, my sweet pink friend," said Clover gently, "but Aunt
Mary's another. I'm not saying that New York has not had a wonderfully
Brown-Sequardesque effect on her, but I am saying that if she is to be
raised and lowered frequently, I want to travel with a portable crane."

"Hum, hum, hum!" cried Jack. "May I just ask who did most of the heavy
labor of Aunt Mary yesterday?--As the man in the opera sings twenty times
with the whole chorus to back him--''Twas I, 'twas I, 'twas I, 'twas I--'"

"Hand over the toast, Clover," said Burnett. "I don't care who it was--it
was a success anyhow, for she's upstairs and still alive, and I say she'd
enjoy coaching out Riverside way, and--" he choked.

"Slap him anywhere," said Mitchell. "On his mouth would be the proper
place.