at last.

"There is a considerable swelling, an appearance of inflammation, and
the legs are a curious colour. You gave him three-quarters of a tumbler
of rum--how much honey?"

Thus addressed, Joe Petty, leaning his head a little to one side,
answered:

"Not 'alf a pot, sir."

"Um! There are all the signs here of something quite new. He's not had a
fall, has he?"

"Has he?" said Mrs. Petty severely to her husband.

"No," replied Joe.

"Singular!" said the doctor. Turn him back again; I want to feel his
head. Swollen; it may account for his curious way of talking. Well,
shove in quinine, and keep him quiet, with hot bottles to his feet. I
think we have come on a new war disease. I'll send you the quinine. Good
morning.

"Wot oh!" said Joe to his wife, when they were left alone with the
unconscious body of their master. "Poor old Guv! Watch and pray!"

"However could you have given him such a thing?"

"Wet outside, wet your inside," muttered Joe sulkily, "'as always been
my motto. Sorry I give 'im the honey. Who'd ha' thought the product of
an 'armless insect could 'a done 'im in like this?"

Fiddle said Mrs. Petty. "In my belief it's come on through reading those
newspapers. If I had my way I'd bum the lot. Can I trust you to watch
him while I go and get the bottles filled?"

Joe drooped his lids over his greenish eyes, and, with a whisk of her
head, his wife left the room.

"Gawd 'elp us!" thought Joe, gazing at his unconscious master, and
fingering his pipe; "'ow funny women are! If I was to smoke in 'ere
she'd have a fit. I'll just 'ave a whiff in the window, though!" And,
leaning out, he drew the curtains to behind him and lighted his pipe.

The sound of Blink gnawing her bone beneath the bed alone broke the
silence.

"I could do with a pint o' bitter," thought Joe; and, noticing the form
of the weekly gardener down below, he said softly:

"'Ello, Bob!"

"'Ello?" replied the gardener. "'Ow's yours?"

"Nicely."

"Goin' to 'ave some rain?"

"Ah!"

"What's the matter with that?"

"Good for the crops."

"Missis well?"

"So, so."

"Wish mine was."

"Wot's the matter with her?"

"Busy!" replied Joe, sinking his voice. Never 'ave a woman permanent;
that's my experience.

The gardener did not reply, but stood staring at the lilac-bush below
Joe Petty's face. He was a thin man, rather like an old horse.

"Do you think we can win this war?" resumed Joe.

"Dunno," replied the gardene