Ritter held her chair and fussed over her,
finding out what she wanted to eat. He was bringing in her fruit when
Varcek and Geraldine entered. Nelda was inquiring if Rand wanted to come
to church with them.

"No; I'm one of the boys the chaplain couldn't find in the foxholes,"
Rand said. "I'm going to put in a quiet morning on the collection. If
nobody gets murdered or arrested in the meantime, that is."

Geraldine looked woebegone; her hands were trembling. "My God, do I have
a hangover!" she moaned. "Walters, for heaven's sake, fix me up
something, quick!" Then she saw Ritter. "Who the devil are you?" she
demanded. "Where's Walters?"

"Out on bail," Rand told her. "Don't you remember?"

"Oh, you did this to me!" she accused. "Walters could always fix me up,
in the morning. Now what am I going to do?"

"You might stop drinking," her husband suggested mildly.

"Oh, just stop breathing; that would be better all around," Nelda
interposed.

Ritter coughed delicately. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but I've always
rawther fawncied myself for an expert on morning-awfter tonics. If you'll
wait a moment--"

He departed on his errand of mercy, returning shortly with a highball
glass filled with some dark, evil-looking potion. He set it on the table
in front of the sufferer and poured her a cup of coffee.

"Now, ma'am; just try this. Take it gradually, if I may suggest. Don't
attempt to gulp it; it's quite strong, ma'am."

Geraldine tasted it and pulled a Gorgon-face. Encouraged by Ritter, she
managed to down about half of the mixture.

"Splendid, ma'am; splendid!" he cheered her on. "Now, drink your coffee,
ma'am, and then finish it. That's right, ma'am. And now, more coffee."

Geraldine struggled through with the black draft and drank the second cup
of coffee. As she set down the empty cup, she even managed to smile.

"Why, that's wonderful!" She lit a cigarette. "What is it? I feel as
though I might live, after all."

"A recipe of my own, a variant on the old Prairie Oyster, but without the
raw egg, which I consider a needless embellishment, ma'am. I learned it
in the household of a former employer, a New York stockbroker. Poor man:
he did himself in in the autumn of 1929."

"Well, it's too bad you won't be with us permanently, Davies," Nelda
said. "Your recipe seems to be just what Geraldine needs. With a dash of
prussic acid added, of course."

That got the bush-fighting off to a good start. When Dunmore ca