nked! You hit me when I
wasn't looking. My foot slipped.'

"'Foot slipped, you blanked fool!' you shouts at him, and then--"
Jenkins wiped his forehead--"Then the next thing I see, you mixed."

"Ah!" I breathed with relief. "That's _better_!"

I chuckled. Then suddenly I felt remorseful.

"Where did I hit him this time, Jenkins--did you notice? Was he hurt
much?"

Jenkins looked down, avoiding my eyes. "Um, _not_ exactly, sir," he
said; "in fact, it was--er--kinder the other way."

I stared, aghast.

"You don't mean, Jenkins--"

Jenkins evidently did! His eyes expressed both pity and embarrassment.

"What he did to you,"--he rolled his glance upward, trying to shape the
idea--"I believe, sir, it's what you might call"--his voice dropped--"I
believe it's what they _do_ call wiping up the floor with."

I closed my eyes an instant.

"Finish!" I whispered, feebly flipping my hand at him.

"He left then, sir, but the noise brought Wilkes and we helped you
up-stairs. You wouldn't go any farther than the door of the judge's
bedroom--wanted to tell him, we supposed. When we got that far, I
noticed Mr. Jack Billings' door--it's right opposite, you remember,
sir--was standing just a little open. He called out very anxious and
shrill: 'Oh, _do_ be very careful of the pajamas! My! my! I hope the
pajamas are not hurt!'

"And at that, you just bangs inside the judge's room and in about two
minutes, _he_ stuck his head out, looking kinder towsled and mad like
he'd been waked from a sound sleep, and he fires a wrapped-up parcel at
the door opposite and yells:

"'There are your pajamas, you unnatural, heartless prodigal! Pajamas,
indeed, at such a time!' And then I see Mr. Jack's arm come out and
fish the package inside.

"Then the judge turns on me and Wilkes and ordered us to clear out and
to go to bed. And Wilkes said we'd best do it because the judge would
take care of you and get you to your room quietly. And the last thing I
heard before he slammed inside his room was:

"'There's one thing; I've got a daughter!'"

I looked at Jenkins miserably. He was _right_; he did have a daughter,
and I wanted her. But just now, I wished with all heart that she was
somebody's--anybody else's daughter--than that of the man who had
witnessed my humiliation.

And afterwards--

_How_ had he managed to get me to my room? And had she seen or heard me?
Oh, she must have!

Well, nothing mattered now--nothing could ever matter