And Madame's voice, faint yet pursuing, followed us down.
"No beds," it said.
In ten minutes we were back triumphant with the three stretchers. It
was a full six months since we had written to England for them, and
they had come at last. Visions of rest went upstairs with us, and
under the big eyes of Madame and Mademoiselle and several more Madames
who had collected as unobtrusively as a silk hat collects dust
we slashed at the coverings, ripped them off and disclosed--three
deck-chairs.
We did not attempt to meet the situation. We left it to the devil--or
Madame. And she, with the lofty serenity of one who through long
and grievous misunderstanding has won home at last, was completely
adequate.
"No beds," she said.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Grieved Wife_. "OH, SIMON, ALL OVER YOUR NOO
CONTROLLED TROUSERS."]
* * * * *
"ADOPTION.--Fine healthy boy, 31/2 years; entire surrender
to good home. reception. 5 bedrooms; L1,100."--_Provincial
Paper_.
What an exacting young rascal!
* * * * *
"Liebknecht was the son of a father who opposed tyranny in
earlier days, who sounded the toxin for liberty.
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