Elcy kissed him again and again, telling him each time how happy she was that she had him home again. “Could she get him anything, or would he not like to lie down?” she inquired. “Yes, Miss,” interrupted the busy Mrs. Fokesell, “if your Pa will be advised by me, he’ll take off his boots, and go and lie on the bed for an hour or two—and let me get him a bottle of soda water, while you puts a wet towel round his head, for if you looks at his eyes you’ll see they’re quite bloodshot.” “My e’en bluidshot!” ejaculated Mr. Sandboys, growing half enraged at the apparent unmeaningness of the whole of the landlady’s remarks; however he went to the glass to see if there were anything odd enough in his looks to account for the peculiarity of the landlady’s behaviour. His eyes were a little red, certainly, he thought, as he scrutinized his countenance, but that arose from the “nap” he had indulged in during his ride home, and beyond this he could see nothing which could call forth so much anxiety on his behalf. “Do, father,” said Elcy, “_do_ go and lie down, or you’ll be ill, I am sure.” “Yes;” chimed in Mrs. Fokesell, “I’m sure it’s a wonder you hasn’t got the ‘_delirious trimmings_‘ as it is. Fokesell, I know, once had ’em after one of these bouts, and then he fancied he was aboard his ship, in our back parlour, and that the house was agoing down, all hands, ’cause I wouldn’t work the pumps. Now, come, there’s a good gentleman, _do_ be persuaded by Miss Elcy, and go to bed for an hour or two.” “Go to bed!” echoed Sandboys, tetchily. “I’m not tired—I’ve had a nap.” “Oh, yes, we know,” retorted Mrs. Fokesell, winking her eye and nodding her head, in a manner that is considered to speak volumes, and which was certainly meant to insinuate to the unsuspecting Sandboys that the lady was acquainted with the fact of his having tried to take “forty winks” in the gutter; “and we know _where_ you had your nap too. Fine times, indeed, when you gents must needs go falling asleep in the ‘kennel.’” “In t’ ‘kennel,’” shouted Sandboys, in none of the mildest tones. “What do’sta mean, woman, what do’sta mean, I say?” “Oh, you knows what I means, well enough, Mr. Slyboots—going and doing such things, thinking it ’ud be unbeknown to your missus. A nice time she’d have on it if she only knowed all, I’ll be bound to say.” And here Mrs. Fokesell gave herself a jerk, expressive, as she imagined, of the highest possible indignation. “How daresta speak to me in that way?” demanded the incensed Cursty. “Leave t’ room, woman.” “Father! father! pray calm yourself,” said Elcy, growing alarmed at what she imagined to be the lingering effect of her parent’s indiscretion. “Pray be calm, and go and lie down just a little while.” “Lie down! why, what’s come to you aw’? You seem to be aw’ mad tegidder. But where’s your mother?”