“I’ve decided to take your advice, Mrs Mother, and lie up for half a day,” he said depressedly. “I ought to be at Northcote to-night, but Penberthy has taken it on instead. He’s a good chap, Penberthy, but unfortunately he can’t speak worth a button. However----” “The sooner you’re in your bed the better,” said Mrs Dare. “You can’t afford to neglect a cold such as that.” “I always obey superior orders, don’t I, Auntie Mitt?” “I’m sure you did, Sir Anthony,”--at which he chuckled, but less heartily than usual. “Just one cup of tea to cheer me up, and then, if you will be so good, Auntie Mitt, a good big white-wine posset,--one of your very best, and you’ll send me up a bit of dinner later. Nothing like one of Auntie Mitt’s big white-wine possets for chasing a cold out of the system. Talk about grateful and comforting!” “I know them. Take my advice and put your feet in mustard and water as well,” said Mrs Dare. “You’ve got a very bad cold on you.” “I shouldn’t wonder if it’s a touch of influenza,” said Miss Mitten, when she returned from compounding the posset. “They say there’s a good deal of it about. I don’t know that a posset is the best thing for him. He seems hot enough to me. But it’s no good arguing with him. He always does just as he pleases.” “I thought you agreed that he always obeyed superior orders,” smiled Mrs Dare. “And so he does, but they’re always his own. When he was in the army I have no doubt he did all he was told and sometimes perhaps a bit more. That’s how he won his V.C. But since he retired he’s been his own master entirely.” “If he seems feverish in the morning I should send for Dr Rhenius, if I were you. He has been grievously overworking himself of late, and, since he won’t take care himself, you must be careful for him.” “Yes, I will,” said Auntie Mitt, with a very decided nod and pursed lips. “He forgets his age sometimes.” Next morning the Colonel was so limp and full of pains that he raised no objection when Miss Mitten suggested the Doctor. “A stitch in time sometimes saves nine,” quoth she. “I’ve got ’em already,” grunted the patient. “Then it’s a touch of pleurisy, I expect,” and she hastened to get advice on the subject. Dr Rhenius at once confirmed her speculative diagnosis. “You’re my prisoner, Colonel, till I say the word, or I won’t answer for consequences. You’ve been altogether overdoing it, you know.” “King and Country need you,” grunted the Colonel in extenuation. “Well, you’ll be more use to them alive than dead, and you’ve got to knock off now, or you’ll knock out. Besides, they can spare you well enough for a bit. They’re getting all the men they can handle, aren’t they? In fact they don’t seem able to handle properly those they’ve got, according to the papers.” “Big job, you see, ... machinery hardly in order yet.... Took us unawares, ... but we’re going to see it through.” “What have you got up to now?”