"Hang your face out of the window, Stiffy, my lad," commanded Nicky, returning from an unsuccessful attempt to wheedle the guard into labelling their carriage "engaged," "and play at Horatius Cocles till the train starts. That ought to do the trick." But no. At the last moment a crusty-looking old gentleman wrenched the door open, nearly precipitating Horatius Cocles (and face) on to the platform, and sat down with great determination in the corner seat. He glared ferociously at the demure-looking pair before him, in a manner which intimated plainly that he was too old a customer to be kept out of his usual compartment by tricks of _that_ kind. After this he produced _The Westminster Gazette_ from a handbag and began to read it. Nicky gave him five minutes. Then, turning to her brother and scrutinising his freckled countenance, she observed in clear and measured tones-- "I think they have let you out rather _soon_, John." Stiffy, realising that he was the person addressed and that some fresh game was afoot, looked as intelligent as possible, and waited. Daphne, in the far corner of the carriage, hurriedly opened her husband's letter and began to read it. "The marks aren't all gone yet," continued Nicky, inspecting her brother anxiously. "Are you still peeling?" "Yes--I think so," said Stiffy, groping for his cue. "Ah!" Nicky nodded her head judicially. "We must give you a carbolic bath when we get you home." _The Westminster Gazette_ emitted a perceptible crackle. "It will never do," pursued Nicky, getting into her stride, "to have you disfigured for life." Stiffy, who was impervious to all reflections upon his personal appearance, grinned faintly. Opposite, a scared and bulging eye slid cautiously round the edge of _The Westminster Gazette_, and embarked upon a minute and apprehensive inspection of the plague-stricken youth. Nicky saw, and thrilled with gratification. She was on the point of continuing when the train dived into a tunnel. Having no desire that her schemes should go awry in the din, she waited. The train came to a sudden and unexplained stop. Deathlike silence reigned, broken only by murmurs of conversation from next door. Presently in the gross darkness Nicky's voice was once more uplifted. "By the way, is it infectious, or merely _contagious_? I meant to ask when I called for you at the Institute"--she was rather proud of that inspiration: an Institute sounded more terrifying and mysterious than a Hospital--"but in the excitement of that last fainting-fit of yours I forgot. Which is it?" "Both, I think," said Stiffy, anxious to help. "Ah! I feared as much. Still, things might be worse," commented Nicky philosophically. "So many of these complaints are infectious in the early stages, when no one suspects any trouble. Mumps, for instance, or scarlet fever. But others, like yours, are only dangerous in the convalescent stage, and then of course one knows exactly where one is."