He went to the door and a low-voiced colloquy ensued. The rival merits of cold chicken versus steak-pie as an invalid diet were discussed at some length. Finally the voice of Miss Miller insisted on chicken, and a glass of port-wine. “I’ll tell ’im it’s chicken and port-wine then,” said Mr. Wragg, reappearing with a bedroom jug and a tumbler, which he placed on a small table by the bedside. “Don’t let him eat too much, mind,” said the voice from the landing, anxiously. Mr. Wragg said that he would be careful, and addressing Mr. Gale implored him not to overeat himself. The young man stared at him offensively, and, pretty certain now of the true state of affairs, thought only of escape. “I feel better,” he said, slowly. “I think I will go home.” “Yes, yes,” said the other, soothingly. “If you will fetch my clothes,” continued Mr. Gale, “I will go now.” “_Clothes_!” said Mr. Wragg, in an astonished voice. “Why, you didn’t ’ave any.” Mr. Gale sat up suddenly in bed and shook his fist at him. “Look here—” he began, in a choking voice. “The fairies brought you as you was,” continued Mr. Wragg, grinning furiously; “and of all the perfect picturs—” A series of gasping sobs sounded from the landing, the stairs creaked, and a door slammed violently below. In spite of this precaution the sounds of a maiden in dire distress were distinctly audible. “You give me my clothes,” shouted the now furious Mr. Gale, springing out of bed. Mr. Wragg drew back. “I’ll go and fetch ’em,” he said, hastily. He ran lightly downstairs, and the young man, sitting on the edge of the bed, waited. Ten minutes passed, and he heard Mr. Wragg returning, followed by his niece. He slipped back into bed again. “It’s a pore brain again,” he heard, in the unctuous tones which Mr. Wragg appeared to keep for this emergency. “It’s clothes he wants now; by and by I suppose it’ll be something else. Well, the doctor said we’d got to humor him.” “Poor fellow!” sighed Miss Miller, with a break in her voice. “See ’ow his face’ll light up when he sees them,” said her uncle. He pushed the door open, and after surveying the patient with a benevolent smile triumphantly held up a collar and tie for his inspection and threw them on the bed. Then he disappeared hastily and, closing the door, turned the key in the lock. “If you want any more chicken or anything,” he cried through the door, “ring the bell.” The horrified prisoner heard them pass downstairs again, and, after a glass of water, sat down by the window and tried to think. He got up and tried the door, but it opened inwards, and after a severe onslaught the handle came off in his hand. Tired out at last he went to bed again, and slept fitfully until morning.