"Frisky as a--" I bunched my head sleepily into the pillow--"as a jolly--" But the idea wouldn't come! "Night!" I murmured; and let it go at that! CHAPTER XXXI THE DEMON RUM I _didn't_ feel frisky when I awoke! No, dash it, I had a devilish headache and my mouth had that gummy, warm-varnish taste--_you_ know! The sunlight lay across the floor, and outside I could hear the jolly birds twittering among their what's-its-names. Jenkins stood by the foot of the bed and somehow had a gloomy look. He cleared his throat, and I had a feeling that he had already done it several times. I raised to my elbow, mouthing at him heavily. "Morning, sir!" He said it very gently--I thought solicitously. "_How_ do you feel, sir?" This last in the kind of tone you use when the chap's going to die to-morrow, don't you know, and doesn't know it yet himself. I mumbled reply, gulping down the glass of ice-water he tendered. He rubbed his hands one over the other and stooped above me anxiously. "I _hope_, sir, you're not in much pain--from last night, sir, I mean?" "Pain?" I ejaculated crossly. "Why should I be in pain? Don't be a silly ass!" "Yes, sir!"--very softly, and with a deep sigh as he dropped back. By Jove, he looked as cheerful as a jolly tombstone! "What the deuce--" I began. "Noth--nothing, sir!"--hastily--"I was just a-thinking of the--h'm--may I say scrimmage, sir?" I waited till I had taken from his hand the second glass of ice-water and swallowed it, thinking maybe I would get hold of it--the dashed idea, I mean. I batted at him perplexedly. "What was that? _Scrimmage?_ I don't remember hearing anything--_what's_ that?" And I reached for another glass. "Pardon, sir--" Jenkins' eye shifted unhappily; "but may I ask, sir, what _is_ the last thing you do remember?" "Eh?" I sat up a bit straighter, rubbing my head and devilish annoyed at being made to try to think at all. Then I remembered: We were in a jolly blue aeroplane drawn by golden humming-birds and she was just telling me--_no_, dash it, that was a dream--just a dashed dream! I groaned, dropping my head upon my knees. "Why, the last thing I remember was the punch--punch--" "Punch--yes, sir!" And Jenkins sighed. "_Your_ punch to put out the light," I finished. Then I looked at him, startled. "Oh, I say, now, it wasn't burglars, was it?" You see, I thought at once of Foxy Grandpa and my darling's pajamas. "_Not_ precisely, sir." Jenkins hesitated; then moved a little nearer. "I--I hope you'll pardon me, Mr. Lightnut, sir; but I can't help a feeling that you ought to know everything before--h'm--I was going to say, sir, before you see the family. I _hope_ you'll pardon me, sir!"--he heaved desperately--"I mean about all that happened last night." I stared. "Oh, I say, Jenkins," I said, with an anxious thought, "_you_ didn't--er--_you_ know--I mean you and Wilkes didn't drink the rest of the punch--after he took it away, you know--eh?"